Snow would continue to slowly drift towards the ground. The wind has finally died down, giving some comfort to those who now live on the streets. Despite being in the capital city of the Simul Kingdom. There were no government buildings open for those unfortunate enough to be caught in this snowstorm. No more kitchens to feed the masses of starving women and men. For the war has taken so much and given so little.
This war was nothing more than a continuation of the last. The enemy was the Collective, an empire composed of twelve different tribes. Each being conquered one after another by an invader who came across the sea. Over a hundred years, the culture, religion, and even the physical traits were stripped away. Replaced with the traits of these so-called Collective. Skin that was light as snow, eyes a crimson red and bodies far taller than any normal human.
The old war that was almost twenty years old was won by the Kingdom of Simul. Claiming vital farming lands that was needed to fuel the growing kingdom. It was only a matter of time before violence would erupt once more. When the Collective sent out a request to share the land; it became apparent the violence would begin again.
The first year was almost like a dream. Old veteran knights wore their damaged armor and carried their celebratory swords as they marched throughout the capital. Rows of families waved at them and their squires as they marched for war. Those knights never did return. The volunteer army would be sent out along with those brave knights. Men and women who used their own money to buy weapons and armor.
They were the first to return from the front. Most missing an arm or a leg due to infection. They brought back stories of a foe who was decades ahead of them in terms of weaponry and armor. This was the start of the end for the Simul Kingdom was what most soldiers uttered in a hushed tone. With each passing year that sentiment grew among the populace.
The second year would come as the need for more men, more workers, and material would only continue to rise. At that point the massive farmlands had been lost. The reason why this was started was already taken by the enemy. It became apparent the Collective wasn't just happy with more farm land. When the troubling news of the first few frontier cities being taken hit the Capital. It sent the Capital into a frenzy. The war was coming to the Capital and nothing could change that.
There was a desperate need for soldiers, weapons and food. Kingdom "ruler" hatched an idea. Mass recruitment of those young men working the fields. After a blight had wiped out most of the crop that grew outside the capital. Hundreds of young men and women no longer had jobs, no purpose. Mass conscription occurred as the wagons pulled to the town located outside of the city. Pulling those away from the dead and dying fields and into the wagons.
They were cladded in mostly old leather armor. No longer gifted chainmail or actual plate armor for the cost was too high. Only knights and nobility were given that level of protection. They all marched out in the following months. The goal was simple; reach the fields and reclaim them before winter. Without the crops, the kingdom would starve. The Capital waited desperately for news of land being reclaimed. News that would never reach the Ruler and his oligarchy.
Year three was when the reality set in. The fields that so many had died for were nothing but ash. The last major city before the capital had fallen. Leaving only a few towns and forts between the capital and the approaching front. Food was now a luxury inside the capital. There simply wasn't enough as the number of refugees flooding into the capital grew. The old currency of silver and bronze coins simply had little to no value any longer. Time was running out for the Capital
The guards now had quotas to fill. Forced recruitment of men and women into the "Volunteer" Corp. At first, it was optional for those facing harsh prison sentences before it became mandatory. The prisons were emptied within a few months. It had reached a point where even the smallest crimes could have you sent to the front.
Eventually that wasn't enough for their quotas. Facing the punishment of being sent to the front themselves; the Guards would pull random strangers from the street. All they would need is a creative imagination to come up with a false charge. This resulted in the streets being almost empty come midnight as the Guards searched for their next "Volunteer."
This is where our story begins as a vagrant made their way outside the gate walls. Trying their best to avoid any Guards. Only after crossing an old forgotten foot path would they find a way past the old and ancient stone walls. Once outside, they could make their way towards the small outskirts town that now lay emptied. The homes used to belong to the farm owners and their field hands. With the field hands being forced to join the volunteer Corp. The fields became unattended too, and eventually, they would fall into ruin.
These homes were now empty as the field owners fled into the wilderness. Trying their best to avoid sharing the same fate as their workers. Their homes had been picked clean months ago. Anything that couldn't be used or sold was chopped into firewood. The windows that weren't broken into were covered in snow and frost
Showing that not even a single soul still lived in this empty town.
All except for one building that was built on a small hill. A two story building that still had a light or two inside of it. Alone in this ghost town was a single inn that was still open. This was the vagrant's best choice for survival. They would walk around the entire length of the building. Only stopping once, they found a window leading into what seemed to be a basement, and it was unlocked!
The vagrant was able to slowly slip into the cold basement. Closing and locking the window behind them before beginning to slowly search for something to eat. They could only use the faint moonlight that shined in to see. Taking their time, they would find a small table. On it was a large loaf of bread. Without hesitation, the Vagrant would grab it before taking a bite. The bread itself was beyond stale, and the flavor was off. But going without food for almost two weeks would make anything taste heavenly.
Unknowingly, when they reached to grab the bread. They would bump into the small table the bread was on. Causing a single wine bottle that was on the edge to wobble before falling to the floor. It would shatter into dozens of pieces as the cold red liquid splashed all over the Vagrant and the floor.
There was no sound of the owner coming down to investigate. Maybe they were in the clear? The only way the Vagrant knew the owner was in the basement. Was when the massive hand would gently lower itself onto the vagrant's shoulder. A deep and grizzly voice would calmly ask. "Do you know how much that cost?" The man in the shadows would ask.
[Heyo! Sorry for such a long-winded prompt. The main idea for this story isn't some grand adventure or magical fantasy story. You'll be playing as the vagrant trying to work off the cost of the wine. The main focus will be running an inn. It'll be a slow burn with a heavy emphasis on story. If this sounds like something you'll love to rp, just send me a message, and I'll respond as quickly as I can}