Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail. If I did there would literally be dragons everywhere.
I would like to give thanks to Dreadburner94 and MyDearWatson, who's stories and helpfulness influenced my decision to start this tale.
November 13, X776- Early afternoon
It was deathly still in the guild. Although, to tell the truth, there was barely a guild left. Nearly everyone, guild members and citizens alike, had been taken by the cold embrace of sickness. It had been a struggle just to save what was left of Haller's Hall, much less the guild it harbored. Empty chairs seemed to mock the new guild master as he simply waited. A small dark-skinned girl poked listlessly at a measly lunch beside him.
"Mr. Paulderfield? When's Teacher gonna come back?" dark blue eyes shifted to look at her, apprehensive, "I wanna play her the song I practiced…"
A heavy sigh seemed to drain the live out of him, and for a moment the girl regretted asking, "Bern-" the loud squeak of wooden doors intermingled with the scrape of gravel underneath two feet. Cautiously, a haggard young man came in, telegram in his hands and despair on his face. The master rose to meet him, anxious, "…..Pauline?"
Tears welled up in the messenger's eyes, knowing full well what sorrow was about to hit. Voice trembling, he spoke the truth, "I'm sorry, Master. She- she's gone. They said she kept on calling for you…"
"What about my Momma? And Poppa?" the little girl had hopped down from the bar stool, and stood in an accusatory stance. The messenger looked up at his guild master, unsure. If he was on the verge of a breakdown because of the death of his wife, he didn't show it. Slowly, he nodded.
"I- I'm sorry young miss, but your parents didn't make it either… A lot of people didn't make it."
Fury set her face alight, and she launched at him, fists flying- sparks of flame threatening to catch his clothes on fire, "You're lying! You're lying! Poppa wouldn't let Momma die! He's the strongest mage I know! You're lying! You dirty liar!"
Quickly, the guild master wrapped his massive arms around her, pulling her away from her victim, who patted out the flames on his leg, "Stop it! Stop it, kid! I know Pauline and your parents taught you better than this!"
"He's lying! He's lying! He's-" the wet touch of a tear ghosted upon her mass of curls, stilling a rampage in the making. Looking up, she saw one of her oldest friends restraining sobs, chest wracking with each cry denied release.
"Please, just- just-" she stopped trying to scratch and punch, opting instead to wipe her own tears she didn't realize was there.
"M-mr. Paulderf-field?" she clung to his shirt, willing the entire thing to be one of those weird nightmares that never make sense.
"Yeah, kid?"
"I-if my…" an undistinguishable noise escaped, "If my parents a-aren't there t-to take care o-of m-me, where am I gon-gonna go?" he dug his fingers into her hair, wishing the pain to disappear.
...
APRIL 23, X787
The sun was unbearably hot, bearing down on the flimsy blades of grass that spread itself sparsely over the terrain. Hard-packed and heated, dust flew up from the road at the slightest provocation. Tumbleweeds lent themselves to the scenery of one of Fiore's hottest landscapes- the Heeltoe Dust Strip, once said to be the pathway of giants and dragons. This small desert separated the rest of Fiore from the western mountain range known as Haller's Throne- and the small town resting at its base, Haller's Hall. Provided that this has the only route to Haller's Hall, not many came to visit without immense incentive.
Unless, of course, it was home. And currently, two residents were speeding along the road upon a magicycle- rather old, but well taken care of- going faster and faster. A dangerous grin upon her face, the driver revved up the magic power and relished the wind with a loud whoop. Her passenger, on the other hand, clutched at her waist in fear, "Bernie! We're going too fast!"
Bernie, or Bernadette Paulderfield in official records, simply smiled wider. The sun shone on her deep brown skin, while the wind whipped her black chin-length curls about a youthful face- bangs kept back by a red ribbon. Hazel eyes were squinted in a teasing manner as her pear shaped figure hunched over the handlebars, intent on going faster. At 5'6, Bernadette was a bruiser with strong arms, currently dressed in the usual- a sleeveless red blouse, coupled with some torn baby blue jeans- lovingly pulled together by black leather boots and a matching jacket, sleeves pushed back. Topping off her outfit was black fingerless gloves, protecting her grip on the handles of her precious ride.
Laughing in a pure adrenaline rush, Bernie shouted back to her passenger- "We have to go fast, Del! We get home faster, we get a new job faster! And that means more money for fixin' up Pauline's piano!"
Del, or Delbert Blaine in official records, scowled at his teammate, clearly unenthused by her daredevilish antics. Really, at 18 he was a whole year older than her, yet who was dragging who around? At 5'8- really, she should listen to him- Del's exotic tan skin was offset by soft charcoal eyes and midnight blue hair that settled shaggily about his head, his usually neat bangs being swept out of proportion by the streaming wind. His figure- lean and wiry- was handsome for his age, though the most notable features were his prominent nose and large eyebrows. He was a little less prepared for a dusty ride, dirt sticking to his nice dark blue slacks, offset by a light cream dress shirt and snappy blue pinstripe waistcoat. Luckily, Delbert's brown shoes were more or less suited to the kind of terrain, pulled into his outfit by heavy leather gloves that were a bit loose around the wrist, and a light brown paperboy cap, which was currently tucked underneath his arm for fear it might blow away.
"Don't you think we've done enough jobs to fix that old thing?" Delbert shouted against the wind, "It can't be that expensive!"
