A Very Secret Garden D10
Mar 23, 2012 22:48:38 GMT -5
Post by kneedles on Mar 23, 2012 22:48:38 GMT -5
A Very Secret Garden
"As long as you have a garden, you have a future and as long as you have a future you are alive"
-Frances Hodgson Burnett
-Frances Hodgson Burnett
Introduction:
The land is flat and clear to make way for the animals and the fields are a sea of green, brown and gold stretching on and on into the horizon. But there are pockets here and there of thickets, woods and hedgerow- some cultivated to separate land or provide provacy, others wild and untamed and ancient.
There is a thicket hiding in plain sight, jutting from the flat land like a splinter and it has been commandeered. Stolen. The outer edge is a dense underbrush of thistle and nettles, but if you tackle the thorns and stingers you will find yourself greeted by a thigh high parameter of chicken wire. The metal is clean and new, as though someone has been here quite recently. The chicken wire itself is easily manoeuvred- designed to keep something out, but that something isn't you.
At the centre of the thicket, the fern and brush and knotted roots have been messily hacked away to clear the skies overhead and let in a small, unobtrusive pocket of light. The earth of the floor is churned up and divided into sloppy beds with chicken wire, salvaged wood and rusted parts of farming machinery. Rich compost lies over the soil like an eiderdown, nourishing the starving dirt. It doesn't look like much. But beneath the soil something is stirring.
The daffodils are the first to venture forwards and into the light, helpless pale green shoots, fresh and alive against nothing but brown dirt and brush. Then, with any luck, will come the snow white crocuses, the zinnia in scarlet and orange like flames licking at the thicket. Maybe the snapdragons planted will bloom and the dahlias will flourish. The flower beds are labelled with care on popsicle sticks poking from the ground like tiny headstones in a just about legible chicken scratch, rife with spelling errors. The rest of the beds are labelled too, but seventy percent of the thicket is labelled in code.
P,L,E,R,RH,BT,O,C.
Potatoes, leeks, eggplant, raspberries, rhubarb, blueberries, tomatoes, onions and carrots. The most precious resource you know- food! Seeds have been salvaged, stolen, bought on the black market or simply brought in on a kindly breeze. Maybe none of it will grow, maybe all of it will. But if anything does it will be hidden, away from quotas and rules.
whatever blooms here will be kept and eaten, earned by sweat and tender care- as it always should be. The garden could be glorious come summer, could become ripe and feccund with fruit and flowers. But even if it isn't you imagine the thin white wisps of roots like the hairs on a baby's head below and you imagine hope.
Hope pokes it's nose through the earth like a pale green shoot in this beautiful, illegal, secret garden.
There is a thicket hiding in plain sight, jutting from the flat land like a splinter and it has been commandeered. Stolen. The outer edge is a dense underbrush of thistle and nettles, but if you tackle the thorns and stingers you will find yourself greeted by a thigh high parameter of chicken wire. The metal is clean and new, as though someone has been here quite recently. The chicken wire itself is easily manoeuvred- designed to keep something out, but that something isn't you.
At the centre of the thicket, the fern and brush and knotted roots have been messily hacked away to clear the skies overhead and let in a small, unobtrusive pocket of light. The earth of the floor is churned up and divided into sloppy beds with chicken wire, salvaged wood and rusted parts of farming machinery. Rich compost lies over the soil like an eiderdown, nourishing the starving dirt. It doesn't look like much. But beneath the soil something is stirring.
The daffodils are the first to venture forwards and into the light, helpless pale green shoots, fresh and alive against nothing but brown dirt and brush. Then, with any luck, will come the snow white crocuses, the zinnia in scarlet and orange like flames licking at the thicket. Maybe the snapdragons planted will bloom and the dahlias will flourish. The flower beds are labelled with care on popsicle sticks poking from the ground like tiny headstones in a just about legible chicken scratch, rife with spelling errors. The rest of the beds are labelled too, but seventy percent of the thicket is labelled in code.
P,L,E,R,RH,BT,O,C.
Potatoes, leeks, eggplant, raspberries, rhubarb, blueberries, tomatoes, onions and carrots. The most precious resource you know- food! Seeds have been salvaged, stolen, bought on the black market or simply brought in on a kindly breeze. Maybe none of it will grow, maybe all of it will. But if anything does it will be hidden, away from quotas and rules.
whatever blooms here will be kept and eaten, earned by sweat and tender care- as it always should be. The garden could be glorious come summer, could become ripe and feccund with fruit and flowers. But even if it isn't you imagine the thin white wisps of roots like the hairs on a baby's head below and you imagine hope.
Hope pokes it's nose through the earth like a pale green shoot in this beautiful, illegal, secret garden.
The plot:
The plot is simple. There is a secret and whatever your D10 character does with this depends entirely on them be it form friendships or rivalries or anything else in between. I'm hoping for a very small set of players for this very small sub plot. It won't get in the way of other plots (unless something gets super out of hand) but I'm hoping that the garden will provide a fun secret setting for character interaction and development as they work together and watch the garden bloom.
Basically I'm hoping for up to three players to come join my character Scutcher, a nice but very dim eighteen year old pig farmer and keen gardener.
If you think your character would fit and you could have fun with this then please reply with your character and a link to their bio. Also, if anyone had any ideas leaping out at them for the garden then I would really love to hear them!
Thanks,
Kneedles
