It had been a while since Ebonheim had felt self-conscious about her appearance, but as she stood in the dressing room, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment at having asked Evelyne for help.
Evelyne, however, seemed unfazed, her expression a mask of concentration as she circled Ebonheim, poking and prodding her as if she were a mannequin.
"Now, stand still, I need to take your measurements. Arms out, please."
Ebonheim obliged, stretching her arms to either side, feeling mildly foolish and more than a little ridiculous. "And how long will this take, exactly?" she inquired, her tone tinged with a hint of impatience.
"As long as it takes for me to ensure you look your absolute best, ma déesse Ebonheim." Evelyne spoke matter-of-factly, reaching around Ebonheim's waist to measure the circumference of her hips. "Trust me, I can assure you that the fruits of my labor will be well worth the wait."
Ebonheim wrinkled her nose. She didn't particularly care about fashion, or trends, or looking good, but the excitement in Evelyne's voice was palpable. Still, she couldn't deny that part of her was curious about what kind of outfit Evelyne would design for her.
Evelyne removed a measuring tape from her tool belt, circling around Ebonheim to wrap it around her chest, pausing as her fingers brushed against Ebonheim's bosom. She quickly retracted her hand, mumbling an apology as she jotted down the measurements, avoiding eye contact.
Ebonheim tilted her head as she stared at her curiously.
Though they hadn't had many opportunities to talk, she struck her as someone who was dignified and carried a strong sense of purpose, a sharp sense of intuition, and an unparalleled resolve to achieve her goals. Roderick had told her that Evelyne had single-handedly revitalized Les Artisanats d'Éclair during its troubled period of stagnancy, leading the guild to reclaim its former glory until their relocation to Ebonheim.
A person like her was now...flustered? Why? Ebonheim was the one who was self-conscious, not the other way around. Was Evelyne shy around her? It couldn't be. She didn't seem like the type to be nervous about anything.
Still, the entire situation amused her.
Ebonheim cleared her throat. "Is something wrong?"
"N-non, I-I mean, no," Evelyne stammered, clearing her throat. "My apologies, I was merely distracted by my task. I am trying to be as accurate as possible. It's imperative that every measurement is precise, otherwise, the ensemble won't be able to accommodate your divine physique."
Evelyne brushed a stray lock of raven hair out of her face, her expression focused as she moved on to measuring Ebonheim's legs. Her hands traced over the curves of Ebonheim's calves, stopping just below her thighs, and again, she withdrew her hand hastily.
This was starting to become entertaining.
Ebonheim fought back a smile as she watched Evelyne's reaction, enjoying the way she fussed and fretted over every detail. Perhaps a bit too much.
"Are you sure there isn't anything bothering you, Evelyne?" she asked, feigning concern. "Your face seems awfully red."
"Yes, I'm fine, I am perfectly fine." Evelyne fanned herself with one hand, offering a smile that seemed rather strained. "Please, ma déesse Ebonheim. You may keep inquiring, but the answer will always be the same."
Ebonheim chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly. "Well, if you say so." She peered into Evelyne's emerald eyes, admiring the way the irises glinted like gemstones, flecks of gold and green dancing around the pupils. "Your eyes are very pretty."
Evelyne nearly dropped her note and pen, stumbling to catch them. "M-merci," she managed, her face turning scarlet as she bent forward to retrieve the fallen items.
It was official; Evelyne was adorable.
She hid her mouth behind her palm, suppressing a giggle as Evelyne returned to her task.
Maybe this was going to be a fun experience after all.
The minutes passed as Evelyne continued to measure every inch of Ebonheim's body, her touch gentle and feather-light, but firm. Every so often, she'd stop to record her findings, muttering under her breath as she made meticulous annotations in her notebook.
Evelyne's hands slid over the curves of Ebonheim's stomach, resting momentarily on her hips before moving to her back, pressing the fabric of the dress flat against her skin. She scribbled a few notes into the journal before finally putting it away with a satisfied sigh.
