After some careful consideration, I approached the Broken Axe. The owner probably didn’t want their establishment to have such an unfortuitous name, but the sign hanging overhead cracked in such a distinctive fashion— split bottom to center, just below the uncracked wood were jutting splinters along the depiction of an axe.
Waltzing through the doorway, I took a deep breath as I cast my gaze over the setting. With only half a few more than dozen tables, it felt rather cozy— if one ignored the odor. Not that it was too terrible; there weren’t many pastures around, so boots were simply covered with mud instead of excrement.
To my good fortune, they were nearly seated to capacity without any empty tables. Looking over my choices of companions, I had five options: a party of four travelers, rejected for their slothful vibe; a man sitting alone, passed over since he seemed to be in a sour mood; two men in a drinking contest; three women in a drinking contest; and a duo whose voices grew louder in argumentation. I listened in while getting a drink before getting involved. Not as much ‘listening in’ as it was ‘not tuning out’.
“You’ve the gall to call me a heretic? I’m not the one expecting the Church to cover for my own mistakes.”
“My mistakes? The real mistake is letting the number of elves increase like this. You think just because they are frail they won’t be able to cause any harm? Tiaism is the path of strength, not mindlessly believing one can wipe away anything that stands before them.” Standing up and waving his arm side to side, gesturing to all the people in the room, vagabond interrupted himself by losing his balance for a second. “Who here would beat an elf ten times out of ten? It’s Disciples blessed by the Patriarch, not us.”
“That’s simply a result of neglecting your own strength.” Hearing something that sounded like a direct reference to myself, I interjected. “I’m no disciple, yet it would be no trouble. Perhaps if you trained instead of fretting, you could actually embark on the path of strength.”
Sitting down, I smacked the surface of the table.
“I’ll wager drinks I can win a contest of strength against anyone here ten times in a row. Go depend on someone else if you don’t think you can do it, I’ll buy the both of you drinks for the entire night.” Both men looked at me with slightly surprised expressions, but the local’s squat face quickly turned smug. Starting to nod himself, he smirked.
“Hah, this is a man who knows how to carry himself. Maybe you should just admit your weaknesses are your own, instead of blaming the elves.”
“Feh, my point still stand. He’s just boasting about his strength, it’s not like he would actually be able to defend himself against the elves.” Though not particularly muscular, my size must have discouraged the vagabond, who was not incensed enough to take up my challenge.
“Hmph, what of you, who tried leaving without even a fight? If everyone acted like you, we might as well just cede the land to the point ears.”
“No, the Church has things well under control; no matter how many cowards leave, Disciples are more than enough to maintain order.” The local disagreed with me, his position rooted in the superiority and orthodoxy of the church.
“Oh I wouldn't dare suggest those *leaf-lickers* could do any harm, but are you expecting Paladins and Disciples to work the fields and work the timber? They are protectors, but there would be nothing worth protecting if everyone ran away.”
“But...hmmm.” My rhetorical skills made up for a lack of religious education, and despite feeling something was off with the argument, the local didn't voice any more disagreement. Unfortunately he killed some of the argument’s momentum. The vagabond took his seat once more, drinking his beer swiftly in silence.
“So you were trying to get out on the Randall-Varren; what’s left for you now? I doubt you're the sort to try catching up to them when they're several weeks out.”
“Of course I'm not foolish enough to try it on my own, but there are plenty mercenaries willing to help those with money catch up. I'm actually a bookbinder from Medean, and fully literate. I guess people like you wouldn't know it, but I've been offered a position in a famous bookstore. Getting away from the elves is just a bonus.”
“Why are you wearing such a look of pride? Merely keeping records—”
“Ohoh, fully literate? Say, are there any bookstores in this town? I’m not quite fluent in Derrish, so I’ll pay you to find something.” Stopping the local’s disdain, it seemed this vagrant had more potential use than expected. In fact, if not for prior engagements I would have tried to set myself up as his escort. I didn’t have a full grasp of it, but his personality seemed lacking as a beneficiary of heroic deeds. Nonetheless, this was a great opportunity for me.
