The Official LEAGUE OF FORESTMEN Story Thread

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The Official LEAGUE OF FORESTMEN Story Thread

Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

This thread is reserved for the continuing story centered around the League of Forestmen only.

Questions, kudos and technical issues should be directed to this thread.

Thank you and let the story begin...
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Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

jeff_o_rama wrote:

Three years prior....

Sportimer woke with a start. The stars were still gleaming brighlty as they slowly, steadily made their way across the sky. He then remembered where he was. Alone. Miles from home. The images of bloodshed several weeks prior were still burned in his head. He was convinced he had done the right thing. The King's men were not. If they had not violated the long standing agreement with the people of the Forest, Sportimer would not have to what he had done.

Killing five of the King's men is not a matter to be taken lightly.

Sportimer did not regret anything he did one bit. They were cutting down trees so ancient, no mortal man had ever seen them as seedlings. "The Kingdom needs bigger ships," they had said. He had to stop them. They were tampering with a mystical power they would never begin to understand.

The men at the tavern had talked of Darkwood Forest and some legendary figure named Jethro something. Sportimer was bad with names. Darkwood seemed like the place for him. Tomorrow he would find out.

Sportimer drew his cloak tight around himself. No room at the tavern. Fine with him.

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Lord_Of_The_LEGO wrote:

Knocking the smoldering ash out , Jethro Argus Tahmyll, leader of the infamous League of Forrestmen, refilled his pipe and gazed thoughtfully at the dieing fire. Among the normal reports of Crusaders traveling the Archland Pass Jair had reported some activity at the local Tavern. Seemed some new bloke was snooping about was asking questions about the League. Might be a problem, Crusaders had gone undercover before, however bad they were at it. Of course, the League needed more men...
Jethro looked from the flames and stared to the dark eyes of Gonderin, the only Wood Elf of the League. "Gonderin, double the amount of perimeter guards and keep a sharp eye out for any odd figures. We might have company tonight."

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jeff_o_rama wrote:

In the very early hours of the morning (the witching hour, his mother had called it) Sportimer woke up, packed his few possesions and started toward Darkwood Forest. He hoped to be there by first light.

"Jethro.... Jethro Alabaster Two-Tone? No. Jethro Acropolis TargetHopper? No. Jethro.... Wait a minute, I've written it down somewhere.... Remeber to change underwear. Wrong arm..... Ah Ha! Jethro Argus Tahmyll. That's the name!"

Sportimer walked quickly and quietly along the road, moving Northward.

At dawn, he could see the edges of the Forest a few miles ahead. The road had dwindled to a footpath that was not so well worn. Sportimer tried to subdue the waves of excitement he felt upon seeing a Forest of such magnitude. He could spend a lifetime in there and still never hug all of the trees! Quickly, however, he reminded himself to keep his senses alert as he approached. This was not familiar territory. He did not know what was lurking in every corner. The trees soon began to surround him as he moved forward. He was as quiet as the proverbial mouse, moving along scanning all around him.

He stopped dead. He had seen something. Something in the branches of the large oak ahead. He listened. Nothing. With patience taught to him by a lifetime of hunting and being hunted, he waited some more. If only he were a few steps closer to that tree. He could see what was there. But then again, whatever it was could see him then.

Well, he thought, I've come this far and I just want to talk to this Tahmyll character. What have I got to lose? My life. OK, we won't think about that.

"Hello!" he shouted, "I'm looking for a Jethro... uh...em... Argus Tahmyll."

"I mean no harm!" he added, but it seemed rather empty at this point.

Just then his peripheral vision caught a movement to the West and, simultaneously, he heard an all too familiar sound. Instinctively, he dropped to the ground, just missing an arrow to the skull. Another arrow lodged into the ground behind him. He rolled behind a rotting log and knocked an arrow. Where was he supposed to shoot? He could see nothing.

Thinking fast, he moved down the length of the log and darted behind a tree, praying to Mother Beach and (her daughter was now his cover) that he had not been seen. He was trapped.

"I mean no harm! I only seek audience with Mr. uh Tahmyll!"

In a split second, he saw the figure move from one tree to the other. There's one. The next movement he saw, he was ready. His aim was true and he saw the arrow hit the shoulder of the figure just as it reached the oak. He thought he'd heard a grunt. Sportimer dropped his bow and climbed the tree slowly, taking care not to move it too much. There was at least one other archer, the first one, out there. He reached the crown and ventured a look around the tree. A faint human outline could be seen in the thicket to the West.

Sportimer wanted no more bloodshed. He took off his quiver and knife and threw them to the ground.

"I mean no harm!"