"I think we're done here," she announced, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. "I'll have your garments ready for you by the festival. Merci for allowing me to assist you, Ebonheim."
"No, thank you, Evelyne," Ebonheim responded earnestly, inclining her head to Evelyne in respect. "I appreciate your efforts."
Evelyne beamed, her eyes sparkling. "De rien. And now, I shall return to preparing the performance with the others. Bonne soirée!"
With that, Evelyne departed, leaving Ebonheim alone with her thoughts.
Ebonheim remained silent, absorbing everything she had learned about Evelyne during their encounter. It was enlightening to discover this new side of her.
Hmm. Speaking of discovering a new side...
She hadn't really used her Domain Knowledge ability on any of the new settlers, and the temptation to do so now rose in her. It had already been a couple of months, and the curiosity had been gnawing at her the entire time.
There were no reasons not to. So, why not try to see a little deeper than the surface?
Concentrating her power, Ebonheim activated her Domain Knowledge. An array of numbers appeared before her, detailing Evelyne's Attributes, Faith Rank, Skills, and Traits.
The first thing Ebonheim noticed was Evelyne's Faith Rank: Faithful.
She blinked.
Faithful? That wasn't quite what she had expected. Evelyne had only arrived recently, and her attitude toward Ebonheim thus far had seemed a little reserved.
She checked the overall Faith ranks within her domain.
Name: Ebonheim
Size: Town
Total Population: 6032
Human: 5804
Beastkin: 228
Professions:
Farmers: 296 (+241 from newcomers)
Hunters and Gatherers: 134 (+237 from newcomers)
Miners: 41 (+682 from newcomers)
Craftsmen: 174 (+1109 from newcomers)
Warriors: 93 (+1165 from newcomers)
Druids: 20
Healers/Herbalists: 58 (+68 from newcomers)
Arcanist: 1 (+220 from newcomers)
Artificer: 0 (+383 from newcomers)
Village Elders: 19
Unskilled: 102 (+989 from newcomers)
Age Distribution:
Children (ages 0-14): 144 (+935 from newcomers)
Adults (ages 15-64): 696 (+4105 from newcomers)
Seniors (ages 65+): 98 (+54 from newcomers)
Devotion Rank Distribution:
Unbeliever: 0
Follower: 5147
Believer: 175
Worshipper: 255
Devotee: 453
Faithful: 2
Building Types:
Huts/Tents: 55 (+78 temporary shelters for the newcomers)
Houses: 162 (+411 constructed for the newcomers)
Yrsta Klettur 'Longhouses' (Hrafnsteinn Exiles): 18
Farms: 44 (+40 new farms to accommodate the increased population)
Workshops: 34 (+30 new workshops under construction)
Guard Towers: 4 (+2 additional tower for increased security)
Market Square: 1
Logging Camps: 5
Mining Camps: 3
Magitech Workshops (Les Artisanats d'Éclair and Ethervein Enclaves): 4
☆Conduit Chamber (Ethervein Enclaves): 85%
☆The Stoneheart Chamber: 47%
☆La Salle de Mécanique (Les Artisanats d'Éclair): 9%
Resources:
Forest: Hardwood, Softwood, ☆Ebon Trees
Rivers: Fish, Clay deposits
Mines: Iron, Copper, Tin, Gold, Coal, Granite, Slate, Quartz, Opal, Peridot, Amethyst, Turquoise, Citrine
Prosperity Points: 67
Harmony Points: 42
Sustainability Achievement: 55
All the original villagers were either Worshippers or Devotees, and the Aslankoyash were Believers, with the exception of Serrandyl and Argoran, who were both Worshippers.
Why was Evelyne already Faithful? What had changed between the time of their arrival and today?
Ebonheim stared at the Faith Rank, contemplating the possibility that perhaps Evelyne's rank reflected her current mindset, rather than the sum total of her faith. She dismissed the idea; she would have noticed fluctuations in others over the years if that were the case.
So, why?—Wait....there was another person who was at the Faithful rank. Who else could it be?
She flicked through the information until she found the other name, and her eyes widened in surprise—Roderick.
