• Solo • Renegade

[Sabine]

Timestamp: 3rd of Vhalar, 716
Location: Rynmere Gazette

Lowtown was in shambles.

The Qe’dreki uprising and the resulting civil war in Saun had left Lowtown and its people burned, broken, and dead. Countless homes had been destroyed and innumerable lives had been shattered. And while the poor were still recovering from the attack during the tail end of the season, they were hit with yet another menace: the monsters who crawled from the shadows to prey on the unsuspecting Ryns. The majority of these attacks were said to have taken place outside of the kingdom’s walls, but even those inside the walls had been hit.

Civil war.

Shadow monsters.

And still the Rynmere Gazette lived on.

In truth, Sabine was grateful to have her job. Many of her neighbours had lost their income when their employers and coworkers died in the war. Thanks to the Gazette, she was still able to provide for her family when so many weren’t and could help rebuild her own broken home. But besides the nel, Sabine was grateful for the distraction. If she was left too long on her own, she was certain she would go crazy from the anger, regrets, and fears that swirled around her thoughts.

The sounds of shifting papers and idle chatter shifted in and out of focus as Sabine stared down at the parchment that lay before her. The page was half-filled with arrows and ink blots and scribbles, detailing what might look to the untrained eye to be either plans for a bank robbery or a half-baked conspiracy theory. And if things continued the way they were going, she might end up accused of the latter by her newly-paranoid editor.

“No anti-monarch sentiment!” Abby had warned when Sabine had asked to write an article about the aftermath of the civil war and its impact on Lowtown. “We support the King and everything he stands for, got it?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised that Abby’s fears were reflected in the direction she gave the Gazette’s journalists. Bram had told her that the Iron Hand was on the lookout for any Qe’dreki soldiers or supporters who had gone into hiding after their failed attempt at a coup, and they were more suspicious than ever of even the most benign criticisms.

Still, understanding her boss’ reasons and agreeing with them were two completely different matters. And oh, how Sabine disagreed.

She tapped her quill pen against her cheek before dipping it in ink and adding another note to the busy page.

How can the King be held accountable to the people if the people cannot speak the truth?

Wasn’t that the ultimate question that she had been wrestling with? The question that had kept her rooted to her desk for what felt like two straight trials? What did it say about Rynmere and its system if she couldn’t write about what she had seen and experienced for fear of being labelled a “rebel”?

Her eyes narrowed. If speaking the truth made her a rebel, then so be it. Better to be arrested for the truth than to go free as a liar.

Or at least, that was the theory.[/align]

[Sabine]

Sabine shifted her notes to the side and pulled a fresh sheet of paper from her desk. Better to be arrested for telling the truth than to go free as a liar, yes, but not being arrested while also telling the truth sounded like the best approach. And in order to avoid arrest, it would help to plan out her article rather than to simply vomit her thoughts on paper without any consideration for who might be reading.

She dipped her pen in ink and put it to the page:

Lowtown and the Civil War: Outline

Beneath the title, she added several bullet point reminders:

• Introduction
• Message
• Point 1
• Point 2
• Point 3
• Conclusion

It was a structure that Abby had shared with her for developing opinion or essay-based articles for the paper, and she had yet to put it to use – primarily because the majority of her pieces had been banal paragraphs about cakes or parties or weather. But cakes and parties and weather seemed less important after the war, and it had been easier to convince the Gazette’s editor to let her try something different – even with the heavy stipulations that she’d put in place.

Still, writing out what the structure should be was one thing. Actually bringing it to life was an entirely different beast, and for that Sabine would need to revisit her notes.

• Lowtown experienced the most casualties during the civil war
• Huge blocks of Lowtown were burnt or destroyed in the war
• Loss of property, limbs, lives
• Commonalities between the King and the Qe’dreki: neither care about their subjects
• The people were left to fend for themselves while the nobility played tug-o’-war for the crown
• Pawns
• Qe’dreki looters
• Vigilante heroes
  • Gray

Sabine sighed and rolled back her shoulders to ease the tension. What was her point? That war caused deaths? That war was ‘bad’? How novel. She grimaced. No, she needed something better than that. Something that truly resonated with the people – something that made them realize… what, exactly?

