Apologies for the long wait between posts, a great tragedy has interrupted my life. My best friend took his own life, and while I do not ask for your sympathy, I urge any of you who may be suffering from depression or addiction, please reach out. Talk to your friends, your family. Seek professional help if you need it. For those of you who feel you have no one, you may contact me at any time.
May 12, 5319 A.A.
"Orcs?" Mark gasped, "So soon?"
"No, it's a trade caravan." Liam replied, in an annoyed drawl.
"What? What's wrong with that? Isn't that a good thing?"
"It is." Fredrick cut in, "But we aren't ready for them. We thought it would take another month for the Londar pass to thaw enough for traders."
"Ready? For what?" Mark continued to question as Liam stomped off towards the road, following the foundations where the wall would be.
"Supplies first off. We've gathered quite a stockpile of pelts, teeth, claws, and pretty much anything else useful from the local wildlife. Then we have some rare wood to trade, the old growth ironwood especially. Monster loot and wood. That's really it, so we need to get as much of it rounded up as we can before the caravan leaves. The other problem is we haven't had time to warn all of you new arrivals. They can't find out about Vidar."
"Vidar? Why?"
"He is a young god. An infant really. He can do a few tricks, and help our settlement grow, but he is dangerously weak. If the Toren pantheon or a rogue deity discover him, they will devour him."
"Why? What has he done?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. But devouring other gods is the fastest way for a god to grow in power. It's the only shortcut they have. That combined with the fear that he could one day rise to challenge them leaves little room for doubt. Young gods must hide or be hunted down and destroyed. Didn't you ever wonder why a god would live out in the wilderness like this?"
"That's insane. What do we do?" Mark began to panic, as he saw the caravan of 14 very large wagons and carts pull up to a halt in front of Liam who was blocking the road. He could tell they were arguing, the lead driver gesturing angrily while Liam quietly blocked their path.
"We keep him a secret until he matures. As the city grows around him, and he grows in strength he will be less and less vulnerable until he is no longer worth the effort to hunt, and they will pass over him for easier prey. But that's enough talking for now, we've wasted enough time. We have to warn the village."
Fredrick ended the conversation as he set off back towards the settlement at a brisk walk, Mark half-jogging to keep up. Mark kept glancing over his shoulder, and the slowly escalating confrontation behind him on the road. Just as he thought the lead driver would be angry enough to attack his mentor an older, lean woman walked up from one of the waiting wagons and single word ended the driver's tirade. The seemingly calm discussion between her and Liam only made Mark even more nervous as he passed through the village gate.
As he and Fredrick stumbled through the gate, the village was already a flurry of commotion. Fredrick called out, confused "There's a-"
"Trade caravan. We know captain." Brenda cut him off.
"How-"
"Vidar. Saw them coming through the trees a mile off. He's been keeping an eye out ever since the battle."
"Of course he did." Fredrick sighed. Having your own personal god with only one village to worry about was a convenience he had never experienced before. "Well, we came all the way back here, what can we do lieutenant?"
"Runners were dispatched to the loggers, hunters, and farmers. Dorian is just about to leave with a welcoming party, the priestesses have torn down and hidden all the temple decorations, and everyone else is gathering all the trade goods we have together. I suppose it would be best if you joined Dorian, as captain of the guard. As for Mark there..." Lieutenant Brenda paused for a moment, "I can't think of anything in particular, it would probably be best if you got back to work on the wall. Not even the traders are more important than that."
"Liam took me off wall duty days ago, I'm making bows now." Mark said with a hint of pride in his voice.
"Ooh, awesome! Ever since I broke my last bow I've been wanting a new one. I thought I'd have to blow my wages on the first caravan to come through, but now maybe I won't have to!" Brenda cheered at the news.
"He's a long way off from that. It was pretty good for a first try, draw weight was only 20 pounds. A kids toy." Fredrick warned, before his face lit up. "Mark! That's it! Those first bows aren't a waste after all!"
"Wow, thanks..." Mark sighed as his pride quickly evaporated.
"Sorry, I know that was harsh, but you can actually give those bows to the kids. A 20 pound draw weight is perfect for Ivar's 6 year old. If your next batch is a bit stronger, the older two kids can use them!"
"Kids toys... I'm making kids toys..." Mark sighed, completely defeated.
"Cheer up Mark." Brenda chuckled, "Nothing is wasted around here if we can avoid it. Those kids will grow up to be better marksmen because of you, and you are only just starting. You think I was as amazing as I am now on my first week of guard duty?"