How? Why?
Aside from the past few months, she had only met with him for a week at most, just before he had set off to enact his plan to bring more people to the village. There certainly hadn't been enough time or reason for his faith to grow so quickly.
Why did these two merit such high marks? They barely knew her!
Shaking her head, Ebonheim dismissed the screen and headed to the Hrafnsteinn neighborhood to check on Ingrid's progress with her preparations.
At least that mystery would be easy to solve.
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In the hushed, serene hours of dawn, when the first rays of sunlight began to pierce the veil of night, Ingrid Lysgaard, the Shieldmaiden from Hrafnsteinn, stood alone by the river’s edge, the gentle murmur of the flowing water her only companion. She inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling her lungs, carrying the earthy scent of the river and the fresh aroma of the surrounding forest. Clad in a simple tunic and trousers that did not hinder her movements, Ingrid unsheathed her sword, the steel glinting faintly in the pale light.
Her morning ritual began with a series of fluid, deliberate stretches, warming her muscles against the morning chill. She extended her arms, feeling the pull in her shoulders, and then bent at the waist, her fingertips brushing the dew-laden grass. The cool moisture soaked into her skin, grounding her to the earth.
Ingrid’s movements transitioned seamlessly into sword practice, each motion a dance between blade and bearer. The sword felt like an extension of her own arm, balanced and sure. She executed a series of thrusts and parries, her muscles responding with practiced ease. The rhythmic swing of the blade cutting through the air was a familiar melody, one that spoke of discipline and strength.
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As she moved, her mind wandered back to the snow-capped mountains of Hrafnsteinn, the land of her birth. Memories of her early training under the stern eye of her mentor, Jarl Erikson, flashed through her mind.
She remembered the weight of her first sword, heavier than the one she wielded now, and the determination that had filled her young heart. Those were days of simple truths and clear purposes, contrasting sharply with the complexities she faced in Ebonheim.
Ingrid paused, lowering her sword as she gazed at the river. Its currents were like the ever-changing tides of her life, flowing ceaselessly, sometimes calm and sometimes turbulent. She reflected on the journey that had brought her here, to a land so different from her own.
Ebonheim was a melting pot of cultures and beliefs, a place where people from all walks of life gathered to carve out a new life for themselves. It was both exhilarating and daunting, and at times, Ingrid felt the weight of her responsibility as one of its protectors.
Returning to her practice, Ingrid focused on a sequence of high-speed drills, her blade arcing and slicing through the air. She imagined facing an opponent, visualizing their moves, and countering them with her own. Her feet shuffled and pivoted on the soft riverbank, leaving intricate patterns in the soil. The physical exertion warmed her body, driving away the lingering chill of dawn.
With each strike and block, Ingrid felt a connection to her heritage, to the legacy of the shieldmaidens of Hrafnsteinn. They were women of valor and honor, defenders of their people. She carried that legacy within her, as she embodied the same tenacity and courage.
But here, in Ebonheim, she was more than a warrior; she was a mediator, a bridge between the old ways of her people and the new life they were building.
As the sun peeked over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the land, Ingrid sheathed her sword and sat by the riverbank. She closed her eyes, listening to the symphony of nature around her—the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the gentle flow of the river. These sounds, so different from the harsh winds and echoing battle cries of Hrafnsteinn, were now part of her world.
She thought of the day ahead, of the preparations for the Harvest Festival. It was an event that meant so much to the people of here, a celebration of unity and survival. She and Hilda, the wise elder from the Jixishan tribe, were in charge of the food preparations, a task that required not just culinary skills but also a deep understanding of the various cultures and traditions. It was a challenge she welcomed, as she strove to balance her own values with those of her new community.
She stood up, her gaze lingering on the horizon where the sky met the land.
Today, she would meet with Hilda to discuss their plans for the festival. There would be discussions about recipes, ingredients, and cooking methods, each a reflection of the various cultures that made up Ebonheim. But beyond that, she also wanted to learn more about the Jixishan tribe and their unique history and traditions.
