One Moo'r Plow

There was a flat disregard in mind as we watched the carriage stop, it’s retinue of riders kicking up dust as they followed suit. No banner declared their allegiance, nor was their a crier that galloped up to announce who was who. Instead, the door practically burst open and a thin, mustachio’d human burst out, wincing at the bright sunlight.

Dressed in colourful, garish clothes, he hopped through the soil in pointed black shoes. Averse to dirt as he was, the man was left little choice but to accept that in one way or another, he was getting them dusty. A second figure followed him out, this time a woman. I could not tell much more from this distance, only that she wore dark colours and much more utilitarian clothes than her counterpart.

Dark grey seemed her colour of choice, contrasted by the bright reds of the man who now looked around, hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. The woman had no such issues, a servant to either side of her hastily unfolding a canopy above her head.

Lidya looked between the unfolding procession and me, unsure how to proceed.

“Should I tell the lads to stop workin’?” She finally asked over the drone of saws and methodical hammerblows. “Nobility don’t much like bein’ ignored and all that.”

“No need.” I reassured her. “You’re on my land and my payroll. Should they have a complaint, they’re welcome to take it up with me.”

“Don’t rightly pay to anger the wealthy, but you’re one of ‘em, and it’s yer coin in my hand, not theirs.” She concluded as a rider approached. A broad, armored man rode atop a skittish charger, the animal stepping nervously in place as the rider halted before us. Scent preceded the figure, the stench of emotions heavy before the man’s visor was even lifted.

Anger, hatred, contempt and disdain roiled from the man in a single combined stench that only I and his horse picked up on. The visor on his helm was tipped up to reveal a plain, unassuming face beneath.

“Pardon my asking, but might either of you fine folk know where the master of these lands resides?”

The tone did not match the scent, I found. It was polite and measured, even friendly. His lips twitched into a sympathetic smile as he spoke, almost as if he seemed reluctant to intrude and interfere. The man was plainly human, both in feature and race, but there was something..off. His face shape was narrow, almost similar to Tash.

“Heard he’s coming by to supervise the jobsite.” I returned. With that information, the man thanked me and yanked his horse about to gallop away.

“Well, I’ll leave you be and let you sort all this out.” Lidya excused herself and hurried away as the sudden guests began to draw near. I did not fault her. She had her goals, and mingling with the rich was not among them, it seemed. The shorter woman hurried away, barking orders as her crew stopped to watch. The sounds of construction resumed before the congregation had drawn near to me.

For my part, I stood with an unrolled plan in hand, showing the dimensions and placement of the bunkhouse, latrine and several smaller buildings for tool storage and the like. