The thick mud of the road squelched between the swiss-cheese-esque soles of Jemmy's boots. The grime of weeks of travel through the Brittanian winter hung all over him, his clothing patchy, even the peak of his much-beloved cap fraying beyond all repair, yet Jemmy smiled despite his discomfort. The forest and mountaintops were familiar. Every now and again he'd catch a waft of sea breeze.

Jemmy The Rat was almost home.

Shifting around the bulging sack of junk on his back, the young peddler quickened his step. Cove MUST have missed him, and like Eason had once told him, the guards couldn't do their job without people like him. He looked down at the faded Commander's sash that hung across his chest, a gift from his friend after he had helped fight the Yew monkeys, and he smiled, talking to himself in his lilting, unplacable mockery of the Brittanian language.

"Dunt wurry, Misser Eason! The Vidge-Urr-Lanty 'Ero O' Cove bist commin' back tur save yur agen!"

He sniggered to himself and patted the battered, half-blunt Kryss at his side. He'd missed Cove something terrible. He'd missed the camraderie, he'd missed the guardsmen, he'd missed Eason and Grief and Trisha. He'd missed his designated sleeping spot on the flagstones under one of the library tables. He'd missed all of it.

Still, his year on the road had been profitable at best, and it had been a chance to put to use skills he had neglected since taking up his tenure as resident street urchin and riff-raff squatter at the barracks. Part of his agreement with Eason had been that in return for his lodging, he wouldn't use his...less-savoury talents within Cove's precincts. Therefore, it had fallen to citizens of Minoc, Vesper, Jhelom, and Trinsic to unwittingly line Jemmy's pockets during his harsh year peddling goods around the land.

Yew had proven very bountiful as new settlers made very good customers for the rag-tag items he "collected". By flogging off whatever he had looted, stolen, or just scavenged, Jemmy had made a considerable profit compared to most of his other ventures. At least enough to live in Cove for a while before having to traipse off on another extended "bizziniss trip". And what with the war and all, there was always rich pickings to be had from the corpses.

Jemmy chuckled to himself again. "Tur 'em vickturs goes the spoils, an' the res' goes in moi pokkit!" They all said he was stupid, or simple, but Jemmy knew differently. After all, he was the one wth coin in his pocket and not lying six feet under ground, wasn't he?

His spirits remained high as he rounded a hilltop and glanced into the distance. Nestled against the mountainside, surrounded by it's stockade, Cove was a  mere speck on the horizon, but it was enough to raise the joy in his heart. Jemmy knew it was there, and that he was almost home. 

Jemmy muttered to himself as he strolled along the path. His backpack was light, and his purse even lighter. This whole "lidge-hit-im-ut" business that Eason had talked to him about was really starting to get on his nerves. He'd not found anything to loot in nearly a week now, so he was heading down to Trinsic to see what he could pick up down there. Someone was ALWAYS fighting the Trinsicans. Usually it was the Yewmonkeys, and they always left some fair goods littering the battlefields. He had, however, been forced to avoid the British roads, and his journey was taking much longer than he expected. He somehow surmised that the old, faded sash he wore would offer him little protection if the British guards caught him, even if he managed to prove that it was a gift from the Commander of the Covian Militia himself.

Jemmy trudged on, his kryss patting softly against his leg with every step. The sun beat down on the dry mud road, and Jemmy knew he still had a long way to go before he could return to Cove.

[OOC] Hey all. It's that time of year again- the "moving back into student accomodation" malarkey. And, surprise, surprise, it's gonna take me a fair while to get back online on anything resembling a regular basis. I'll keep up with the forums when I can, though!

Take care, all of you, and I'll see you when I get back.

Scott, Player of Jemmy[/OOC]

Name: Jeremiah Middlebottom

Alias: Jemmy The Rat

Age: 17

Profession: Peddler/Vidge-urr-Lanty 'Ero O' Cove/Village Idiot

Home: Under a bench on the Barrack Roof

Oi'm Jemmy, Oi'm the Vidge-Urr-Lanty 'ero O' Cove, bu' Oi'm also a peddler. *nods*

Tha' meens Oi sells fings peeple dunt want no more. Oi finks Oi'me sevunteen but Oi's not shore.