With a final glance at the river, Ingrid turned and made her way back to the town. The river continued its journey behind her, a steady reminder that the ebb and flow of life would go on.
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As Ingrid strode through the streets of Ebonheim, the town was stirring to life. Thatched roofs glistened with morning dew, and smoke lazily curled from chimneys into the crisp air. The murmur of voices floated through open windows and doors, punctuated by the occasional call of a bird or bleat of a goat.
She made her way towards the Jixishan settlement, nestled within the forest outside of town. A scattering of simple yet cozy huts and tents greeted her, each decorated with colorful embroideries and trinkets. A handful of children dashed about, laughing and chasing each other in some sort of game of tag. Several elders tended to the goats and chickens, conversing among themselves in their native tongue.
Hilda's abode was located in the center of the settlement. The elderly woman emerged as Ingrid approached, her long white hair tied into a neat bun atop her head. She smiled warmly, her wrinkled face crinkling further with the gesture.
"Good morning, Ingrid." Hilda's voice was rich and melodious, despite her advanced age. "It's nice to see you here bright and early. Are you ready to start our preparations?"
Ingrid nodded, returning the greeting with equal warmth. "Good morning, Hilda. Yes, I'm eager to begin."
They made their way back towards the feast hall in the center of town, chatting along the way.
"I had noticed that even Bjorn and Thorsten tended to wake before dawn for their respective tasks. Do all residents of Hrafnsteinn rise with the sun?" Hilda inquired as they walked, her tone polite and curious.
"In our culture, the sunrise is considered a sacred time, when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. It's become a habit for me as well. I find the dawn brings clarity to my thoughts."
Hilda nodded thoughtfully. "I see. There is wisdom in that belief. Our people have a similar custom, though we view the sunset with greater reverence."
The pair entered the feast hall, the air heavy with the aromas of spices and herbs. Elements of various cultures could be seen in the decorations—jars of dried herbs and flowers lined the shelves, alongside clay pots of traditional Hrafnsteinn stew. The central area, where a long table ran across the length, was laden with plates of steaming loaves of bread and freshly-caught fish.
Ingrid's stomach grumbled in response, and she placed a hand over it in an attempt to quell the sensation. The task at hand should be the priority.
"So," she said, turning her attention back to the elderly woman. "What kind of foods did you have in mind for the festival?"
The two women discussed their ideas over breakfast, eventually settling on a selection of dishes from each region. They divided up the tasks, with Ingrid taking on the duty touring each establishment and talking with the local cooks about their respective dishes.
Her first stop was at the Silverguard encampment, where the mercenaries had made camp on the outskirts of town. As she approached, the men and women of the company called out greetings and waved in recognition. She nodded, offering a small wave in return, before approaching the largest tent in the center.
Their commander, Lorne, clad in his usual armor, greeted her from inside the tent.
"Ingrid, come to check on our culinary skills?" he joked, a hint of humor coloring his voice. "I have to warn you, we're a group of rough-and-tumble fighters, not chefs."
Ingrid raised a hand in greeting. "I'm aware of that, Lorne. But I trust that you'll put your best effort into whatever dish you choose."
She glanced around the tent, observing the various tools and implements that adorned its interior.
"And what have you decided to contribute?" she asked.
"Well," Lorne began, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Since we can't exactly offer anything that would fit the bill of being sophisticated or refined, I thought it best to provide something that's hearty and familiar. We're planning to make some spiced lamb kofta meatballs. They're popular in our homeland, and we're confident that they'll be a crowd favorite. Of course, our resident chef, Kaela, will be handling the majority of the preparation, but I can assure you we've all pitched in with our own contributions."
A faint blush appeared on his cheeks at the last sentence, and Ingrid struggled to hide a smile at the sight.
"I'm glad to hear that you're all involved, Lorne," she said encouragingly. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help. I'll be making my rounds to the other settlements later today to gauge their progress. Is there anything you'd like me to pass on?"
Lorne shook his head, waving her off with a chuckle. "Thanks for the offer, but I think we've got things handled on our end. I'll let the others know that you stopped by."
