Forfar, in the county of Angus, in Scotland had a population of almost fifteen thousand people. And yet we’d been boiled down to a single street’s worth of people; roughly three dozen souls from less than a dozen houses. Rumbling along a paved road on half a dozen waggons and a handful of sancer. I kept turning my head to look above the tree line as we rode. Hoping to spot a wisp of smoke on the horizon.

I was unsuccessful in my search for what must have been a couple of hours until the dense forest on either side of us unexpectedly opened up into coarse fields of ridge and furrow. Which did not bode well for the level of technology of this world, or rather region, realm, kingdom, or whatever.

At first I was curious to note that the edges of the fields were lined with hedges. But then I realised that they were actually of a wattle construction. Which is to say woven of thin branches and rods to form a lattice. On Earth it was a lightweight and simple method to create walls and fences. But here in Tares it had become a masterwork. Because it, like a hedge, was made with living plants that through the application of planet aspected seagel had been woven together.

Ahead a tall palisade rose to greet our approach. It too was of wattle construction, but in a much vaster scale. I felt an odd pride that instinctively I would not like to attempt to attempt to assault that wall. At least during the day.

The settlement was to one side of the road which ran past its gate. Midnight went to continue past this gate, but I brought her to a stop outside it.

“Halloo the town!” I called up, as everyone came to a halt behind me.

There was no response at first but, just as I was about to call out again, a head appeared over the top of the palisade.

“Hello?” The Tares atop the wall was of the ashen complexion type, like myself. “Hello the road?”

“Hello.” I smiled, or attempted to. Still felt weird to this face. “Can we speak to whomever is in charge?”

“We don’t really have anyone in charge. We’re not sure what’s going on. We all woke up in these weird bodies and in this weird place. Not sure if it’s safe out there or not. There’s a few hundred of us from around Boyle Park.”

“We’re from Calder Wynd.” We’d travelled for hours and barely crossed a few hundred metres on Earth. The population density must be really low or patchy. Lusfell, seemed to be a points-of-light kind of world. Some more Tares had appeared atop the wall, being of the darker toned types. This further enhanced the sense that this was not our destination.

“Is Agnes Haig with you?” my wife called up, “It’s Amanda Dunn.”

The first head disappeared back behind the wall and there was a quick loud exchange of words which ended when a female voice boomed out “Then I’ll do it me-self!”

With a creak the gates of the palisade began to open of their own accord as the roots they grew from twisted beneath them. From between the widening gates a tares woman approached like a tall ship at full sail. She was a large woman, wo-elf, whatever. Where Amanda’s new body was curvy this woman was full on Rubenesqe. Ashen grey skin to the point of being almost white, like myself. With long silver hair in a tight bun that looked like it might explode at any moment. She wore flowing green robes over a more practical dress in a similar style to the rest of the ladies I’d seen in Lusfell; strong Norse with traces of traditional Roma garb. Although in this case absolutely zero leather and metal. Barefooted she seemed to glide over the cobbles and flagstones, with a careful grace that spoke of extreme age that she did not otherwise show. In her hands she held a small plant and a stick with a notch at the end. She was weaving the living fibres of the plant into something resembling cloth.

“Where is the second best hooker in Forfar?” There was a startled splutter from somewhere. Amanda jumped down from the lead waggon and ran over.

“Agnes! Foos yer doos?” she greeted the other woman in a hug. “You seem to have put on a little weight. It suits you.”

“You’ve lost it, and some height,” Agnes said. “But I do admire your magnificent whiskers.”

I remembered Agnes as a frail auld widow, more skin and bone and gristle than anything else. She and Amanda had a weird rivalry-slash-friendship where they’d tease and flirt with each other in equal measure. I’m pretty sure had Agnes been thirty years younger she’d have jumped my wife and stolen her from me. I still recalled the time I’d had to rush over and help her after a fall in the shower, given that she’d entrusted Amanda with her spare keys. Not really thinking about the logistics of having her housebound friend as her emergency back up. Like my beloved had said; I’ve done worse things than move a body. But at least she was decent for when the ambulance had arrived and no doors had to be broken down for them to gain entry.

Their main connection, and how they’d met, was through their shared love and proficiency in crochet. Hence “hookers”. Back when Amanda could walk as far as the bus stop she’d frequented the local Stitch and Bitch. There had been some sort of drive to make bonnets for babies, or cardigans for refugees. I forget which. Of the lot of them Agnes had churned out more bonnets, or cardigans, than anyone else. My Amanda a distant second place. Agnes had never let her live it down.