He slowly moved out onto a limb and dropped to the ground, in plain sight of the archer. To his relief, there was no arrow waiting for him. Thank you, Beach daughter.

"Stay were you are. Don't move!" the voice came from the thicket.

"Gonderin!" This new voice had a peculiar accent. "Let him have it. He hit me."

Gonderin, if that really was his name stood up. He was clad in all green, with bare arms. His face was marked (paint or tattoo, Sportimer couldn't tell) with stripes. He blended in very well with his surroundings, Sportimer noticed. Dark eyes seemed to go right through Sportimer. He almost didn't seem quite human.

"We're taking him alive," Gonderin said, "Crusaders don't shoot like that. Besides, it doesn't even look like he drew blood."

The second voice swore. Sportimer wasn't sure if it was English. Then, the owner of the voice stood up. He was clad in tan, the color of deerskin. He carried two spears.

"Pablo, are you going to help me or what?" Gonderin spat.

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OOC: There! All caught up!
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Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

A shout arroused Jethro from his sleep. Rising quickly, he splashed his face with chilly water and snached up his threadbare cloak. Exiting his tent, Jethro turned and spotted three figures approching through the brush. Walking quickly to meet them, the leader of the Forestmen recognized the smooth features of Gonderin and rough ones of Pablo. Between them they were leading a person in simple garb and a cloak that was more threadbare than his own.

"Pablo, don't tell me you've been shot again, that's the thrid time this month."
The bearded face of Pablo scowled. "This bugger clipped me, didn't cause much damage though, which is lucky for both of us."
Pablo cracked his knuckleds menacingly.

Jethro tried not smile. "Pablo, you'd better get yourself cleaned up, I'll take it from here."

As Pablo stumped off, Jethro undid the knot of the blindfold. "So Gonderin, have we found another Crusader friend?"

The elf shook his tatooed head. "No Crusader could shoot as well as this fellow, I doubt they even have the mental capacity to operate a bow."

The captive spoke up. "My name is Sportimer Smythe, I have come from the Great Eastern Forest to see Jethro Argus Tahmyll."

Jethro was impressed. The fellow showed no fear, in his eyes shown defiance and respect as well.

Before Jethro could speak another figure joined the group. Jair was his name and he was the best axeman in the entire Darkwood Forest. He was also an expert tracker and had a good eye for decent folk. When Jair spoke it was in a deep rolling voice.

"Ha! This was the man at the tavern, Jethro! He's nice chap, bought me three pints of that lovely beer! Says he's bloody good with the bow too!"

Jethro patted Sporimer on the back. "Well my friend, if Jair likes you, then I like you. Sorry about the blindfold an' all, but we don't want any Crusaders finded our little village, mate. What do you want with me anyway, Sportimer?"

Before the newcomer could answer, a bald person with nothing on except a loincloth suddenly scampered in front of the group muttering. "I tells them...I tells them...there wills be big carts that fly through the sky, but do they listen to Us...?...Nooo...."

Sportimer watched the strange creature. He seemed to have some sort of tatoo on his chest, kind of like a white circle with something red twined around it. As the nearly-nude person wander off, Jethro spoke up. "Sorry 'bout that, Sportimer. That's my cousin, Blyme. He's...err..kind of funny in the head...he keeps saying one day people like us will fly to the Moon and crazy stuff like that...poor Blyme, he quite harmless and can't raise a fist in anger..." Jethro sighed and turned Sportimer.

"But enough of that! Come, first we will eat some breakfast, and then you will tell me why you are here!"
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Post by jeff_o_rama »

This post is long, but it contains a lot of information about Sportimer's past. Sorry.

Sportimer sat content, full with venison stew and greens. After weeks of traveling, Sportimer had gotten used to a light breakfast of berries, nuts, and any leftover bread he had. It was good to eat such a substantial meal again.

Sportimer looked across the table at Jethro Argus Tahmyll. He was an interesting man, both stern and friendly at the same time. The aura of leadership radiated from him and seemed to motivate his men with its mere prescence.

"I am sorry for shooting your man," Sportimer said, when all had finished eating.

"Don't worry about it," Jethro replied, Sportimer swore he saw a hint of a smile in the rock steady eyes. "Pablo does not have the best of luck when it comes to arrows. But he more than makes up for it with his skill with his spears."

"I'm sure."

"You still have to tell us your story," Jethro said, all business, "We don't approve too much of strangers in our forest."

Sportimer drew a deep breath. "As I said before, I come from the Great Eastern Forest."

"I've never heard of it," Gonderin said, dark eyes piercing Sportimer.

"I've been travelling for a long time. Also, the name may be misleading: The Great Eastern Forest is North of here."

