“Sigh! That was a good day,” a hoarse yet satisfied voice declared, its words mingling with the gentle lapping of water against the boats’ hulls.
As the afternoon waned, seven individuals occupied two simple wooden boats, their oars resting along the gunwales after another successful day of fishing on the vast East Lake.
Beri’s face bore a contented smile as he called an end to their day’s labor, watching his exhausted fellow fishermen release their grip on nets heavy with their catch.
“Let’s head back,” he announced, his gaze fixed on three properties visible about fifteen minutes away by boat, where a modest pier promised solid ground.
The crew—mostly recent additions to the village—mustered their remaining energy for the return journey to their outpost, the current home to eleven souls, including its leaders, Beri, and Alise.
Though they occasionally traveled to the village with fish deliveries and to replenish supplies, Beri, and Alise had spent most of the past two months at the East Lake outpost rather than in the village proper.
This routine brought them unprecedented happiness: Beri leading fishing expeditions thrice weekly across East Lake, while Alise managed operations on shore.
That late afternoon found Alise standing alongside her diligent assistant, Sayer, both clad in well-worn clothes bearing the honest marks of sweat and labor.
Like his mentors, the outpost’s father-daughter leadership team, Sayer found himself living his best life. As he watched the returning fishing party, he couldn’t help but steal glances at Alise, who stood just centimeters ahead of him, her beautiful straight hair gathered in a practical ponytail.
Behind them were the three buildings, two stone houses, each with three communal rooms, a leisure and dining area. Unlike the village proper, the outpost lacked running water. Residents trekked to the lake for washing, and three dry latrines served their other needs.
Weekly, a village envoy collected the human waste for the community’s composting system.
Despite the relative hardships compared with village life, most residents voiced few complaints. Lake work suited them well. They enjoyed ample freedom to explore the area, worked forty-hour weeks, and received guaranteed shelter, sustenance, and stunning lakeside views.
Apart from those who had chosen to be there, those who were sent because they were new to the village could eventually go to the community's core. Jonn had promised them opportunities to change positions in the future.
As another day drew to a close, the fishermen exchanged relaxed banter while transporting their fresh catch to the outpost’s warehouse.
Among the returning fishermen, a tall, well-built youth with a clean-shaven head silently maneuvered a wheelbarrow laden with fish. Spotting his mother tidying the warehouse, he offered her a warm smile and a wave, grateful for another day of safety for them both.
As time passed, Baynard found his fear of encountering Count Javis Riverash’s men gradually ebbing away. The constant nightmares that had plagued him since that chaotic night for his family were becoming less frequent. Each peaceful day, punctuated by the reassuring sight of his mother’s well-being, further quelled his anxieties.
A sense of contentment washed over him as he finished arranging the fish where one of the village workers had already begun the cleaning process. Some of the catch would journey to the village tomorrow, while the rest would sustain the outpost’s residents.
After washing his hands, Baynard settled onto a rock a short distance from the warehouse, drinking in the majestic vista of the sprawling lake before him.
‘It seems none of the servants have identified us… Or if they have, they’ve chosen to keep that to themselves,’ Baynard mused, overhearing conversations between some of Yeoman Ferry’s former staff and longstanding village members.
Since their arrival, he had maintained a guarded silence about his past, adopting a reserved demeanor when others shared their histories or posed questions. His responses remained vague, carefully curated to prevent anyone from piecing together his and his mother’s true identities.
Unlike Baynard and his mother, his father’s former servants had been less guarded with information. By now, Baynard was certain the village knew extensive details about Yeoman Ferry and the events that had unfolded on his Littlewood estates.
This didn’t annoy him overmuch, though.
His concern remained safeguarding his mother and himself from potential assassins dispatched by Count Javis.
Baynard harbored no illusions about the Count abandoning his murderous intentions.
As long as Baynard drew breath, Count Javis couldn’t legally claim Yeoman Ferry’s lands.
Yet, he’d detected no probing questions from villagers, nor overheard any conversations among his father’s ex-servants that suggested anyone had uncovered the truth about him and his mother.
‘That’s a relief,’ he reflected. ‘It seems our chaotic integration into the group that night has effectively obscured our true identities.’ His gaze drifted to his mother, who was approaching with a glass of water, having finished her work.
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“Thanks,” he said, gratefully quenching his thirst before listening to her recount of the day’s events.
Fishing days often meant long hours of work. The lake’s vastness sometimes caused extensive travel to locate and catch their quarry.
Despite the Barren Hills of Deepshadow’s inhospitable terrain, the lake teemed with life, its fish population sustained by the regional river’s inflow. However, abundance didn’t negate the need for careful stewardship. To preserve the lake’s delicate ecosystem, they implemented stringent fishing strategies, often translating to grueling workdays. Most mornings found them stirring before dawn, returning only as twilight painted the sky.
Today’s earlier return was an anomaly. Typically, Baynard spent nearly every waking hour apart from his mother, who remained at the outpost with just three others.
