Marigold, but Not Like the Flower

[Tom-Pen]

Introduction:
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Many common folk admire and envy those that are lucky enough to be born into the highest ranks of society, yet, none would want the life you've endured.  Few realize the danger that awaits at the bottom of the King's Cup, or under the Queen's Bed.  A drop of poison in one, a cloak and dagger beneath the other, placed accordingly based on the desires and wants of any green eyed friend or relative.  You've seen it, you've lived through it (which is more than the rest of your family can say).
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You thought you were free, but you weren't.  Robert sent men North, South, East and West when you fled.  A local Lord and his family (who sympathized with you) tried their best to hide you within their own keep, but couldn't.  Robert learned of your whereabouts - by means unknown to you - and sent his men after.  You ran with the family, taking to the sea, in hopes of sailing beyond Roberts reach, but again could find no freedom.  You were chased into unknown waters, far out, beyond the sight of land.  Roberts ships, however, gave up their chase and finally, it seemed you were free... but fate is not kind. 
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Your ship was ravaged by a great storm, and you were flung into the icy waters, left - it would seem - to die at sea.  But you did not, you survived.
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Starting Post:
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You awake on a cold rocky shore, at the base of a tall cliff.  You are soaked, half drowned, but alive.  The rocks about you are sharp and jagged, smoky grey in color, and jet up from out of the shallow water you lie in.  The cliff before you is of the same grey, made up of long overlapping sheets of smooth rock that gleam with wetness (an almost impossible climb).  The sky is dark and clouded over, hiding the sun from view.  Far off to your right (atop the cliff) there is a lighthouse, no light burns within.  You might be able to climb up to it from the beach, but there is no way to know without getting closer.  To your left, the cliff gradually shortens as it gets farther away; you can see the point where the cliff appears to meet the ground (that place, however, is about twice the distance away from you as the lighthouse). 


@ravenclawsome

 

[peritwinkle]

       I breathe in deeply, savouring the fresh air as I try to make up my mind, whether I am alive or not. I feel my cheeks burning and my lips dry, covered in rough sand. 


       I find myself getting up with an unusual ease, and I look around myself, analysing my surroundings, trying to engulf as much information as I can, before I set off. The first thing I see is what looked like an abandoned lighthouse. I make my first step, and an inimaginable pain shoots up my leg, knocking me back to the ground. S-Sprained..., I whisper, and try to get up one more time. Slowly and carefully, I make my way up the beach to the lighthouse, for what seems like entire hours. The drizzle was hitting my skin, washing the sand off.  


       Within some time, I manage to reach the lighthouse, breathing scarcely as I try to calm down my heartbeats. 

 

[Tom-Pen]

You get to the spot bellow the lighthouse after a long walk along the beach.  The clouds above you are still light but, not far off, much darker, more menacing clouds are quickly approaching.  The wind is picking up and blowing hard in their direction, almost as if they themselves are trying to pull you in (perhaps to finish what the sea could not).  The temperature hasn't dropped, yet, but your clothes are soaked (and your hair too) giving the wind an icy chill.


Carved into the cliff-side sharp, steep stairs appear to lead up to the lighthouse.  The stairs are wet, jagged and perilously steep, but climbable (even in your condition).  The lighthouse could provide you with some useful supplies and shelter, but will likely be void of any person to help you, as from where you are now it looks quite obviously abandoned.


Out in the water, however, you can now also see a small boat sailing parallel to the beach.  The boat is your best bet to find someone who might be able to help you.  It's probably too far away for anyone on board to hear you yelling, but could possibly be signaled some other way (perhaps by waving a torn piece of your clothing or something similar).  If you stay on the beach and fail to get the boats attention though, you may end up getting caught in the coming storm, which would make going up the steep rock stairs to the lighthouse immensely dangerous.

 

[peritwinkle]

       I look around myself, trying to make my mind what to do. Through the fog, the boat seems to go farther and farther, opposing the wind and stormy clouds. I take a deep breath and start making my way up the flight of stairs, holding my dress folds up with one hand and balancing myself on the other. I stop for a brief moment, to catch my breath and lean against the wall, then I start climbing up again, gritting my teeth at the unimaginable pain. Come on, I murmur to myself, It's your only chance. Reach the roof or die to the storm. 


