"Richard and Ramon huh?" I muse, shifting uncomfortably on the saddle, the itching on my butt flaring up again, "Really?"

"Its not what you think," Ramon grumbles from behind me as he shifts his weight on Loaner's back, "My elder brother's named after some Order Knight. Apparently the old man owed him a big debt, the kind where lives are involved."

"Sounds like a story." I grunt, surveying the path we're riding on. Its a fairly quiet road, running by the side of large, murky looking river. The air's humid and positively heavy, causing me to sweat underneath my armor. Ramon said his home was in the middle of a swamp and from the look of our surroundings, we're making good progress to Ramon's family estate.

"I don't know all the details Mac," Ramon replies apologetically, "It was way before my time. But do you know the story of the Farmer?"

"Can't say I do." I smirk in reply, "Though I can tell plenty of stories about farmers and farming. Especially farming potatoes."

Loaner neighs in protest again, annoyed at having to carry both Ramon and myself. I lightly cuff the horse on its head, knowing full well Loaner's just being difficult. Carrying two people at such a leisurely pace is well within the ability of a powerful destrier. If Loaner's got a problem with it, it should have the matter up with the Sage for not reviving Ramon's pony.

But oh wait, Loaner's a horse, and horses can't talk. I chuckle inwardly to myself at Loaner's irritation.

"The Farmer, not a farmer." Ramon licks his lips and warms to the tale, "Several decades ago, there was this lady living on our fief who suddenly went berserk. Grandfather was still alive those days, so the old man and a bunch of our people were sent out to deal with the problem, as a sort of test."

"Suddenly went berserk?" I snort, "Sounds suspicious. And you guys did absolutely nothing to her before the incident? Didn't press her for protection money, kill her husband or sell her children off?"

"Seriously, my family didn't wrong her in any way. At all." Ramon steadfastly denies, "She was just a farmer who went crazy all of a sudden. First she slaughtered all her livestock. Then she began attacking anyone she saw without provocation."

"There has to be a reason though." I dispute, idly scratching my chin. A few grubby peasants walk past us, keeping a wide berth. In the distance, I see a small group of teenagers mucking about in the river.

"The rumor was that the Farmer was a secret worshipper of Hackal." Ramon shrugs, "That's the story I was told. No idea how true it is."

"Shit. You do realize that both of us sort of qualify to be Hackal cultists right?" I frown, "Three if you count Loaner here. Don't know how I feel about going berserk as part of my future."

"Please don't remind me." Ramon groans, "Anyway, the Farmer was unstoppable. The old man said she single handedly depopulated the entire town and forced him and the remaining men to barricade themselves in a cellar. They only survived because the Farmer was distracted by an Order detachment."

"So the Order does do charity." I muse, "Will wonders never cease."

"It was more like an accident." Ramon scoffs, "The Order were there to deal with the Farmer. Saving the old man was, how do I put it, a side effect? Anyway, the Order had their hands full. From how the old man described it, she was impervious to blades or magic. The Order Knights were butchered like chickens and cows."

"So how was the Farmer out down then?" I ask, honestly curious despite myself.

"She wasn't." Ramon responds, "One Order Knight, that Richard fellow, managed to immobilize her, saving the day. The Farmer was then dragged off into the sunset, kicking and screaming all the way."

"Huh. Doesn't sound very exciting. Or impressive." I remark, "The Farmer can't have been that powerful after all."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"You had to be there to see it I suppose." Ramon concedes, "The old man was plenty impressed though, and named my elder brother after the Order Knight who rescued him from the cellar."

"Sure." I respond affably, keeping an eye on our surroundings. Not that I'm actually worried about an ambush, but this downtime is a good opportunity to get used to the Eyes of Ea. I'm panning my third person view about, performing a complete, three hundred and sixty degree sweep of the area. Its still feels incredibly awkward to have my sight work this way, but I can't deny that its useful.

The more troublesome bit is the persistent sense of disassociation I have with my own body and the slight difficulty in accurately perceiving distance. Though with some acclimatization, this issue should be resolved in due course. My guess is that its most likely psychosomatic, caused by seeing through the Eyes of Ea instead of my actual, physical eyes.