"That must mean you come from over the mountains!" This time, the large man with the axe was speaking. Jair, that's his name. It rhymes with chair, Sportimer thought.

"Well yes," Sportimer replied, "I do."

"He's a liar! Those mountains are impassable! I bet he's on the King's payroll!" Pablo said, as he walked up to the table. His shoulder seemed fine, although he did favor it a little.

"Let him speak!" Jethro commanded. Pablo sat down quietly, scowling a little.

"I was helped by a wizard name Yeniar. There are ancient passes and passages through the mountains. I understand it may be hard to believe, but I can show you the map I used. Here." Sportimer handed over the map.

Gonderin spoke up, directing his comments to Jethro, "Sir, my people have a legend of such a passage. It matches the depiction on this map very closely." Sportimer wondered exactly who Gonderin's people were. He supposed he would find out later.

"Continue, Mr. Smythe," Jethro said.

"Thank you, sir. I grew up in the Great Eastern Forest. My mother and father were arrested during a trip to the nearby town, when I was 12 years old. The sherriff said that they did not pay their taxes. I have not seen them since. I continued to live in the Forest for seven more years, honing my woodsman skills. I then had a run-in with some of the King's men. They were cutting down trees protected by a long-standing treaty between the Kingdom and my people."

"You mean the Kingdom recognized you as a separate entity?"

"Yes, sir, long ago, the previous King realized that he couldn't keep control of us so he gave us independence. However, that King is long dead and his son is now in charge. It was under the new King's rule that my parents were arrested."

"I see, go on with your story."

"I came upon six of the Kings men chopping down the trees of my forest. I confronted them and they became hostile, asking me if I had payed my taxes. I tried to escape and they attacked me." Sportimer fell silent. He wasn't sure why he was telling this whole story. Jethro looked at him with raised eyebrows.

Slowly, Sportimer continued, "I managed to kill five of them. I had no other choice, I was defending myself and the Earth's trees. The sixth man managed to run away during the fight. He made it to the village on the edge of the Forest before I could catch him. I knew I was in trouble, so I left."

"Why didn't you just hide in the Forest?"

"Some of my people have become corrupted by the King's promises of riches. They work for him now. I knew that they knew the Forest just as well as I. I had no choice. They always regarded me as an outsider anyway. So I started my journey and eventually ended up here. I learned of you and your forest at the taverns all along the road south from the mountains. Mr. Tahmyll, sir, I need a home. A forest is the only place for me. I am a restless spirit elsewhere."

"Mr. Smythe, you must understand that the League must be cautious in dealing with outsiders. We are in a very dangerous position right now. We will allow you to be with us for a trial period. If we find you a threat, we will kill you. If you are the real deal, we will take you on." Jethro gave Sportimer a piercing look.

Sportimer tried to show no emotion. No sign of the fear and joy he was feeling at the same time. "Thank you, sir."

"Do you have any questions?" Jethro asked.

"Yes sir. Your cousin Blyme," Sportimer paused, "What is his deal?"

For an instant, the corners of Jethro's mouth turned up. "Let's go see just how well you shoot."[/b]
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Post by Lord_Of_The_LEGO »

Jethro stood up and lead Sportimer to a clearing with Pablo and Gonderin following behind, Pablo still rubbing his shoulder and glaring. Jair had stayed behind to help with the dishes. The clearing was moderately small, with benches and a tent at one end and several red and yellow targets at the other. A woman with flaming red hair and dressed in a dark red suit with matching cap had bent back her bow and released her arrow when they entered the field. The shaft had just barely buried itself in the first target when second arrow penetrated second target. Nice shot, Sportimer thought, Nice babe, too.

The woman had spotted them and had come over to investigate.

"Ah don't believe Ah met ye yet, laddie. M'name's Miss Scarlet." She said quickly, thrusting a hand out. Sportimer shook it and smiled. Her hand is tough as nails.

"Miss Scarlet, this is Sportimer Smythe. He has asked to join the League. He's here to pass the first test." replied Jethro. First test? What, are there more? Sportimer thought uncomfortably.

"Oh, Ah see laddie. Do ye prefer your own bow, or do ye wish to try one of our trainer bows?" Sportimer patted his old and worn bow. "If you don't mind, I'll stick with mine, t'was my father's."

As Gonderin left to pull out Miss Scarlet's arrows, Jethro told Sportimer the works. "First off, we'll just have you shooting at those three targets there. After that, you'll try your hand those moving targets up there." Jethro pointed where several more targets were hanging from trees. Pablo was already in position, holding the rope and ready to tug at it to send the targets bouncing. Sportimer felt a slight pang of annoyance knowing Pablo would be watching his every move.

