level_act22side_st01

Eight Years Ago

County Oak Grove

Your Lordship, more than a paucity are inquiring after you, wondering what our planned next move will be.

Our repertoire has been a massive success, all thanks to your backing.

The Tarans' own theater, and the Tarans' own history. Two hundred strong came to see the premiere, and my, were they overjoyed.

Now, we can pursue joint partnership in a few factories on Baron McAneny's estate, or we can accept this offer of alliance with a number of bankers...

Leave these topics for after the soirée, Sir Perth. Or have a typist make the arrangements in your stead, and they won't make much mess of it.

We should talk tonight only of the freshly concluded performance, and of Taran culture. Forget all that Victorian long-windedness and flattery.

Everyone, all this status and etiquette, this daintiness and diction, this respectable vocabulary we rely on to exchange thoughts, we were taught all of it by the Victorians.

They're the same as the Victorians' machines, saddling the Tarans' hearts with contemporary ills.

Time was we only knew our natural highness and valor, and the blood we inherit from King Gaeil would stir without rest at the call of battle...

But now, we've been trained in the Victorians' guile and vanity, to the point where faced with a true and genuine undertaking, a rally to an ideal, many can only play it as a game in their own interest.

It is not solely us, either. It goes for the everyday Taran citizen we so often meet in the streets, too.

Since being contaminated by Victorians' vice, they have become Oripathics, and become rascals, ruffians.

Very well said, My Lord—

—I'm sorry, I accidentally broke my wine glass.

It seems your glass wished to interject.

I'd like to ask Your Lordship's opinion on something.

Pardon my memory, but who might you be...?

Williams, the bard. Writer of that play that happened tonight. But you don't need to go to the trouble of remembering my name; I can't say I've made much contribution to the literary circles.

Hardly, Mr. Williams. As I've said, I most detest the Victorians' long-windedness.

Ask away.

You've likened the Tarans to a diseased people. How should we heal ourselves in your view, then? How should we save fellow Tarans from the brink?

I fear no matter how hard we strive, we cannot cure the blight core to us, just as muddied water cannot clean itself.

So you say it's beyond us to save them, the rascals, the ruffians.

You don't believe they simply lack for knowledge, education? That the power to help them lives in our pens?

*sigh* Too fine an intellect is exactly what our enemy is.

Of course, we write, we rally, we dream of the ideal nation of Tara... We try to rouse the memories of it sleeping in our blood.

But you and I will have to be the ones to stay behind in these olden days.

You see, I very much enjoy your works. And yet, we're forced to use the Victorian language.

'I lay down now my soldier's honor here, so that in time the soil of Tara need no longer be soaked in carmine blood, and Draco cross no swords with Draco kin.'

'Be that unless a day comes, whereupon Red Dragon's flame should lead all those that fell, our fighters from the forge to be reborn.'

As much as I'm flattered, it's all a simple record of the folk ballads. The most I did was add some metered polish.

No, I'm just thinking...

It's no sure thing that Tara will never have another Red Dragon.

After all, none of us have ever seen a Draco before. How would we tell if whoever passes by us isn't actually a Vouivre?

Village of Redridge, Scáthanna Fields

Found them. It was these two mucking about in the streets. Sound of the window breaking must've been their doing.

Hey, settle down, you two, or else it's not your wrists the rope goes around next time.

*spit*!

Wait—come on, stop being vile now...!

I—I'm sorry! I'm sorry, officers! It was our fault!

Is that the wanted lot, the ones rubbing up with Dublinn?

One of them's wanted. The other I've never seen.

Heh, I knew these Tarans would all be in on it. Bloody good-for-nothings.

Eek! Please don't do anything, I beg you...

This is all we had on us, you searched us and all... Ask us anything you want, we'll explain, we will...

Shut up. What are your pals up to, eh? Where'd they go? Are they off gossiping info to Dublinn?

I—I don't know, honestly, I don't...

We don't even have any pals! We've never met anyone from Dublinn before!

And you just want some people to beat to death, give yourself something to report to your noble brass!

*spit*! You... you bloody Victorian scumbags!

Keeping mum, are you?

Take them inside. Don't let these ballsacks make their racket on the street. They'll wake the rest of us up.