Ingrid turned to leave, offering a quick farewell before heading back to the center of town.
Next, she visited the Ethervein Enclave's nearly constructed headquarters—the Conduit Chamber. It was an impressive structure, comprised of towering pillars and platforms that floated in midair, supported by arcane energy.
The enclave's master artificer, Orin, was in the process of adjusting the platform heights and energy flows when Ingrid arrived. He turned to her as she approached, his mechanical arm whirring with the movement.
"Lady Ingrid, what a pleasant surprise." His voice carried an oddly cheerful timbre, given the situation. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"
Ingrid suppressed the urge to correct him about the use of 'lady.'
"I came to inquire about the enclave's contribution to the festival," she stated, shifting her focus back to the topic at hand. "Have you come to a decision?"
"I'm afraid I've not put much thought on the matter," Orin admitted, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "But you can consult with Serelle. She's inside the chamber." He gestured to a side door with his normal, unmechanized arm.
"I'd be happy to," Ingrid said politely, giving the artificer a slight bow before walking away.
As she entered the room, her eyes widened in amazement. The space was filled with devices and contraptions she'd never seen before—some resembling oversized orbs, others like boxes with flashing lights and dials. The air hummed with energy, causing her hair to stand on end.
In the center of the room stood a figure dressed in a flowing robe, her hand outstretched, manipulating a glowing blue orb hovering above her palm. Upon closer inspection, Ingrid could make out various runes inscribed on the sphere's surface, emitting a faint glow.
The figure, apparently Serelle, looked up as Ingrid approached.
"I presume you must be here to ask about the enclave's preferences for the festival," she guessed, an amused smile playing on her lips.
"Y-yes, that's right," Ingrid stuttered, slightly unnerved by the scene.
"Well, if you're wondering if there's a particular dish or style of food the enclave prefers, there isn't," Serelle answered candidly. "We're quite an eclectic group, with people from various regions and backgrounds. It's difficult to say whether the members have a common cuisine preference. We generally enjoy experimenting with new tastes, so long as they're healthy and nourishing."
She tapped her chin in contemplation.
"Although...if I had to choose one food, it would be something hearty and filling—perhaps some sort of meat and potato stew. I suppose the winter climate affects my tastes."
Ingrid nodded, considering the option. "That sounds reasonable. I'll let Hilda know. Thank you for your time, Serelle."
With that, she bid her farewell and left, closing the door behind her. The humming of arcane energy ceased abruptly, and Ingrid let out a sigh of relief, running a hand through her hair.
Magitech. It still unsettled her, but she couldn't deny its usefulness.
She took a moment to gather herself before continuing with her errands.
Moving on, Ingrid found herself in the Aslankoyash section, where the scent of exotic spices filled the air. The leonine Beastkin, clad in simple tunics and trousers, worked on their respective chores without pause.
Ingrid scanned the area, searching for Serrandyl.
It didn't take long to spot her; the woman stood out from the rest, with her lithe frame and flaming crimson hair. She was in the process of feeding the goats, tossing the pellets into the wooden troughs with practiced efficiency.
"Serrandyl, can we speak for a moment?" Ingrid called out.
The Beastkin turned her head towards Ingrid, her ears pricking up in recognition. She brushed the remaining feed into the trough before walking over, her tail swishing behind her.
Serrandyl flashed a toothy grin. "Heya! Sure, I can spare a minute. Do you wanna spar or something? We can trade techniques!" She flexed one arm, the muscles bulging beneath her sleeve.
Ingrid laughed at the suggestion, shaking her head. "Actually, I'm here to ask about your tribe's food choice for the upcoming Harvest Festival."
"Oh, that stuff? Yeah, sure, we can do that too." Serrandyl shrugged. "Seriously though, how about a quick one-on-one? I could use the exercise, and I bet you've got some great techniques. I mean, you're from the same place as Bjorn and Thorsten, aren't you?"