"Not so many turtles out today." Ramon comments offhandedly.

"Make that no turtles." I shoot back, letting the Eyes of Ea scan the surface of the river.

"No, there's a few out there." Ramon rebuts, pointing at the youths wading deeper into the river, "See them?"

I focus on the youths, now waist deep in the brackish water, each of them carrying a large iron pan strapped to their backs. Come to think of it, when they bend over, the iron pan does give the impression of a turtle's shell.

"What're those guys doing here anyway?" I ask, "Can't be pleasant wading about in the muck."

"Panning for tin." Ramon explains, "There's a mine nearby and the runoff ends up in this river. Used to be far more turtles hanging about in these parts. I guess the old man tightened up patrols ever since I left for Deshawn City."

"Why would you father bother with a few guys panning the river?" I hum as one of the turtles looks up from his labors, alerted by the clopping of Loaner's hooves.

"Because its theft. Turtles are stealing from the Dasar family." Ramon sighs, "Personally I wouldn't bother, its not as if we actually go and retrieve the runoff. But the old man said that an example needed to be set."

"And that example being?" I quirk my mouth slightly as more of the turtles turn their attention to us.

"Flogging." Ramon clicks his tongue in distaste, "The House Guards would beat any turtle they caught within an inch of their lives. Still, there's only so many guards and so much more territory to cover. So the turtles would keep coming back."

"Looks like things have changed." I answer, "You've been away for some time, after all."

"That's true. Here's hoping I don't run into the same, uh, problems you had back at Springvale." Ramon huffs, "Can we stop for a bit?"

"What for? I want to reach the estate before nightfall." I purse my lips with concern. I really don't want to be travelling after dark, especially on roads I'm not familiar with.

"I need to piss." Ramon mutters with some embarrassment, "It'll hardly be a minute."

"Cool." I signal Loaner to stop and both of us dismount, letting Loaner exhale an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Ramon walks off to a copse of trees by the side of the road, where he can relieve himself in relative privacy. On my part, I begin rifling through Loaner's saddle bags, which the Sage had kindly replenished. Blankets, some spare clothes and dried rations. Nothing terribly amazing, but all useful supplies. I finally hit the jackpot, finding a box of cigarettes at the bottom of a saddlebag. The box is quickly torn open and I light up with a practiced motion.

"That's the stuff." I murmur, enjoying the hit of tobacco. But the sensation is different this time. More distant.

Ever since Springvale, my body had become something of a stranger to me. There are mysteries buried within my body. Like the knowledge of flash stepping. By chance, I've managed to unravel one of these knots. My instincts tell me that there are more skills and powers to be uncovered. But its like an itch on your back. You know its there, but yet the itch remains frustratingly just out of reach.

The Logos could hold the key though. It allows me to tap into the knowledge of my other incarnations, at least in a limited sense. Meditating on the Logos was dangerous though, I nearly lost myself the first time. Its not something I could do lightly, or without preparation. Setting the thought aside, I decide to deal with another issue that has been bothering me.

"Has your butt been itching?" I shout to Ramon.

"Now and then." Ramon yells back from the copse of trees, "Why?"

"Just asking." I remark. Good, its not just me then. I was afraid that fungus might have settled into the brand mark, but if Ramon suffers from the same problem as well, it might mean that the itching's just the Mark of Hackal doing its work. Keeping the world from detecting our anomalous existence.

At least that's what I hope.

We've got a more immediate problem to deal with though.

The turtles have set their pans by the river bank and have been stalking toward me. They think I don't know, because my back has been turned all this while. But thanks to the Eyes of Ea, I've been tracking the turtles the whole way. And from the sharp expressions on each of their faces, it doesn't take a genius to work out what they're looking for.

Trouble.

I take another drag from my cigarette and roll my shoulders. Taking your exercise without loosening the muscles is bad practice after all.

"Time to greet the welcoming committee." I grumble, blowing out a cloud of smoke from my mouth. And things had been nicely quieting down.

"What a hassle."