"Lastly," Jethro continued, "You'll shoot the targets on the ground while running. Any questions?"

Sportimer thought a moment. "Yes," he said, "What are the tasks after this?"

Jethro smiled "If you pass with good marks in archery, you'll go on to tracking." Jethro turned and scanned the field for a moment and grunted in satisfaction. "Every is ready, Sportimer. Good Luck!"
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Post by jeff_o_rama »

Over the next two weeks, Sportimer underwent the many tests of Jethro's League of Forestmen. Some tests were rather hard for Sportimer. He was not the strongest of swimmers. Some were easy. He had been shooting moving targets while running since he was a boy. Some tests were just ridiculous, he thought, like the test in which he had to carry out a conversation with Blyme. The crazy man just kept talking about flying machines and the moon. In another test, he had to try to hit on Ms. Scarlet. All he got was a punch in the stomach.

The League slowly began to warm up to him. Even Pablo's looks were not so bitter as before. When news that a company of Crusaders had entered the Northeast corner of Darkwood Forest reached camp, Sportimer was among the party selected to intercept it. He was to stay by Gonderin's side at all times. Jethro reminded Sportimer that if there were any indication that he was in allegiance with the enemy, his throat would be slit. Sportimer knew that there was nothing to worry about. He was beginning to be committed to the League's cause. They were people much like his own. They were fighting for what was right.

The patrol traveled fast through the Forest and reached the Northeast corner in a day. The plan was to lay low by Bergman's Ford and wait for the crusaders. Advanced scouts had already relayed back via birdcalls that the Crusaders were headed towards the Ford. Gonderin and Sportimer hid behind a large, downed tree. They waited for two hours before they heard the Crusader company coming. They are a noisy bunch, Sportimer thought as the peacefulness of the Forest was interrupted by the creak of wagon wheels, the snorting of horses, and the clank of armor. Sportimer could just see the flags hanging from those ridiculous poles that were totally useless in battle. The company consisted of 23 men, including 20-foot soldiers, one mounted commander, his sergeant, also mounted, and a wagon driver. The wagon was evidently laden with supplies for the company and looked as if it had traveled many miles.

“When I say so, shoot the commander,” whispered Gonderin.

“Are you sure you want me to?” asked Sportimer.

“Yes.”

The caravan started entering bow range as it began crossing the river. The man Sportimer took for the commander sat on his horse as straight as a board and rode in front of the company. He was in full battle armor, with a large broadsword strapped to his side, and a large plume of feathers on top of his helm. His sergeant carried the Crusader flag and had a slightly smaller plume on his helm. Sportimer noticed that half of the foot soldiers were armed with crossbows.

As the company started to make its way out of the river, Jerren stepped out onto the road, ten yards in front of the Commander.

What is he doing? Sportimer thought.

“Good day, kind sir,” Jerren spoke, leaning casually on his axe, “Lovely weather we’re having.”

The commander stopped his horse short and the entire company stopped behind him. Sportimer noticed that the wagon was stopped in the middle of the river, the water came up to its axles.

“Get out of the way peasant, for the King’s men must pass!” the sergeant spoke in a high, pompous voice.

“Ooooo. King’s men eh?” Jarren said in mock awe, “well then I feel so important just looking at you.”

“Dare you mock the King?” the sinister voice came from the commander.

“No, just wonderin’ what you guys are doin’ here all dressed up for battle.”

“We have come to collect taxes for the King. The residents of this forest have not payed taxes for many years,” said the commander.

“Well, sir, I really don’t think that the residents of this forest give a squirrel’s rear-end about your king.”

The commander drew his sword and held in menacingly toward Jarren. The sergeant followed suit. Jarren did not flinch.

“I think you should put your sword away, kind sir. You are surrounded right now and to fight would be a very foolish thing,” he said.

“I think not,” the commander said as he raised his hand. The tarp on the supply wagon flew back, revealing ten more men, wielding broadswords.

“Remain calm,” Gonderin whispered to Sportimer, “Thirty is nothing.”

Jarren said, “Well I see we are being stubborn today aren’t we?”

The knight raised his sword as if to charge, but Jarren had already disappeared. The commander looked around confused.

“Now!” shouted Gonderin.