"No, I guess not..." Mark agreed.
"Hah, you can bet she wasn't!" Fredrick started to chuckle, "She was doing sword drills on her first day and was so smitten with her instructor that she forgot to pick up her sword from the armory because he was talking. He made her act out all the drills empty handed!"
"Hey! No fair telling embarrassing stories!" Brenda cried out. "At least it's not as bad as-"
*Cough!* A very, very loud and patronizing cough echoed out from behind the distracted trio. Dorian was standing right behind them. "If it's alright with you, I would like to pass through the gate you are all blocking."
"Sorry boss!" Brenda cried out. "We got distracted..."
"Mark" Fredrick turned towards him, "It would be best if you got back to work, Brenda and I will be going with Dorian."
Mark slowly strolled back to his workbenches and bows, watching as Dorian and his honor guard rode to greet the traders on horseback. He could only imagine the excuses Dorian would use to justify the delay, but if he knew anything about the old man, it was that he was far more crafty than he appeared to be. As Mark finally reached his work station, the convoy was finally allowed to pass Liam's roadblock, the craftsman returning to work as the wagons trundled towards the village. Rather than entering the gates, the convoy formed a wagon circle just outside, across from the stable. As the wagons pulled into their positions, three wagons full of nothing but people were immediately vacated as soon as they stopped. Ten people piled out of each, about half were armed and armored, probably bodyguards, and the other half were workers. Everyone involved was a whirlwind of activity as they rushed to unpack their supplies, raise stall-like tables and awnings, and arrange their merchandise. About half of the goods being unloaded were simply piled up near the gates, presumably a prearranged order for the village. Even as their friends were setting up a fully fledged market, the caravan guards were digging trenches.
Some of the villagers carried out a large assortment of stakes and barricades which had been stockpiled next to the guard post inside the gates ever since the attack, and the caravan guards immediately put them to use. Soon, the entire laager was surrounded with a ring of barricades, then a ring of stakes jutting outwards over a pit encircling the entire formation with only a single gap. That gap made for a road straight towards the settlement gate. All of this was completed in the span of two hours, and mark was awed by their efficiency. "How the hell do they do that?" He called out to Liam.
"Practice. They usually don't have the barricades, but they spend a whole two hours fortifying their position when they stop for the night, every night. Especially on the open road. A surprise attack by monsters, bandits or orcs could prove fatal to a trade caravan. They always space them out so they can make use of the same campsite every trip. Each time adding another layer of defenses, felling trees, sharpening stakes. If you ever make the trip through the pass, some of them will already be looking like a military fortress. In fact, it's how most forts get started. We only broke down their old one here over the winter, one of the horses impaled itself when they were hidden by snow and we needed the space."
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"Are the roads really so dangerous? And when was the last time monsters attacked the village?"
"Yes, they are. And have you forgotten the orcs so soon? Our activity here and our fierce hunters have driven off most of the large predators, but you set foot in those woods alone as you are now, and you wont walk out. As for the last attack, it was about a month before you arrived. We lost a third of our sheep to the yetis before the guards drove them off."
"This world is insane."
"I've known no other, but I agree whole heartedly."
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May 13, 5319 A.A.
A trade caravan for a small frontier village would stay for only three days. The first day they arrived was spent unloading, unpacking, and allowed for the village to finish their tasks and round up everything they had to trade. The ordered shipment Dorian had arranged on the last trip were unpacked, inspected, stocked, and paid for. The traders would inspect the payment, as it was very rarely paid in Aurels. With a small village there wasn't much currency to go around, so they would exchange it for whatever goods they could acquire. After the goods were assessed and appraised, any difference would be paid in currency, or parts of the order would be withheld. This worked both ways, and if the village had a surplus or some particularly valuable merchandise, the caravans would often pay the difference if they had room to carry the excess. The village badly needed iron, salt, medicine, herbs, mead, ale, tools, bows, and arrows. The most valuable items they had to trade were direwolf pelts, jackalope horns, and ironwood boards. There were many other miscellaneous goods mixed in, but this was the core of Chilton's economy.
It appeared as if the village was going to come up short on goods to trade, but the loggers brought out a small stockpile of ancient ironwood sentinel heartwood. Scattered in the vast pine forests surrounding them were large groves of ironwood sentinels, distant relatives of the redwood trees of earth. Each tree was tens of thousands of years old, and the heartwood was the very center of the tree, the oldest and strongest ironwood in the world. The loggers had felled a single tree over the long winter, and had spent a whole month cutting into the tough fallen tree to recover the heartwood. Even after all of that, they only recovered ten thin logs worth before they were forced to go back to their regular duties to supply the village with wood. It was well worth it however, as those ten logs were worth more than everything else the village had to offer. All told, the village made out with a surplus of about 9 aurels worth of trade goods which would be saved and distributed according to Dorian's judgment.