“At least one of you can appreciate intellectual pursuits. However if you’re not fluent, you won’t find much in this small town. There’s a scrivener that updates some things, but most of what’s for sale are beaten up volumes in archaic dialects that have been sitting in the shop for decades.” Vagabond waved his hand as if shooing the idea away. “A great deal of them are just records about the various merchant groups passing through anyhow, barely anything educational.”
“Look, I’m not asking much, just take me by wherever this place is. I told my sister-in-law I’d find her something, so I’m at least going to check it out.”
“You’re married?” Local and Vagabond proclaimed in unison, Local sputtering some of his drink over the table. I had trouble deciphering their reeling, so far I thought I’d only presented myself as a confident, self-reliant-yet-cordial type. The shock felt unwarranted, almost insultingly so.
“Hmm, keh, sorry. It’s just...hmmm...” Local grabbed his lower face with a thick hand while contemplating aloud. “No, I suppose women would be attracted to your features, but hmmm. Maybe because I can’t imagine Sayla interested…”
“My apologies as well; I’m sure she has a great deal of trust in you, and you honor that. Yes, you definitely are someone who honors your word.”
Why do your roundabout platitudes sound like a fortune teller at a cultural festival Vagabond?
“Why not tell us about her? You don’t look to be a farmer or anything else that could have her work alongside you.” Local moved the conversation along, unfortunately towards my ‘backstory’.
“Actually, as an alchemist, she helps me out quite a bit with gathering herbs and prepping the materials and such. A shame she couldn't help me strip down some of the Yotta bushes, they grow in surprising abundance in this area. Lucy, her sister, isn't quite at the point where she’s able to help either. I’ve been tutoring her, but it seems to take a while before it really sinks in. Ah, the number of times I cleaned her up after getting Yotta sap on her; Rea is certainly much more deft than her sister, even if she doesn't have a knack for the formulas.”
“The girl best be more careful, that sap is something nasty once it starts sticking to you. A man a few fields over from mine lost two fingers ripping up a sapling and getting his hand coated in the stuff.”
“I can formulate a solvent, so it’s not that critical, though she really should…it takes a bit of effort to make it out in the field.” I made the process sound difficult so Local would hesitate in asking for some. Removing the sap was actually quite easy, since
“I really doubt there’s anything to be found, but a short break from drinking won't hurt. Until my escort gets here I've nothing to do anyway.” The vagabond shrugged and quickly finished his drink. “I can't say drinking with you was altogether pleasant, but Patriarch bless.”
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“The Patriarch shall bless us as we merit.” Local responded with a more formal farewell, one that I think was lifted straight from a line of scripture.
“Look, at least I’ll probably come back in the evening, there's no need for such stern goodbyes. Bah, never mind. Let’s head out.”
As we walked, we properly introduced ourselves— if you presume giving a false name is a proper introduction. Matthias gave a spiel that helped explain the situation of the elves. It’s not quite right to say segregation, while there was a generally negative sentiment, there were plenty who felt neutral or even positive, and as such there was nothing other than ill treatment keeping an individual from being part of society. However there’s not really a better way to describe the logging camps the elf tribes were enlisted in.
Order was kept through threatening the workers with the extinction of their home tribes, with numerous tribes per camp. This kept most of the elves in line, but in this prisoner’s dilemma more and more cooperated as the rebellions continued. The Church didn't particularly care, a hundred or a thousand elves lost, the matter was barely even recognized in Glaucen, which was far closer than any other cities of even mild import to the Chapter.
A ruthless and efficient solution, if the frequency of massacres really went to show that the preventative measures of the Church weren't doing much. The delays between uprisings were usually just the time it took for them to establish themselves. As inhumane as it was, it didn't really strike me as a worrying trend, at least for humans.
“Here, before you look for something to purchase, let me show you. I know this droll place has copies of at least some of the texts.” We reached the scrivener before the explanation was finished, but I certainly didn't mind. Even if he was wrong, how amusing was it to meet a conspiracy theorist in a fantasy world?
“Matthias, are you trying to raise a panic again?” The most muscular scrivener in the world sat behind a desk, his ink-stained wrist the only apparent mark of his profession. “Do as you will, but I'll have you rebind another three ledgers.”
“Another one. He’s here to find a book to purchase, not just loiter about.”