       With hundreds of steps and immense terror, I reach the top of the lighthouse and fall to the stone floor, shaking and breathing scarcely. The rain was hitting my cheeks and the sky was threatening with thousands of lightning bolts illuminating the dark clouds. I quickly proceed to rip my long dress off, leaving me in my thin, short-sleeved undergarments. Picking it up, I bbegin to wave it into the air, trying to catch the boat's attention. 


       "Help!" I yell desperately, "Please, someone help me!"


        I could feel a drop of blood run down my temple and stain my lips, leaving a metal taste into my mouth. I wipe it off and, with all of my power, I call for help into the stormy night.

 

[Tom-Pen]

From the beach the boat might have seen you, but from up by the lighthouse you are too far away.  At the same time you reach the top, to make matters worse, the storm comes and settles over you, concealing you in darkness.  The boat disappears into the fog, out of sight, despite your attempt to get its attention.  Lightning cracks loud, and the sky flashes bright above you, before returning to its now darkened state.


You are standing in front of the lighthouse, next to it is a cobbled road heading in both directions along the top of the cliff. 


The lighthouse appears old and weathered, but sturdy nonetheless.  There is a heavy oak door in the front, slightly ajar, that would grant you entrance.  The windows are dusty on the inside, and washed in rain on the outside, making it impossible for you to see in; there is always some risk to entering a dark, unfamiliar room.  For a moment, when the lightning flashes, you think you see a face in one of the higher windows, but when the lightning flashes again, there is no one there.


The heavy sound of hooves galloping over cobblestone can be heard in the distance, coming from the road  The sound gets louder, suddenly you can also hear the squeak and clack of carriage wheels.  Looking down the road you can see the carriage, moving fast in your direction.  The coachman is bundled up tight, whipping the reins aggressively urging the horses on.  The carriage is large, and bears two ornate flags of purple and gold.  They are obviously royal colors of some sort, but not any you recognize.


You can try and get the carriage to stop for you, but given your appearance (wet, half naked, and dirty) they may mistake you for a common beggar and run you down (if they are the sort to treat the poor that way).

 

[peritwinkle]

       I break down into tears, slowly wrapping the dress around myself. I shake my head- No time for that, I say to myself, and proceed to get dressed back into what was left of the gown. I know I have no chance to get the attention of a royal carriage, but I have to try. Choosing between a dark, unknown place and an obvious escape, I make my choice. I leave the lighthouse behind hesitantly, and run up to the carriage, trying to hold onto my clothes as tightly as possible, so they don't seem as ripped. I glance behind one more time, thinking I might have time to return, before I jump in front of the carriage.


       "Sir! Sir please help me, I am lost!" I shout, breathing heavily and wiping the rain off my face.


       The sky is getting darker and darker, making it impossible for me to keep my eyes open for too long. It is getting colder, and I can feel my skin tightening and my wet hair hitting my face. Another thunder followes a lightning strike not too far away from my area, causing my heart to skip a beat. I know have to get as far away from there, as soon as possible, and find shelter. All I am hoping for is for the coachman to hear me and believe me.

 

[Tom-Pen]

Your call draws the coachman's attention.  At first, however, he seems unwilling to stop - leaned forward whipping the reins - but then, quite suddenly he pulls back hard on the reins and brings the carriage to a grinding halt.  "Whoa, whoa!" he bellows, leaning back with all his weight to stop the horses.  The carriage grinds to halt in front of you and the man jumps down.


The coachman is an elderly man - appearing to be between 50 and 60 years of age - thin, tall, and straight of back.  His face is dotted with grey stubble, and bears a short scar on the left cheek.  He wears dark trousers and black leather boots, a thick button up wool shirt (Brown), and a large black overcoat.  Atop his head he wears a coachman's cap (Also brown), and around his neck a black bandana.


  "Oy, ya' ain't sposed be out ere', ye' liable to get ye'self killed," he says stepping up to you.  His voice is high and unsophisticated, and he speaks as if he was scolding a school girl.  He looks you up and down, taking you, and all of your distraught demeanor in with wide (suddenly very concerned) eyes.  "Me Gods, what happen to ya'?  Ya' look worse off than me dead mother,"  His voice is full of earnest concern, and is no longer belittling in any way.

 

[peritwinkle]

       I try to contain myself, biting my lip before letting my words out.