Jemmy pulled the cloak tighter around him as the wind whipped through the old ruins that had been his home since his return. he daren't return to the barracks now, not for long periods of time. Especially not after what Mr. Eason had said.

"We can't be seen to harbour criminals, Jemmy...." "You'll have to be punished...." "Why didn't you send word, we could have helped..."

He let out a strangled sob as the despair that had been plaguing him since the day of his return washed over him again. In truth, he didn't even know why he'd told Eason that he'd killed the guard. he didn't know if they were hunting him or not. Since the day of his flight through Britain's sewers, he'd not set eyes on a guardsman until he arrived in Cove. He was sure they didn't know he was in Cove- they'd recognised him from his few previous offences and thought him British, and he'd done nothing except propagate that belief. Besides, it just wouldn't do for the Vidge-Urr-Lanty 'Ero O' Cove, Speshul Ajunt of the Barrun, the legendary Jemmy The Rat, to be recognised as such, would it?

He smiled through his misery. He'd work something out. He always did. Maybe he could convince Eason to keep quiet? He was pretty sure- from the "acceptance" of his presence in the barracks the previous night- that the word hadn't got out about his little misdemeanour. But until he was sure, the ruins would be home.

He pulled his cloak even tighter, tipped his cap over his eyes, and tried to get some sleep as the wind whipped the Northlands. He'd sort himself out. Wasn't no way anyone, Eason or otherwise, would make him dance at the end of a rope.

The heavy oaken door creaked, and dull lamplight streamed over the filthy flagstones of the cell. The emaciated figure within looked up at the guard, his expression a pitiful, wasted mask. The guard snorted, threw him a lump of bread and a battered canteen of water, and spat at him. Then he turned and slammed the door shut, leaving the figure wallowing behind in the darkness.

Jeremiah Middlebottom sat in the darkness, in silence. Despite his despair, the youngster had stopped crying a long time ago- it was doing him no good, and the summer heat made the cell unbearable as it was, without dehydrating himself further. He'd been sat in this cell for several months now, knowing daylight only for an hour a day. He was still waiting for his sentence, but he knew it would never come.

Jemmy The Rat would languish and rot before his case ever came before the courts.

He closed his red-rimmed eyes- sore from straining in the darkness- and listened to the chittering of the rats and the hurried scurrying of the cockroaches as they darted about their business in the cell. He swigged from the canteen, and chewed on the black-crusted, stale bread. His thoughts darted back to his time in Cove, and the few friends he had left behind there- Commander Eason, Trisha, Mela...he'd even come to regard the Baron as something of a friend and confidante.

He cursed his own misfortune. Why did he decide to make this run to Britain? He had no clue. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, and the reward seemed too good to be true. A little bit of courier work? For someone with Jemmy's knowledge of Britain, it shouldn't be a problem. And the pay was something Jemmy would never make working his marks in Cove. But things had all gone wrong when he emerged from the sewers. Those guards had been waiting for him. He knew it. And he was fairly sure he knew who had set him up.

The face of Rex Richter appeared in his mind, and he pounded the wall in frustration. It must have been Richter... but why? Jemmy had always been a loyal member of the gang, even if he wasn't the most black-hearted villain in the world. No....he was fairly sure Richter had set him up. And if he ever got out of this cell, Richter was going to pay dearly.

The hours passed in darkness, stretching into days. His routine continued- meager meals, an hour's daylight, and hours spent constructing elaborate ways to get his own back on Richter. Whenever he could, he tried to get a message to Commander Eason or the Baron, and he spent his time half-expecting to see the familiar caps of the Cove Militia rushing the prison to save him.

But they never came.

No-one ever came. The only person Jemmy had any contact with was his guard, a thick-set gorilla of a man named Sheldon, whos limited intellectual capacity made even Jemmy seem like a veritable genius.

No, only one person was going to be there for Jemmy to rely on- the same way it had been since his old mentor, Cogan, died. He'd have to do things for himself. He wasn't going to let himself die without at least trying to escape.