Question the one with the bag first. If he's honest, he can suffer a little less.

I—I'm honest, I'm an honest person, I swear, I don't know a thing...

Hold on, Captain.

I think there's more nearby.

Uh, the—there's...

What's bag boy shouting about?

Fire!

Shut UP! Don't try and cover for your friends—

—No, but there's a fire off behind you!

It's the warehouse!

Bloody Nora! I want the word out to Team 1! Prioritize firefighting!

Er, did they dump us and go?

Fionn, come on, undo my ropes here!

H—How? I'm tied up too...

Who are you?

Let's go, quick.

*huff* I'm sorry you had to run with us. You've got nothing to do with this...

...It's fine, we shook them off.

Hey, Fionn, the radio?

Right here. Should still be usable, just a little quiet.

Quiet's good. Keeps us from being found.

*sigh* You listen for any word, I'll go wash my face at the pond. Try and calm down.

Excuse me, Vouivre. You can go if it's dangerous to you. I'll point you on your way.

No need... I can wait here, and keep watch for you.

...Alright, thank you. You're a good one, truly.

(Deep breath)

No nerves, Fionn, no nerves. Out of sight, out of mind.

You didn't touch blood. It is not blood. It's just marshy mud. Wash it off and it'll be fine...

...Hfff.

*sigh*.

Bollocks... hey! You swear this stupid thing still works?

Shush, god's sakes! Those army lot can't be far away!

Give it a few more knocks, then crank it!

...approximately 9:30 PM...

There.

A case of arson in a settlement close to the County Trent... methods resemble those of the Dublinn insurrectionists...

...the three suspected are still on the run...

Should... clues on Dublinn elements not report them to the authorities... considered equally guilty as these rebels...

...warn you once again... the lights-out bell, you are not to go outside. All areas apart from mines and factories are forbidden from lighting any lamps whatsoever...

Put a stop... all activities related to these insurgents...

(White noise)

Diabhal. They really broadcast nothing else past 9 PM.

What are these bloody rules, in ainm Dé?

Sorry. That's a foul tongue for Taran. Could you understand that?

Yes... but that's fine.

No, still, I'm sorry. For dragging an outsider like you into this.

It's okay... Tarans are the same, no matter where they are.

I once visited the Scáthanna Fields, myself. But they didn't have rules about lights-out back then.

Ó, I'm guessing you're from a nomadic city, then?

Bell-ringing as law has been around for years. Used to just be out on the barrens, to mind whoever tried sneaking into whatever count or viscount's hunting grounds at dead midnight.

Bell rings, we snuff the lamps, and fires go out too. If someone in the barrens lights a fire to herd beasts at this hour, you can see it clear as day from miles and miles away.

But muck-ups like today only happened once the new rules got stricter. Those night patrol tossers see anyone in the street, they snatch 'em.

There, Fionn. Calmed down?

Suppose so...

...Er, where's our medicine? Are we all out?

Take a guess?

...*sigh*. Shame about my fountain pen. Can't even note my own debts now.

Stealing is what we're doing. Don't think you have to make up for it with what you've got.

How many days have we been outdoors now?

If it's not midnight yet, then it's day 12 for us.

Alright. Twelve days, and we've barely gotten far. I keep thinking if only it'd clear up, I might see chimney smoke or something from a village.

We've just been hounded by the army, chased around in circles here...

Be honest, do you really think we can make it out?

...What happened with you two?

We had a little confrontation with the patrol. They sent a warrant out for us.

Fionn!

Let me talk, Fergal. I can feel, this lady's a good person.

When the patrol came here to make arrests, they summoned everyone who had a record. And then they started with the beatings, so we fought back...

You didn't, Fionn. Don't give yourself credit.

Ugh, okay.

We hadn't done all that bad, really, truth told. One family ran after they couldn't pay tax dues, so the patrol was dragging all their relatives in by the scruff for questioning. Fergal was brewing a little moonshine just for himself, and I'd missed some formalities while selling stuff.

*sigh* We'd always owned up properly too, whatever it was. It all got too much that day.

It wasn't just us two who scarpered once the patrol started beating. It's ten or so of us, all summoned that day by the army. We all ran at once.