“He’s looking for a book? This place makes copies, we’re not in the business of just selling books. There might be a few things customers have left behind over the year, but hopefully you aren’t expecting anything.” The scrivener turned back to his desk and an impossibly quick-paced scratching noise filled the room. Was I just supposed to look around and ask if something was for sale? No, Matthias was probably going to lead me around in this case after he was done presenting his theory.
“Follow me, I set aside the copies in the reference room.” Following him into a room with bookshelves, few books had titles written on their spine. It seemed colored tags and the different shelves served to organize them.
Matthias pulled out a set of five books aligned to the right of a lower shelf with varying tag colors, quickly flipping through chunks of the book reaching his desired pages in only a few moments each. In the last he kept a bookmark, but before wondering why he didn’t do the same for the others I spotted the writing on it.
While most of what I could read was limited to a few alchemy related terms and those relating to trade to acquire such things, Theodore made sure I was wholly numerically literate. At a glance it listed events by dates, though I couldn’t quite figure out the time period between the few I could see. Matthias’ handwriting looked atrocious and smudged, I guess he didn’t have the desire to expand his skills from bookbinder to scrivener, or maybe it was just his writing for personal projects.
Though he set the paper aside for the moment he started explaining.
“This here is a record from Dish, the merchant group that the Church used to develop the lumber camps. Originally one of the most prosperous groups, even with the Church heavily involved, they fell into ruin due to rebellions. Look at this passage, after the initial shock wore off, the elves rebelled almost every other season.” Forcing over the book, he pointed out a passage. I could recognize a few variants of loss, failure, and auxiliary verbs, but Matthias seemed to have already forgotten I couldn’t read well. I’d done enough code-breaking and ciphers that I think I managed to pick out Dish and elf, there was no need to wait before Matthias started up again.
Even someone who could read would have trouble taking in the information that quickly, you excitable dolt.
“Dish was slowly being bled dry, almost every event recorded in here is about the elvish uprisings. However note this third to last entry, with much greater losses. If you cross-reference it with this mercenary record, the annalist mentions hunting down elves that managed to escape. This where it started, elves are long lived things and the true revolution was conceived around 80 years ago.
“There are two years of the seasonal revolutions, but if you map the locations, elves from villages to the east stopped rebelling, and they slowly settle down in a westward motion. The name Hiiosh, appears in the first major rebellion, and if you look through the Dish registers, an elf of that name can be found in large uprising, as well as in the mercenary’s texts.”
“So you’ve deduced their leader, I’m not sure— “
“He’s not important, it’s just to show the connections, he was found dead 30 years ago, just prior to another rebellion. Look at this timeline, seasonal rebellions were reduced to yearly occurrences, with what I believe were the ‘true’ events only taking place every decade or so. However fifty years in, even these events show less commitment. The real kicker is something I discovered by chance.
“While binding books, a dogboy servant of a client cursed at me ‘Hiiosh and Aelun take you’. But who is this Aelun fellow? Back in the mercenary annals the name is not mentioned until fairly recently where it was not associated with hunting elves, but as the presumed leader of a group of beastmen insurgents. This idea was only later confirmed when hearing the name cursed by a group of particularly intelligent goblins found harassing a group of villages twenty years ago.”
“Let me guess, this goblin group was nowhere near where the beastmen operated.”
“Yes! Lately there have been no large insurrections in the past 30 years, and there were no seasonal uprisings this year. Aelun is the new lead of the rebellion and he is ruthless, enlisting the help of even goblins. It’s likely he even betrayed Hiiosh in order to work with them. It was only when I arrived here that I learned of it, but the recent goblin attacks and frequent beasts being driven towards cities are likely his work in preparation for the final attack.”
“If this is as well plotted as you say, then the common folk will surely be in danger, and perhaps the surroundings of Medean will collapse. I don’t see how the local church would fall to it though.”
Though my knowledge of them was slight, clerics on the level of those I met could give all but chieftains a difficult run for their money, and that was only because the recent war left only the toughest and most cunning of them. Assuming that tax-collectors weren’t the peak of the church’s might, even with an army of goblins and beasts I doubted the elves were going to succeed despite preparing all this time.
“All this and you still stick to that idea?”