       "It's a long story, Sir... Please... Please help me get out of here!" I beg, looking up at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. He is well dressed, or, by any means, better than I could ever be at the moment. I can see him analysing me, locking his eyes on every detail that could give away the reason I was alone, in the middle of nowhere, with ripped clothes and no shoes. His eyes seem forgiving and concerned. In the few seconda that I have, while the poor man makes up his mind, I try to think of the worst case, of him refusing to take me with; of me, freezing on the beach, if not getting struck by the lightning before the sun rises again. I shake my head- I can't be having these thoughts in the middle of a storm, when my life is in danger. I move my eyes back to him, piercing his own, as I adopt the most innocent, endearing look I can.

 

[Tom-Pen]

The kindness of the coachman (and your look of fearful innocence) persuades him to help, "Aye, I can't be leaving ya' ere'," the tall coachman says to you, nodding his head.  He gestures for you to follow him, walking back to the spot he jumped down from earlier.  He climbs back up, and extends a helpful hand for you to take, "I'll have ye' back in town by supper," he says reassuringly.


The rain is getting heavier, but the wind and lightning seem to be lessening.  A crack of thunder echoes out, but is dull and already far away.  The sky has gone black, and all is quite dark now. 


You can take his hand and sit beside him (though It will be a bitterly cold trip atop the carriage) or, you could argue the matter and try to convince him to let you ride inside (he doesn't seem to be ill tempered or rash) but... if you were to anger him, it would be very easy for him to leave you there on the roadside.

 

[peritwinkle]

       I take his hand and sit next to him, trying to curl up next to his body to keep myself warm. I couldn't have asked for more, no sane coachman would have allowed a strange maiden to enter the carriage next to a noble. 


       I can feel the weather getting so cold, I can barely breathe without struggling not to cough. The air is bitter, painful, and striking spikes into my throat. I try to breathe into my sleeves, hiding my eyes from the rain and wind. All this time, as I am travelling, I am thinking if I would be able to make it out alive, if I can manage to get to civilisation before the storm sets even more angrily upon us. 


       "Where are we heading, sir?" I ask, shivering as I look up at him. The thunders have gotten more rare and faint, which is a sign that the storm isn't getting worse than this, thank the Gods. 

 

[Tom-Pen]

The Coachmen whips the reins and urges the horses on, yelling out to them, "Yah!"  The horses start fast - causing the carriage to lurch forward quite suddenly; in no time the horses are at a steady gallop, pulling the carriage swiftly down the cobbled road.  The rain continues to pour down on you, but the lightning is gone, and the thunder barely audible.


"Bracken,"  The coachmen answers you, very matter-of-factly (you don't recognize the name).  He takes a good look at you, then reaches under the seat and pulls out a thick wool blanket.  "Ere', it's usually fer the horses, but I figure ya' still might like to have it,"  He says with a subtle laugh, handing it to you.  It'll eventually get soaked through by the rain, smells heavily of horse, but should keep you warm for a little while nonetheless. 


You continue down the road for a ways until you come to a split, there you turn away from the cobbled road that follows the cliff-side and onto a dirt one that heads inland, through a forest (a bent sign shaped like an arrow points in the direction you are headed "Bracken" it reads).  The trees are thinly spread out at first, but grow in density as you go along.  After some time, to either side, there is nothing but trees, you are now deep within a forest.  Night has fully taken over, and all is dark.


"I'll just be dropping you off, I got some business of me own to see to," the coachmen informs you after a little while.  "I suppose ye' know yer way around Bracken well enough?"  he says, as a sort of indirect question. 

 

[peritwinkle]

       The forest seems so dark and strange, reminding me of the time I spent lost in one, back when I was still running away from the guards. Now that I am on my own, I can feel a certain sense of freedom , but my mind is still caged in some sort of trap, that doesn't allow me to move without thinking twice. 


        "Drop me off?" I whisper to the coachman, holding onto the woven blanket that he gave me earlier. "It's... I've never been to these parts of the land before."


        I wished, for a moment, that I could lie, and tell him I knew my way. Truth to be told, all this time that I travelled alone, I never had anyone to guide me through; only myself and I. I am used to the loneliness, but the cold, the drizzle on my face, my ripped clothes and defensless position makes me vulnerable, weak. I am scared, and I don't have the strength to show that. 

 

[Tom-Pen]

"Ya' never been to this part?"  He questions with a laugh, "Everyone round ere's been to Bracken a time two,"  his voice is frank and conversational.  "I suppose you ain't from ere' then..."  the coachmen accepts, scratching his bare chin, "I'll take ye' to Merril's Inn, me friend May runs the place - owes me a favor or two - she'll do what she can fer ye', get ya' on your way."