The door opened, and Sheldon's familiar, ape-like face appeared to throw Jemmy his daily bread. His face furrowed in confusion as he saw the boy wasn't sat in the cell.

"BOY!" he bellowed. Then he felt something lightly brush past his side, and he turned to see Jemmy slumped beside the wall, his head in his hands, next to the door. Sheldon grunted, and propelled a vicious kick into Jemmy's ribs. The boy slumped, groaning.

"Food." Jemmy felt the bread bounce off the back of his head, and felt the *thunk* of the canteen following in it's wake. He heard Sheldon snort, and shut the door. And Jemmy The Rat grinned his evil grin.

For, in his thin, bony hand, he held the key to his cell.

Jemmy waited several hours, and let himself silently out of his cell. He locked it again, knowing he had a few hours before Sheldon came back, and he slipped into the shadows. He padded through the corridors of the prison, until he found what he was looking for. The entrance to the prison was guarded by two guards wearing the tabards of the Britannian Guard. Jemmy took a lamp from a wall, then removed another. The first, he dropped, allowing it to smash on the cobbles. Both the guards, both of whom were near asleep, jumped up.

"What was that?"
"No idea, Bert. Go check."

Jemmy heard footsteps approaching, and saw Bert round the corner. Jemmy stepped out behind him as Bert walked past, and swung the lantern down, hard, on the guard's unarmoured head. The lantern shattered, and Bert slumped to his knees.

The crash alerted his companion, who ran to investigate. The first thing he saw was Bert, unconscious on the floor. The last thing he ever felt was a hand clamping round his mouth, and a dagger scoring open his throat. As his life sped away, he noticed the dagger-sheath at Bert's belt was empty. His last words came out as a croak. "Damn...damn..." before Sosaria turned into an inky blackness, and the guard slumped, dead.

Jemmy took no time in making a break for it. He bolted from the prison, staying in the shadows. He was a murderer. Jemmy had killed a man. But he didn't care. All he needed to do was get to the sewers, then out of the city.

He smiled to himself, as he pried open a manhole, and tucked the dagger into his belt, before disappearing into the sewers. Yeah. Get out of the city. Then go back to Cove.

The smile become an evil grimace, as he thought of the final part of his plan. Go back to Cove.

And get his revenge on Rex Richter.


[OOC] Finally got Jemmy's account reactivated! yay! [/OOC]

*slouches againt the wall, looking out at the scene from under the brow of his cap*

Nar...'Is Lordship Baron 'Oighness nay wan's a guarder...'Im 'as taste. E'll get loads o' rich ponce lasses comin' ter Cove.

*nods and mutters under his breath*

I 'opes....

Aye! Great idea, and one I'm sure Jemmy would be much intrigued by....

[OOC] Covian Prime Time= Great idea! MORE! MOOOOORE! [/OOC]

Were they ASLEEP rotting undead corpses?

There's a word for those. They're called DEAD rotting corpses *nods*

Jemmy's one of my favourite Ultima characters in terms of his character- not only do I get immense enjoyment from playing him, he's also stat-wise my worst character. He's much more of a "Roleplaying" than a gaming character. Dash is too much like me OOC, and Colm's....just...Colm (You'll be meeting him soon enough, folks!)

I think BoC's probably got the best character development of any guild I've ever been in. Especially with the "Power Hours." Keep it up, guys :-D

Jemmy The Rat, Peddler/Thief/Squatter/Looter/Vidge-Urr-Lanty Hero Of Cove

Yup, same here. Welcome back toy Europa and UO!

Luxury squat house going in wonderful Covian location! Two rooms, bothe wonderfully decorated, and a state-of the art roof.

Anyone interested, contact Jemmy on 330680171, oooooor post here!


(May be a few days before I hand over, got a UOA pending that I need to collect first WOuld rather it went to a BoC'er so you guys get first dibs!)

Got it!!!!!

[OOC] Bloody hell that was a nightmare to write. Anyways, thanks to everyone who took part, it was great fun! Except for losing Simon at the bloody Vesper serverline >.< Ah well! [/OOC]