“Matthias, after a certain point of strength, simply adding numbers to the opposition does nothing. If it’s something like a normal goblin, if I have a weapon, even I could fight them until I needed to sleep. For those truly blessed by the patriarch, even if they were as numerous as the trees in their forest they could do nothing.”
“I don't believe it; Medean is finished. You said it yourself to the fool at the tavern, even if they can be suppressed, the foundation will be ruined.”
“Maybe, but this can't be the first time a city like this has fallen in the chapter. Perhaps it's because I have no attachment, but it won't bother me if this part of the country falls into discord. My duty is to my family, not the land.”
Matthias calmed down without taking the words to heart. Closing the books and placing them back he hung his head.
“It’s not really wrong to say such a thing, but to cast aside so simply what took generations of work…”
“You don't plan to stay here either. If such things are already in the process of coming to pass, beyond the point of no return, it is better to accept it. Now if that’s that, where are the books available for purchase?”
Matthias wasn’t going to change his mind on a dime, but I felt like he’d given up enough information about the oncoming storm, and I wasn’t exactly invested in helping him accept the situation. He didn’t quite have a personality that screamed for tutoring, and there were already students in my care.
Despite differing in our reactions, having heard him out and accepting the theory left him with a helpful attitude towards me. Moving to the back of the building, we walked into a room with a multitude of bins, most of which filled with books thrown in haphazardly. It’s strange to think that these were discarded originals, but most people just didn’t possess that collector’s spirit.
Although I was more of a straight-up pack-rat, which meant I didn’t have Inventory space to casually swipe an entire crate. Instead I quickly sifted through pages, neatly stacking them in several piles as I went through them.
“Is there something you’re looking for? I can’t guess what you’re after by those piles.”
“A history book preferably, and if there is one, something I could read, though that would likely just be a ledger of some sort.”
The piles beside me were for books in too poor condition; a pile whose format I couldn’t understand; and two piles I believed I could use to decipher the language given enough time, one with alchemical terms and the other without. It would take a lot of page turning, but already knowing a few words, several books would be far more than enough to serve as a Rosetta Stone. I’d taken a few cracks at linguistic reconstruction and conlangs, although they weren’t my thing. There’d be plenty of time on our journey for me to work things out even by brute force.
I couldn’t make much out, and Matthias didn’t have a good idea of what I really needed, so we didn’t take too long making an uninformed decision. At least given how he described the book as an ‘unabridged collection of trade summits involving Medean’, there was likely a good bit of history included. Without better options, it would just have to do.
On top of that, I grabbed four books for myself. Something like an actual textbook on alchemical properties would have been too valuable to leave behind, but there were plenty of ledgers left by alchemists over the years that were formulaic enough to be decoded. I grabbed two such tomes, one suspected to be a biography, and a thinner text Matthias identified as a common collection of fables. Good for some cultural analysis, if I could read it.
As Matthias browsed a newfound mercantile annal, I patiently stood in front of Scrivener with books in hand. When he finally looked up from his writing, his eyebrows jumped.
“Five? They may have been left behind, but it's not garbage to get rid of. Three argent apiece is generous offer, and only because you're taking so many.” The yearly salary of a peasant, even if professional work made more, that was likely still a sizeable sum. For books in boxes, it felt like I was getting scalped.
Considering my absurd wealth, I could probably buy the whole shop at that rate. Still, taking the first offer might seem suspicious, and it's good to be frugal no matter your station.
“14 argent. This little book is on its last few reads, not to mention how much less of it there is.”
“Fine, 14 it is. Why ever you want those kinds of things, come back if you seek more. Or better yet if you want something copied.” Placing the coins on the counter, Scrivener scooped them into a giant hand before they clinked away out of sight. After several moments he looked at me. “Is there another matter?”
“No, I was just looking to see if Matthias was about to return from the back. Tell him I'll be back at the Broken Axe once I drop these off at my inn.”
“He gets rather absorbed in those conspiracies, but I shall.”
Nodding farewell, I took to the streets. Hopefully Tagalong Girl would like what I'd ended up with. If not, we would stop by at least one more city before crossing the featureless wilds. There hadn't been any literature in Salt Village, so she could wait a little longer before getting her hands on some.