In front of Hasil was a bunch of villagers, their faces sullen and broken with only a couple embers of hope left. Hasil sipped on his tea temperately, trying to stretch the last of his stock for as long as possible. This tea was among his favorites, made from a blend of herbs native to this forest. Many of these herbs were rare and valuable, the poorer quality were sold. Usually they kept the better quality herbs for themselves.

After a long time, the majority of the village was gathered in front of him. These were people that he all knew from his decades living here. He knew them all well enough, sometimes better than they knew themselves. What he needed was purposeful agitation, as sometimes the best way to get people to move was a few pokes.

He grabbed his cane and pretended to struggle to get back on his feet. He fell back and a girl that had been assigned to help him ran over and helped him up. He exaggerated the feelings that all the villagers felt, fatigue and melancholy. He was a shameless old man and was more than willing to take advantage of anything to do what is needed.

“Friends and family,” he shouted, his voice straining to speak loudly, “we have reached a crossroad. We have discovered the cause of the emptiness and decay in these forests and the misfortune we all have lived through. The good news is that I and the rest of the village elders have a plan.”

That was a lie but none of the elders would call him out in public. He continued, “there is strange magic in the mysterious and dangerous cave, and there are people who greatly value this. The plan is to send people after the two groups of traders to the nearest city and inform the governor of this strange place. I have no doubt that the nobility will be very interested in it.

“However, we are running out of food far too fast. So, I have come to the decision to give up my aging caches for the good of the village. Two groups will be sent out, one to the city and another into the wilderness to find my caches.”

There was a slight alarm from the people but very few of them looked surprised, these were becoming desperate times. “I ask the rest of this village, please do the same. While my old age has caused me to not be able to recover many of my caches, the food there isn’t enough for us to live for more than a couple of days. Please, understand that the claim we have on these don’t matter anymore. We all need to survive, so please…”

He completed his manipulation by ending his sentence with a defeated tone. Tears, both fake and the ones that he kept inside of him, collected and leaked from his eyes. People, even the best of families, were inherently selfish. Even this village had times of undeniable repulsion of community and assisting each other.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

However, what can they do when an old man is in tears? Sure, they could keep their information all to themselves, but their needs would conflict with everyone. Those that don’t offer anything, that don’t play along, will be singled out. These caches were closely kept secrets, and in such an uncertain situation everyone wanted to keep every advantage they had.

There was very little chance that they could recover these caches though. The journey to their locations was a long one, something that they made only once per year. Winter was coming though and they didn’t have the food for each individual family to make the journey. By next year, many hunters probably won’t survive and the secret location of these caches will be lost.

These caches were used to age meat, a delicacy for them. There was a festival in the winter, where families brought out their aged meat and served them. The more wealthy families had more meat, these feasts were a sign of prestige and strength. Apparently, there were times when these caches were ransacked - causing the tradition of secrecy.

Now, the village was at a crossroad. Do they reject their traditions to survive, or do they close up even more.

“I have marked where my caches are on the map, along with the secret markings I use to find them,” Hasil continued. “I know that I am asking a lot, but I don’t think many of us will be able to make it through the winter. Even if we did, none of us will be able to stay here. This may be the last chance we have, the final feast we can do. The damned cave has taken too much.

“The map will be passed around. The second group will find these caches and bring them back for us. Even with these caches of aged meat, we may still not survive. Please, though, understand that this is the best chance we have.”

That was the end of his speech. While the aged meat would be great to get, this wasn’t his purpose though. Whatever the objectives of the governor of the nearest river port, the city will provide them with some supplies and support. A dungeon needed people to support the adventurers and gamblers that dared to dive below its depths. Their village was the best place for that.

After he was done with the speech, he gathered many of the village elders and started creating the third group to venture to the river port, this time with a message for the governor. They were also to check for the two other groups that went to trade for some much needed food.

After that, he was forced to listen to the irritated old men and women that made up the guiding body of the village. None of them felt that what he did was a bad idea, though many of them didn’t want to admit it. Instead, they were furious that he did something like that without telling them.

After he managed to escape, he began searching for Stor’s youngest son. It took him a while from how worn out he was, but he managed to find him. Adal was by himself like he usually was, reading one of the few books the village had. Hasil hit the butt of his cane on the ground, snapping the boy out of his reading.