But life at the outpost settled into a predictable rhythm. The desolate region offered little excitement; days revolved around food preparation, living quarters maintenance, shipments to and from the village, and ample time for rest and lake appreciation.
In the weeks since their arrival, Baynard had encountered no wildlife beyond the village’s animals. Horses were frequent visitors, with the occasional white wolf lingering for a day or two.
He listened attentively to his mother’s recounting of the day, noting the weariness in her voice. This middle-aged woman, once vibrant, now spoke in a subdued tone that had persisted since their flight. Though their circumstances were as good as could be, the spark that once animated her had dimmed.
Baynard exhaled, a sigh laden with defeat and self-reproach. He felt the weight of responsibility for his mother’s misfortune pressing down on him. Though he had vowed vengeance, the path to fulfilling that promise remained frustratingly obscure.
His thirst for retribution burned genuine and fierce, yet his current circumstances left him feeling powerless and adrift.
If only he possessed magical abilities... Such power would alter everything.
“Stay here a while longer if you wish,” his mother said, rising to leave. “I’ll head back and prepare our evening meal. But don’t linger too late—rest is crucial.” With that, she departed for the outpost’s main area.
Baynard watched her retreating figure, raising a hand in farewell. His attention then shifted to a cart positioning itself at the warehouse entrance.
The fishing schedule, spanning three days each week, dictated Beri and Alise’s trips to the village. On non-fishing days, when not tending to East Lake, they’d prepare the cart with the day’s catch for early morning transport to the village. By midday, they’d return bearing eggs, milk, and other provisions.
The question of their food’s origin had gnawed at Baynard’s mind since their arrival. His experience in the village proper was limited to a single night—the evening Jonn had extended the invitation for their group to join the Eternal Village.
The following day saw their group dispersed, with Baynard and his mother assigned to this East Lake outpost, where they’d remained since.
Despite his brief stay in the village core, Baynard had observed that their group’s addition had swelled the population to nearly a hundred. This awareness sparked daily wonderment: how could a settlement in the desolate Barren Hills of Deepshadow sustain such numbers?
‘Crops don’t thrive in these barren lands,’ he pondered, his curiosity intensifying with each passing day. ‘And our fishing yield, while steady, isn’t sufficient for trade. This leaves only one plausible explanation for the village’s situation—ores. But where? My time in Eldoria’s capital taught me the Barren Hills of Deepshadow hold no significant metal reserves.’
He surmised, logically, that the village must import its food, likely from Sylvestria—the nearest state boasting substantial agricultural production.
As the sun dipped below the lake’s horizon, Baynard clenched his fist doggedly. ‘I must find a way to join the fish transport team to the village! A day there could unveil the source of these resources!’
The path to vengeance against Count Javis Riverash remained unclear, but Baynard felt certain that uncovering the source of the village’s sustenance—or more precisely, the gold used to buy it—would be a crucial first step.
Rising from his perch, Baynard brushed the dust from his clothes before making his way back to the now torch-lit area of the outpost.
‘I must continue to work diligently and earn the trust of the village’s old members!’
----------------------------------------
In the dead of night, a wolf’s howl pierced the silence, jolting Jonn from his slumber. He bolted upright, instantly alert.
The absence of warning signals from the village guards only heightened his unease. Hastily donning a shirt, he descended the stairs.
“What’s the situation?” Jonn encountered Petyr rushing towards the village’s bamboo gate.
“Uncertain,” the red-haired man said, sword in hand and poised for conflict. “Eliot and Wy are at their posts, but report no visual contact.”
Before reaching the gate, curious villagers emerged on their balconies, some in pajamas, others wrapped in blankets, all wearing expressions of concern.
Suddenly, two knocks resonated, followed by the gate shuddering. Jonn and Petyr tensed, then relaxed as a familiar, accented voice called out.
“It’s me, Tobin!” The voice brimmed with excitement.
“It’s old Tobin,” Wy confirmed from his observation tower, spotting Littlewood’s former animal keeper.
Jonn and Petyr swung the gate open, revealing Tobin’s beaming face.
Before they could question him, Tobin’s white beard and mustache quivered with his broad smile. “It’s Annabelle. Her hatching is complete. The chick is being born!”
Petyr looked bewildered, while Jonn’s expression shifted to one of keen interest and joy.
Overhearing Tobin’s announcement, Betta dashed from her house, heedless of her attire. This marked the village’s first birth since old Hewet’s passing!
Comprehending Ice’s abrupt alert, Jonn fell in step with Tobin, Betta, Petyr, and two other curious, newly-awakened villagers as they made their way to the chicken coop.
Inside, Annabelle’s domain centered on the cracked egg atop the queen’s throne. All eyes focused on the chick breaking free of its shell, poised to enter its new world.
You’ve added 1 new animal to the village, adjusting the progress required to complete the [Magic Farm] quest!
+1 progress point on the [Magic Farm] quest!
Jonn marveled at the sight. It was the first village animal to emerge as a beast at birth, without the need for an Aether Tear’s nourishment!