That the King was just as bad as the Qe’dreki.

That the nobility were only ever out for themselves.

That regardless of who had won the civil war, Rynmere would remain the same. A different king, maybe, and probably a few executions as a result, but at the end of the trial there would still be noble family in power. No change for the commoners – just the continuing cycle of being used and trampled on by the wealthy.

And didn’t that alone make the whole war – all of those deaths – a pointless endeavour?

Sabine’s pen returned to the page. Her next words were written more tentatively, with the hesitation of someone who knew that she was intentionally ignoring a direct request.

Message: In a war between nobility, the common people will always suffer most.
Message: Do we really need a king?
Message: One day, the people will rise.

[Sabine]

The next break passed like a storm: slowly at first, and then all at once. The outline began to fill out as more points were added to support the question of the king’s necessity – though it read more like unsolicited opinions from a drunk man at a bar than anything from a true political intellectual, given Sabine’s lack of education on the subject.

Still, it was a start.

Sabine blinked blearily as the words began to blur, and she reluctantly put down her pen. She yawned and stretched out her arms to release the stiffness in her back. There would be no getting past this wall if she didn’t take a break. After capping the open bottle of ink, she pushed back her chair and headed for the door. A short walk would do both her mind and her body some good.

Outside, the fresh air hit her like a long-lost friend. She breathed deeply and surveyed the busy cobblestone road before taking a step forward. As she walked beneath the late afternoon sun, her thoughts shifted from the King to her family and, finally, to Gray.

Gray.

After the war, he had asked her to join him on his journey to Rharne. He’d said he needed a guide to the city – someone he trusted who could help investigate the person or people who had murdered his family.

She had yet to give him a response.

It wasn’t a decision she could make in one afternoon, she’d told him. She needed time. After all, leaving Rynmere meant leaving her family behind. It meant leaving her father in slavery and forcing her brother to care for their mum on his own. It meant spending who knew how many trials at sea, and then going on to spend what could turn into several seasons or more in Rharne.

Still, she was loathe to say no. This was about Gray’s family, after all, and he needed her aid. The man had grown on her, despite their many, many disagreements, and his rescue during the civil war had been symbolic of their alliance. He helped her, she helped him.

How could she refuse?

She ran a hand roughly across her forehead before shoving both hands into her pockets. A dilemma for another time. Her thoughts had taken her around the block and back again, landing her right in front of the Gazette’s offices. Now was the time to solve the problem of Rynmere’s monarchy. Later, she could tackle the problem of Gray – a concern that would be far more difficult to address than the first.

Sabine shook her head and returned to her desk.

Her nice, neat desk.

…what?

[Sabine]

“Sabine?”

She pulled her eyes away from her desk – a desk that should have been piled with notes and outlines and half-baked rants - and glanced sideways at the woman who had called her name. “Fern, did someone come by? I think I’m missing my work…”

“Abby’s looking for you,” Fern replied, dodging the question with all the grace of a charging bull.

“Can it wait? Look, I can’t find my papers-”

“Go see Abby, Bine. Seriously.”

A small frown touched her lips. “Okay…” She glanced back at her desk one more time before turning heel for her boss’ office.

It took her only a moment to be summoned inside.

“Have a seat.”

Sabine slid into the chair across from her stern-faced editor and clasped her hands loosely in her lap. “What’s up?”

Abby slid a small stack of papers across the desk. “Can you tell me what this is?”

Her forehead creased as she leaned forward. “It’s the outline for my article. How did you-”

“This is treason.”

“Treason?” Sabine laughed before she could catch herself. “Don’t you think that’s giving me a bit too much credit? It’s just an article, Abby. An opinion piece for the Gazette on the civil war, like we talked about.”

“This is nothing like we talked about.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted, raising her voice. “Immortals, starting a civil war is treason. Trying to take control of the throne is treason. Threatening to kill the king is treason. This is not treason…” She trailed off as the intensity of Abby’s glare interrupted her explanation.