Sportimer loosed his arrow, sending it into the unprotected face of the commander. He knocked another arrow and aimed at the sergeant but Gonderin’s arrow had already found its place in his side. A volley of arrows from every direction rained down on the company, killing seven men at once. The remaining soldiers flew for cover. Many of them were in waist deep water and were too slow when the second volley came. The men in the back of the wagon were smarter, it seemed and had tipped the wagon over immediately upon seeing their commander killed. They now used it for cover. The King’s crossbowmen fired at shadows in the trees, hindered by the amount of time it took to reload their weapons. Sportimer shot at any Crusader he could find, killing three.
A group of five Crusaders were working their way toward his position, using trees and rocks for cover. As they got closer, he was able to get a better line of fire on them and started picking them off. Meanwhile, the men from the back of the wagon advanced out of the river shields forming a protective barrier against the hail of arrows. They were advancing toward three Forestmen archers, who had taken up position behind a large log. The archers began to retreat, tree to tree. Sportimer and Gonderin were still tied up with the other advancing group of crusaders and could not help them. Jarren and Pablo shot out from behind the log, just as the sheilded soldiers reached it. Sportimer noticed out of the corner of his eye as the two made short work of the soldiers, outflanking them.

When the last Crusader was down, the Forestmen piled the dead onto the wagon, turned the horses toward the road out of the forest, and slapped their rumps.

The band of Forestmen made their way back to camp with two prisoners who were more scared then wounded when they were found.

Sportimer felt sick for weeks after that battle. He had never seen so much bloodshed. It did, however, turn out to be his final test.

The wagon was found later that week. On the armor of the commander was written, “Here are your taxes.”
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Huddled in his meager tent, Sportimer idly examined his bow and arrows for the tenth time, trying to forget look of pain and horror on the face on one of the Crusaders he had shot on that dark day. The ill-fortuned Crusader had looked no older than eighteen and would have been better suited farming than soldiering. Thanks to Sportimer's own arrow, the young Crusader would never see another sunrise.

Sportimer snapped one of his arrows in two and flung it at the opposite wall of the tent, cursing himself, cursing Jethro Tahmyll, cursing all. He was still staring in silence at the broken shaft when a whiff of breeze touched his cheek and he turned. Miss Scarlet had entered his tent and sat down quietly. She stared at him for a long moment before speaking in her peculiar accent. "Was the massacre at da riva ye first fight, laddie?" she said, a look of concern in her eyes.

Sportimer shook his head. "Before I came to the League," he said, gritting his teeth, "I got into a fight with several Crusaders who were cutting down trees as fast they could." How many times must I tell this story? he thought savagely.

"I challenged them and they surrounded me, laughing. Before the knew it, I had killed several of them with my knife. As the remaining three ran, I shot another two to stop them alerting more troop. One Crusader got away, however, and I've been hiding from the Crusader's men ever since."

Sportimer continued to glare at Miss Scarlet. "I killed those men to protect those ancient trees...not to steal gold!" he finished in a much louder voice.

Sportimer glared at Miss Scarlet, silently daring her to reply.

Miss Scarlet stared back at him with unblinking emerald-green eyes.

"If we did not destroy that there party of Crusaders, they surely would 'ave destroyed us, laddie. We are the only force between the Crusaders that keep this forest standing. If we were not 'ere, these trees would be gone within a month, cut into wee planks and exported for high prices to swell the Crusaders already bulging treasury. The League only destroys those who dare destroy Mother Beach, her children, and her siblings."

Sportimer looking up in surprise. Very few people he had known ever believed in the legend of Mother Beach.

Miss Scarlet smiled as she stood up. "I, too, grew up in the Great Eastern Forest."

A moment later she was gone, leaving Sportimer to contemplate this newest piece of information.
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Post by jeff_o_rama »

Sportimer walked out of his tent. Miss Scarlet was nowhere to be seen. was she really from the Great Forest?

Sportimer's thoughts were interrupted by Jethro, "Sportimer! Good work on that raid. You're one of us now!" He slapped Sportimer on the back with such gusto, he almost knocked him over. Jethro hurried back to his tent. He seems busy lately, Sportimer mused.

This thought was interrupted by Gonderin, who had snuck up behind Sportimer and caught him off guard. He always does that. Gonderin looked at him in the eye, and said, "I know it hurts. It always hurts, but you did an excellent job. Your marksmanship is very good, although it does need some work."

Before Sportimer could say anything, the elf was gone.

Sportimer continued walking and thinking about the Great Forest. He had not heard the name Scarlet in all his years there. She did seem to be a member of the Beech sect. In the Great Eastern Forest, the dwellers there worshipped the spirits of the trees that played so integral a part in their daily lives. Sportimer's family, and others, worshipped the graceful Beech. Other sects included Oak, Pine, Birch, Poplar, and Maple.

Sportimer's thoughts about his home and spirituality were interrupted as he rounded a large tree and nearly tripped over Miss Scarlet.

"Sorry," He said sheepishly.
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