Now in her 80’s she’d been becoming more and more frail. At one point she’d even told Amanda that she envied my wife’s lipoedemia because then, at least, she’d have some meat on her bones to keep her going. We’d begun to worry about her surviving the coming winter, what with cost of living crisis, and all. But here she was, hale and hearty at long last.

“Where’s that no good husband of yours? I need to pick their brain for a minutey.”

Amanda gestured to me as I dismounted from Midnight. Ouch. I suggested that everyone stretch their legs for a moment while we talked.

“Well look at you. A handsome ashen Tares about town with your fancy clothes and weapons.” Agnes said after Amanda had fully introduced me, “You’re familiar with all this Lord of the Rings and Dungeons and Dragons stuff. Yes?”

“Amanda is almost as familiar as me.” I said.

“Yes but she’s a good Christian girl while you’re a heathen pagan.”

“Heathen pagan is a tautology.”

“Is it though?” Amanda interjected. “A pagan is someone who is non-Christian while a heathen is someone who worships outdoors.”

“Heathen is also a pagan who worships the Norse pantheon.” I said.

“I’m definitely a heathen,” said Heather, popping her head in to the group. “I used to worship Loki in the back garden because Aunt Christiana wouldn’t let me have an altar in the house, and now I have Ib with blessed Tolyin. And our forge is technically outdoors too.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I also have Ib with Tolyin,” Amanda confessed, “So I’m not so sure about being a good Christian any more.”

“I’m a pagan so I’m not sure if this any of my business,” I said, looking at the three ladies. “But surely being a good Christian is more to do with state of mind and behaviour than anything else. Christianity is fairly modular; live a good Christian life but just replace your prayers to Jesus with your Ib.”

“What is this ‘Ib’ and who is Tolyin?” Agnes asked.

“Tolyin is the Rombe goddess of travel and the forge, among other things.” Amanda sighed. “As for Ib, it’s sort of duty, responsibility, faith and other things. But it’s two way thing. I have Ib with Tolyin. But Tolyin also has Ib with me. I can’t really explain it.”

“English doesn’t really have the language for it,” Heather added.

“You think we’re speaking English?” I looked at them.

“Scots,” said Amanda.

“Not what I meant, but… No it’s not important right now. What ails you Agnes?”

“We had a visitor.” She began.

She laid out a similar encounter to the one we’d had. Only this time it had been a messenger of Resingsbu the Green Sister. It had animated the large tree at the heart of the village and terrified all of the several hundred odd inhabitants.

While Agnes told her tale I looked over her shoulder through the gates and into her village. It was a fairytale. A narrow winding cobblestone road wove between wooden houses shaped from still living vegetation. They reminded me of old Norwegian houses, and churches, with the wooden roof tiles that looked like dragon scales. Yet here were actual green leaves. Smoke filtered through these leaves from a few nearby houses, already dispersed from rising through the foliage. I had no hope in spotting that at any distance. We could walk past with fifteen metres and not see that smoke.

“…So I was wondering they were trustworthy.” Agnes concluded her recounting of local events.

“Drake?” Amanda asked.

“Uh, yeah” I looked at Agnes. My brain catching up. She’d been talking about the local gods? “Honestly I’m not the best person to ask. These aren’t the deities I revered. Amanda has Ib with one though.”

“Do you trust this Tolyin?” Agnes asked Amanda.

Amanda thought for a few moments.

“Yeah, actually I do,” she said.

“So everything that it said was true?”

“Sorry. Yes.”

Agnes look sad for a moment and then sighed. She looked up and grinned.

“O brave new world, That has such people in it. As you from crimes would pardoned be, Let your indulgence set me free” she quoted. “So. I can be anyone who I want to from here on out.”

“Yes.” Amanda agreed. “You can even come with us if you want to.”

“And leave these reprobates unguided?” She nodded back towards the village. “No I think I’ll stay. They haven’t even realised I’m in charge yet.” She laughed. “But you can both come back any time, if you want.” She winked at Amanda and slapped my arse. Loudly. I yelped and was already grateful I’d made her an ally.

We left as Agnes closed the gate behind herself. I caught Amanda looking back with a frown on her face. I rode beside her waggon for a minute.

“Worried about Agnes?” I asked.

“Thinking we should have stayed,” she said. “Done some smithing. But there just wasn’t any room for us.”

“Hence the waggons,” Heather said from the seat she’d taken up besides Amanda.

“It speaks to my Ib,” Amanda said.

“We’ll be back,” I said, and moved ahead to my place among Murdo and company.”