“You and I disagree sometimes,” Abby said through clenched teeth, “but I’ve never thought you to be this stupid.” She slammed a hand on her desk, eliciting a flinch from Sabine. “Get rid of it. Now. Tear it up, throw it away, burn it – do whatever you need to do.”

“What? I’m not going to burn my article!”

“Yes, you are.”

Sabine’s simmering anger began to boil. “Are you insane?” She shoved her chair back and stood with her palms pressed against the desk, matching her editor glare for glare.

“Are you?” Abby, too, shoved back her chair. “Do you have a death wish you’d like to tell me about? Do you want to get us shut down? If you don’t see how this article - this article about overturning the monarchy - is treasonous, you’re being naïve.” She thrust the papers towards Sabine. “Take it, burn it, and promise me you’ll never say a single word about this again.”

“This is ridiculous-”

“Promise me.”

“No.”

Abby’s expression darkened. “Promise me,” she said, lowering her voice to a dangerous octave, “or I will call the Iron Hand right now and have you arrested.”

“Abby!”

“I’m sorry, Sabine. I like you, you’re a good journalist, but I’m not going to put myself or this paper at risk because you fancy yourself a political philosopher.” Her jaw tightened. “The Gazette was not built to effect change. It was built to collect information and spread news. I won’t tell you again: burn these papers or I send the city guards to your home.”

Sabine snatched the papers from the desk and crumpled them into a ball. She gave Abby a stiff nod but said nothing, not trusting herself to keep from cursing should she open her mouth.

“Good,” Abby said. “And when you’re done, just go home. I’ll give you a new assignment tomorrow.” Her shoulders loosened and she sank back into her chair. “Dismissed.”

“‘Dismissed’?”

“Just go, Sabine.”

The door slammed behind her as Sabine stalked out of the office, rage written in the tension between her brow and the heat on her cheeks. “‘Treason,’” she muttered under her breath. “‘Dismissed.’ Well, fuck you too.” She glowered at the papers she held crumpled in her hand – the very same papers she had spent breaks writing, reviewing, and re-writing. And Abby just wanted her to burn it all away, as if it was worth nothing? As if it was dust?

No.

No.

The refusal was visceral, rising from the very core of her being to the top of her skin. She might never have the article published by the Gazette, but there was no way Abby was going to force her to destroy her work. Upon reaching her desk, Sabine glanced back at her editor's office to see if the woman was peering out.

Nothing.

She looked around at the desks beside her, but they, too, were empty. In one swift movement, she slid open her desk drawer and stuff the papers inside, shoving them all the way behind an unused journal before slamming the drawer shut and exiting the Gazette.

The rich and the powerful might control what people could say, but they would never control what the people could think.

Least of all Sabine.

[Pegasus]

Sabine

Points: 10 (solo)

Knowledge:
Abby: Clear that you must not write anti-monarchy sentiments
Abby: Afraid
Abby: Made you burn your article
Bram: Told you the soldiers are looking for Qe'dreki rebels
Civil War: Decimated Low Town
Civil War: The aftermath
Discipline: Small acts of defiance
Endurance: Take regular breaks
Persuasion: Trying to make people see reason
Persuasion: Putting forward reasonable examples
Persuasion: Justifying your standpoint.
Politics: The role of the nobility in war
Politics: Politics in the aftermath of war
Politics: Managing telling the truth with being politic
Tactics: Self preservation
Writing: Structure of a written piece
Writing: Structuring an opinion-based piece
Writing: Identify your main message

Loot: Nope
Fame: +10
Devotion: Nope
Magic: Nope

Comments
I have to admit to giving a cheer aloud when Sabine didn't burn the papers! I really had to think about the fame for this, but at the end of the day, I think that Sabine standing up for what she believed would bring her positive reputation among her colleagues and with Abby (though she doesn't admit it). So, in the end, I went with positive. It was a beautifully written piece which shoes Sabine's fury at injustice which was juxtaposed with her concern over whether to leave for Rharne or not; I loved how you combined the micro- and macro. Awesome read. You know how it goes - drop me a pm if you have any questions!