Normally, Ingrid would have agreed without hesitation, but Serrandyl's reputation preceded her. Lorne himself told her that Serrandyl singlehandedly destroyed two earth elementals with nothing but her fists, and he had witnessed this with his own eyes.
Ingrid, too, had observed Serrandyl sparring with the Silverguards shortly after their arrival at the village, and the woman had clearly demonstrated exceptional combat prowess.
It wouldn't be prudent to decline without good reason.
"Er, how about after the festival?" Ingrid suggested, hoping to buy time.
Serrandyl gave a disappointed sigh. "All right, but you better keep your promise!" She pointed at Ingrid accusingly. "Remember, I can sense your reluctance, lady!"
Ingrid shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet her eyes.
"Um, Serrandyl, the food choice?"
Serrandyl's expression returned to a casual one. "Right, food. Um, we'll be preparing our traditional sun-stew, which is a vegetable-based stew that has been simmered overnight in a sealed oven, producing a distinct flavor unique to the Aslankoyash." She grinned proudly, as if reciting a well-practiced speech. "I don't want to spoil the surprise, but trust me, it's delicious! You won't regret having a taste."
"Sounds promising. I look forward to tasting it," Ingrid replied with a smile. "Thank you, Serrandyl."
The Beastkin gave a sharp-toothed, feline grin. "You're welcome. Now, let's get this show on the road. The sooner we finish, the faster you and I can have a round together!"
She clapped her hands in excitement, a gleam in her eyes.
Ingrid chuckled, shaking her head.
"All right, all right. I'll see you soon, then." With a wave of her hand, Ingrid departed, leaving a visibly pleased Serrandyl in her wake.
For the rest of the morning, she toured the town and various settlements, taking careful note of everyone's progress if they contributed, or preferences if they did not.
By noon, her stomach protested once again, reminding her of its emptiness.
She returned to the feast hall to meet with Hilda and discuss her findings with the other volunteer cooks.
After lunch, they reconvened to decide which meals would be best suited for the main banquet and which ones could be served as side dishes or snacks. They settled on several options: a hearty meat and potato stew from the Ebonheim locals, a variation of spiced lamb kofta from the Silverguard, a traditional sun-stew from the Aslankoyash, and a refreshing salad composed of seasonal vegetables and herbs from the Les Artisanats d'Éclair, and a wide selection of smaller delicacies from the other groups.
"Well, this is excellent progress," Hilda declared, her weathered face alight with satisfaction. "We'll be able to complete the necessary preparations in time for the festival. What say you, Ingrid?"
Ingrid nodded in agreement, impressed by how smoothly everything had gone.
"It's been a productive day," she commented, glancing at the setting sun. "However, I think we've done enough for today. Shall we break for dinner?"
The group concurred and broke off, eagerly anticipating the evening meal. As Ingrid headed toward the exit, she caught sight of Ebonheim entering the feast hall and waved to her.
Ebonheim waved back with a smile.
"Ingrid, I hope you didn't overwork yourself!" Ebonheim greeted cheerfully, placing her hand on her shoulder.
"Not at all. The day went by in a flash. Did you need something from me?" Ingrid inquired, tilting her head in puzzlement.
"No, nothing like that. I just wanted to invite you to join me for dinner in my cabin, as a small reward for working hard." Ebonheim patted her on the back.
"Oh." Ingrid was surprised by the unexpected invitation, but she couldn't turn it down. "I'd be honored to join you."
"Perfect! Then let's head over. I'm famished." Ebonheim grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Hilda's joining us, as well."
Hilda, who was waiting nearby, nodded her head.
As they headed to Ebonheim's cabin, Ingrid watched the goddess and the elder walk side-by-side, chatting casually about the various topics surrounding the festival. Their interactions were strikingly friendly; while Ingrid herself wasn't shy about being direct, her relationship with Ebonheim hadn't progressed to the point of exchanging light-hearted banter.
It was a little enviable.
Hopefully, she'd have an opportunity to experience a similar friendship in the future. For now, she'd enjoy this unexpected moment of camaraderie, and savor every bit of it.