After a good little while, a faint glow appears in the distance.  "Bracken,"  The coachmen says happily smiling at you, "A decent enough place, fer slightly less than decent people."  The entrance to Bracken is large and tall, made of grey stone, and gated with iron bars.  You can see the start of short wooden walls extending out from both sides of the stone entrance, but they quickly disappear from view behind the forest's tall trees.  Two guards stand before the open gate, blocking the carriage's path. 


They are lightly armored (baring only thin iron chest plates over their clothes) with large black cloaks hanging from around their necks all the way down to their feet.  They both have swords at that their hips, and one carries a torch in his hand.  Their faces are hard to make out in the darkness and rain.


"Who goes there?"  The guard with the torch asks in a stern demanding voice, stepping forward.


"Royal carriage, coming for Lord and Lady Slate,"  the coachmen answers confidently.  The guard approaches the carriage and takes a good hard look at both of you.  You catch his attention.


"Who are you?"  the guard asks accusingly, pointing up to you.


"She's-" the coachman starts.


"I wasn't asking you,"  the guard cuts in sternly, "Who are you," he asks again, holding up his torch so that your face in is the light.


(Can you start tagging me in posts, I'm not getting notifications for this thread for some reason...)

 

[peritwinkle]

(Yes, definitely, @Francis Stickmin) 


       As soon as we get to Braken, my stomach drops. The guards come to me, analysing me in the blink of a second, before I can do anything to hide. I start shaking, hopefully not too visibly, and nod at them with a slight confidence. 


        "I am the coachman's daughter. I'm ill and he is bringing me to a good friend of his here in Bracken-" I cough quickly, "- that can help me before I pass away."


        As I say that, I look down at them with innocent but convincing eyes. Fortunately, I knew I had my hair tied back, and my eyeliner had melted down under my eyes, leaving them dark and sickly-looking. 


        "Now, father," I cough again, turning to the coachman, "please, hurry... My throat... My throat feels sore again..."

 

[Tom-Pen]

"Right," the guard tries to say with a stern voice, though his words quiver with pity, "Go on then."   The Coachman drives on through the gate, into Bracken.


"Quite the tricky girl,"  the Coachman says with a laugh, "Many people got things to hide though," he pauses for a moment, then leans in close and whispers in your ear, "Especially around ere'," he leans away chuckling.


The town around you is dark, with only the occasional lantern hanging from above a doorway or post to shed any light.  The rain is still coming down, but the blanket you were given still hasn't soaked through - oddly enough - and continues to provide you with some relief from both the rain and chilly night air.  The buildings in the town are tall and narrow, made of brick and stone, and have slanted - shingled - rooves.  The road within the town is dirt (or mud rather) and runs right up to the edge of each door. 


You go a short ways down the main road you are on, turn left down a tight and narrow street, and come to a stop in front of a (larger than the rest) stone building.  Beside the door of the building there is a sign, it reads, "Merril's Inn."


"Well, ere' ya' are," the coachman says, "Just tell Merril, Albern Coe sent ye', and that ya' need a place for the night,"  he steps down from the coach, comes around to your side, and helps you down.  He climbs back up on the coach and turns to you one last time before leaving, "Best of luck Miss, uh... what did ye' say your name was?"


@ravenclawsome

 

[peritwinkle]

       The guard's words really put pressure on my chest. With my muscles relaxing and my heart returning to its natural rythm, I lean back into the carriage as the old man takes me up to a tall, old building, that read "Merril's Inn". 


       As he helps me get out of the carriage, I look up at the man, with raindrops on my pale face and the warm, woven blanket around my body. Truth to be told, I feel terrified, not of Merril's Inn, but what is going to be ahead of me. As soon as I leave the Inn in the morning, I will be alone on the road again, going absolutely nowere. 


       "Marigold," I whisper. "My name is Marigold."


       I thank the coachman with a short coursy and, with the blanket wrapped around me, I step into the inn, looking around for the lady that ran it, following the man's piece of advice.


       As soon as I reach the counter, I turn to a tall, bearded man that was brewing a drink for a customer.


       "I'm looking for Merril," I mutter, shaking. "Albert Coe sent me, to stay here for the night."


@Francis Stickmin