“We fucking better!” Amanda shouted at my back.

Murdo seemed more subdued than they were last night. As we rode we chatted. He felt bad for being so mouthy, but I told him that it was okay. Concussions, even mild ones, can do weird things to a person. We discussed magic. Specifically different Seagels. George was [Born of Fire] as I had suspected. So too was Murdo, who also had a Seagel for the [Saz], but none of us knew what that was. Greg was [Born of Storms], with a Seagel for [Olk] which he suspected could be used to enhance his strength and might account for his size, being as tall as Leonard Cowden, the [[Exalt] Human], whatever that meant. Lastly Lauchlan was [Born of Wind] but also [Born of Water]. Apparently he didn’t need to urinate, nor did he ever get thirsty. Which George pointed out was just taking the piss.

“He’s basically a living stillsuit.” Murdo said, “Which would be great if we were in a desert. But we’re in a forest and look.” He pointed to the left of us where the land had fallen away to become a swamp. “Water.”

“Can you water bend like in the Avatar cartoons?” George asked. Lauchlan shrugged.

He guided his sancer to the left, and looked at the passing swamp. He waved his hands and… nothing. He glared at the swamp as if it had betrayed him.

“No , yer dafty,” George objected. “Yer gotta do martial arts an’ stuff. De ye nae ken martial arts?”

“No. I dinnae ken martial arts. Why would a librarian need to know kung fu? Yer think the books are gonna gang up on me? Stab me to death with paper cuts?”

“Hobby martial arts is a thing,” I said. “My brother in law is a teacher, but he took up kung fu for fitness and has now gotten good enough that he can teach that too. Of course it’s possibly a bit late now. Until we find him, of course.” I said. Realising that he was going to be out there too, along with my nieces, and sister in law. And my sister. The other had moved stateside to take advantage of her dual nationality.

“Have you tried extending your aura?” I asked Lauchlan after his third failed attempt to ’bend’ water. He looked puzzled at the question. “To extend the range of your powers?” I elaborated. While he and the others looked at me like I was daft. So I explained the whole thing with auras earlier that morning.

“So that’s what that was,” Murdo sighed. “You best keep that under control pal. People are nay gonna like you giving it the big-I-am, everywhere.”

“I shall be the soul of discretion.”

Lauchlan had been focusing on something and eventually looked across at me.

“It says that I need to be tenth level to access my auras. I’m only a sixth level Guardian. [Guardian [Archivist]].”

“Guardian?” George said. “Crivens! It says I’m a Guardian too. Fifth level.”

“I’m a ninth level Guardian Sergeant,” Murdo said.

“Fourth level Guardian Brute,”Greg said.

“You are the brute squad!” George and Lauchlan said in unison. They laughed at his confused expression.

“What about you Drake?” Murdo asked me.

{[[Master] Assassin (14)]}

That was weird. Last time it just said “Assassin”.

“I’m a, uh, Master,” I said. “Fourteenth level.”

“Master what?”

“Master debater.” This from George.

“Well I am the Earl of Manchwark,” I admitted.

“I’ve heard that there’s a topical ointment for that.” Murdo said. “But I’ve also noticed that there’s a number of weapons concealed upon your person.”

“Police instincts,” Greg said. “I’m a Detective Constable and Murdo is a Detective Sergeant.” I nodded. I had noticed the faint smell of pork about them, but I thought it rude to mention.

“Everyone here is armed.” I observed.

“Yes. I’m guessing that this is not a safe environment, given how concealed most settlements are and how the one we did find was walled. But most of your weapons are concealed. I’m wondering why,” said Murdo.

“Are you sure your surname isn’t Vimes?” I asked.

“Why, is yours Vetinari?”

“Kinda.” I gathered my thoughts. “My class is Master Scoundrel,” I lied.” I’m guessing that Merle the Earl was a very bad person. Given all the blades I’ve secreted about my person. I’m an avowed pacifist though.”

He asked me about my auras and I told him about the two I’d manifested; not mentioning the third.

It was then, before we could continue our conversation, that the land opened up again. The trees had been felled back to create more farmland with more wattle-hedges. In the distance vast walls rose. Rooted in ancient and worn stone, more living wattle palisades rose to somewhere around twenty metres. Along the road, outside the gate were several buildings that looked more temporary than the ones I’d seen at Boyle Park village. But were of similar construction. The gates were wide open, and unguarded as we arrived. Above the gates a sign had been carved with the words, in the same alien yet readable script:

”Welcome to Skipingham, capital of the Earldom of Manchwark”

It appeared we were ‘home’.