Bernadette simply willed her magic to make the bike go faster, "It would be easier to get th' money if somebody could turn off their magic once in a while! We nearly had this last one blown because of you!"
Ashamed, Del curled up defensively on her back, "I can't. If it's really a problem, why make a team with me anyways?" the bike came to an abrupt halt as Bernadette pulled the brakes and stopped feeding the engine. In a rare, sober expression, she turned to face her team mate.
"Because you're my friend," her eyes dared him to contradict her, "And you have to practice control over it somehow," the bike sputtered back to life before Del could make any objection, pushing from 0 to 45 in that instant, "Besides, you know how the Old Man gets if I don't have 'somebody responsible' to look after me. Tch! You'd think he'd trust me by now-"
…
Elsewhere, in a guildhall made of redwood pine amidst a half dead town, Vincent Paulderfield scoffed into his drink. Tall for his age- a good 6'7 at 59- he dwarfed the bar with a figure of well-kept muscles and colored a paling tan. Silvering brown hair framed his weathered face, complete with a trimmed beard, and deep dark blue eyes that were slowly losing their spark. Today- as it was with most days- his outfit was simple; a low neck tee with an open leather vest, brown pants with black boots, a red kerchief tied around his neck, and brown fingerless gloves. His right glove had a square cutout, hemmed by loving hands, showcasing his guild's mark in blazing red- a pine growing out of an anvil.
"Bernie and Del should be 'ere soon," He sighed. Probably with more tales of trouble and mishap. Yes, Vincent knew his daughter had the more overbearing of the two personalities, but he was sort of hoping Delbert's quiet manners would smolder the urge to do something reckless. What would his dear Pauline think of the way her former student had been raised? It was really worrying to think about- trouble brought fines, and fines took more out of his guild.
"How can you tell?" Louise Monte- one of the few members beyond the younger years, though she would insist 45 was still quite young, was currently minding the bar, wiping at old mugs and minding the pie at risk in a senile old oven. Dark blond hair spilled over pierced ears with hoops in them, as Louise leaned on the counter- her average height of 5'4 was helped a bit by the white go go boots that had always been her favorite. A light purple short-sleeve blouse was coupled with a white high waist skirt today, both protected by a frilly light yellow apron, clearly well-loved. The initials R.M. was embroidered on a heart shaped pocket on the breast of the apron, renewed in stitching every once in a while.
Emerald green eyes regarded the guild master with curiosity, though Vincent couldn't tell if it was a true interest, or if his good friend was gearing up for another jibe about his apparent age, "M' ears are burning something fierce."
Red lips curved upwards as Louise laughed, her tinkling sounds brought on by the pure look of exasperation on Vincent's face, "You know she only thinks the best of you, honey- no matter what that big mouth of hers spits out. I'm sure her parents are very grateful to you."
He scoffed again, taking more interest in the grain of redwood that made the bar, "Nah. I just think I made 'er worse. A lot of the kid's in this here town would be better off with their parents than an old fool like me."
A light swat struck his arm, Louise's stern face across from him- "Stop beatin' yourself up. That disaster had nothin' to do with you. A lot of us would've been absolutely lost if it hadn't been for you and your guild."
"But that's just the thing, Loiuse!" a fist came down hard on a warm patch of afternoon sunlight that came to rest on the thick cut of wood, "The guild… Redwood's Forge… It isn't-" the drink was abandoned for Vincent's other hand to come over his face. There was a tense moment- small and personal compared to the open space of the guild hall- as Louise waited, "It isn't what it used to be. In fact, I reckon it's standing on its last leg. Between more than half the town bein' six feet under, Heeltoe cuttin' us off from the rest o' Fiore, and all the more popular guilds snatchin' up jobs at the speed of a hungry rattler, we might just see ourselves without it," a sidelong glance at the members of the guild, meandering as if it was a normal day, seemed to affirm that no one had heard his quiet outburst, "The guild is dying. And I haven't the faintest clue 'bout how to tell these kids that they'll be without it soon enough. Least of all Bernadette."
"Well…" manicured hands resumed wiping the insides of a mug with a damp rag, "How long do you think we have?"
"…Don't know. Could be next month, could be next year. It'll be soon, though," Vincent laughed bitterly, "And to think I fought that snake for a position like this."
Before Louise's curiosity could get the better of her, the doors of the guild Redwood Forge swung open, any and all attention stolen by Bernadette's loud and cheerful cry-
"WE'RE HOME!"
Oh, kid... I'm so sorry.
And that is our introductory chapter for Redwood's Forge! As this is a SYOC story, I'm hoping for around 20 OC's to make up this little guild. As per the nature of it's history, most Oc's I'm looking to be around the ages of 12 to 24-25, but I would love any mage of any age. You'll find the OC form up on my profile- I am only looking at characters sent by PM and I will not accept characters that don't have the necessary components of the form filled. I will be willing to work with you on said character if you don't mind a little more character building.
As for positions within the guild, I'm looking for three S-class mages (they have to be older than 17), and only ONE slayer of any kind. If it is a dragon slayer, it MUST be 2nd generation (lacrima implants). I'm also looking for another barkeep to help Louis (magic free, preferably). Look to my profile to find the OC Form, and I hope I get some really great characters to write and equally great story for you guys!-CC