But if the army wants someone, there's no escaping it. That lot won't change their tune just because someone's word says they're innocent.

You ended up killing someone?

Yeah, we did two of 'em in. Got one straight off with a hoe while they weren't on guard, the other we laid low in the whole scuffle.

Shame we let the third one do a runner, or else the army'd never know about what we did.

Hey! We wouldn't be in such a miserable spot if we'd had one night more of a head start.

...Fergal, you think we could... give ourselves up to them? I could do it alone, even. Just can't stand these days on the run anymore.

We didn't even nab the medicine. Oran's cut's just festering away, and he's... I can't take it, I can't.

You drop the bloody idea. You think they'd make it easy on you?

Bloody wouldn't. They'd torture you first, crush your spirits.

Two minutes with someone like you, and they'd get everything about us pouring out.

Look. We've got no meds. Torture by sickness, that's torture all the same, yeah?

Are you—short of medicine?

Haha... we were sent out to rustle up some more, I'll say. They're waiting for us, a decent ways back somewhere.

We were here planning to buy it, honest.

But we knew in our heads, all the shops'd shut the moment lights-out sounded. We'd never make it in time beforehand.

So we got a rough idea of when the patrol changes shifts, er, and we smashed through a shop window... I thought they wouldn't notice around about then.

...God.

...You? Guessing you're from the city. What got you out in this desolate a place?

...I'm searching for some things.

Do you—know about 'Dublinn'?

Yes, I understand.

I have some—antihemorrhagics and bandages on me, actually.

Mr. Fionn, I saw you were hurt... we should sort that out.

Oh, you noticed? It's nothing big, really...

But—if you're willing to share a bit of medicals with me, that'd be fair play.

Our mates are hurt far worse. I'd bring 'em to them, if that's okay.

Er, they got bit by gloompincers.

In that case, I can go with you...

That way! We have footprints in the mud, leading that way!

It's the Tara rabble behind the arson! They're around here, no doubt!

—Q-Quick, hide!

It's... it's a whole unit, half a dozen people, they're shining their torches this way!

Quick, bend down, come this way! It's solid ground here!

It's alright... those soldiers won't dare to move too fast through the marsh.

—Shh.

(Fionn, I can hear your teeth chattering!)

(I... ngh...)

A torch flashes over them.

Reed grips her spear tight, the metal warming, hotter and hotter.

Well, that's shite! How come you lot get torches?! Pisses me off just seeing you!

Dublinn?!

Get her! She's got info, no doubt!

Get me? You're codding me!

Peuch! What're you slinging mud for?

Ugh—

Come on, Fionn, we've got to help her! Don't be a coward!

Alright, alright, okay...

Urgh—!

Hah, couple of fresh boys don't take much to sort out.

Hey, Fionn, Fergal! You made a right hames here, didn't you? Would've kicked the bucket if I didn't come looking, no?

No, yeah. Saved our skins. All thanks to you.

I told you, see, all this smashing and looting business might be beyond me...

Wait, what are you doing, Selmon? It's enough to knock them out. You're going to kill them all?

Aren't we going to be more guilty for that?!

Same difference! It doesn't matter how guilty if they're after a Taran—you get taken in, you're not coming out alive.

*sigh* It makes a difference in my head.

Coward. You watch, I'm gonna do all these Victorian bastards right and—

Stop. Don't do that.

And who do you think you are?

Hah, what's the staring for? Gonna be a tattletale? Just you try.

Tattle? No, you're not even part of Dublinn. Why are you... dressed like that?

Why are you copying the Spectre Force's methods?

—And on what basis do you claim that? You some Dublinn know-it-all?

Er, calm, now, Selmon.

She's just a doctor. She was doing a runner with us just now...

...I think she's a good soul. I told her all about us.

Right, um, doctor... what you said about taking a look at our wounded, is that still valid?

Selmon, honest, you need to cool it... We mucked it all up. We didn't get the medicine. This kind doctor says she can help us, so that's all we can rely on now.

Tch, leave me out of this. Seems this doctor here recognizes my clothes.

...I'm sorry, I'm not a doctor.

But I still want—to try and help you.