The second day was market day, and the whole village took a day off from their endless toils. Mark woke up late, having slept in for the first time since he arrived, and he awoke to the deliciously greasy smell of pan fried meat. It was a scent he had nearly forgotten, but his eyes went wide as his groggy mind grasped the significance of the smell. "Bacon!" Mark shouted, leaping from the bed, only to tumble to the ground in a mess of blankets and furs. As he tried to recover from his graceless awakening, he heard sweet joyful laughter filling the room. His wife was seated at the small table in their tiny, cramped room, barely keeping her seat as her body trembled with mirth. Mark's embarrassment only lasted for a brief moment before he remembered why he was on the floor to begin with. "Is that really bacon?" Mark gasped, eying the heaping tray of food on the table.
"Yes, yes it is." His wife replied, her eyes wet with tears from laughing so hard at his antics.
"How did you get it?" Mark spoke, awe in his voice as he sat across from her, simply staring at the massive stack of hot, glistening bacon in front of him next to a tray of still sizzling sausages. The meats were surrounded by a large bowl of fluffy scrambled eggs, and piles of golden brown pancakes, hash browns, and french toast. A pitcher of hot, thick maple syrup, and slab of rich creamy butter, and a jar of powdered sugar accented the decadent arrangement. It was a breakfast feast fit for a king.
"The traders. An entire wagon was full of nothing but fresh meat and food, and they have set up a restaurant of sorts. It cost 5 krones for all of this. I didn't think you'd mind."
"I don't care how much it cost! There is no better way for a man to wake up than to delicious food and a loving wife. Besides... Real bacon..." Mark was nearly moved to tears by the decadent spread laid out before him.
As the bacon deprived couple tore into their food, they spoke of what they would do with their day off. It was the first morning they had spent together since their arrival. The endless work of the village meant Mark only enjoyed his wife's company by moonlight, if he had the energy left in him after his days work.
"How about a picnic on the beach?" Alex suggested, "We could go for a swim."
"The beach would be great! But you know I can't swim."
"Nonsense Mark, I'll teach you. We won't go in deep and the lake current is very gentle."
"Alright... I'll try." Mark sighed. Living next to a lake he would have to learn someday.
"But let's hit the market first, or else all the good stuff will be gone!"
The happily married couple continued to talk, gossip and bicker as they slowly gorged themselves on the impossibly delicious food. As they reached their limit, Mark groaned. His stomach was bulging, but there was no way he could eat any more.
"It mustn't go to waste..." Mark moaned as he tried to cram yet another slice of delicious crispy bacon into his mouth, only for his wife to chide him.
"We will pack it in with whatever else we get for our picnic at the beach." She spoke in a condescending voice. "No need to eat the whole plate."
"You ate more than I did!" Mark exclaimed, endlessly infuriated at how his stomach bulged and strained in an unsightly manner at the amount of food he had forced into it, but Alex's petite figure was completely untouched.
"Come now, I'm a lady. I would never!" She chuckled at the exasperation on her husband's face. "Now hurry up. We will be late!" She shouted as she raced out the door.
"Some things never change..." Mark chuckled as he smiled, and waddled out the door after her.
They arrived at the market, only to see it nearly picked clean. Dorian stood in the middle of the laager market, and called out to them as they approached, paying the two their wages. Alex earned 5 shills, and Mark earned two, a shill being worth a tenth of an aurel or 10 krones. It seemed a paltry sum for their work, but they didn't have too much to spend it on.
Alex bought sandwiches for their picnic, and a few books, mostly fantasy novels but she found a medical tome. It was expensive, it cost an aurel, but it covered many plants and herbs unique to this world, and the Emerald Spine mountains in which they resided.
Mark bought a simple bow, something he could compare to and learn from as well as a quiver of arrows and some tools. All together it cost him 5 shills, but it would help with his work. Just as they were about to leave, Alex screeched.
Mark whirled around, frantically searching for what had scared her, only to be confronted with the second miracle he would witness today. First bacon, and now...
"Underwear..." Mark sighed. "Real, modern underwear..." Loretta tried her best, but after spending your whole life in cotton briefs and boxers, wool was just wrong, no matter how well it fit. The itching hadn't stopped since he arrived. Today was a good day.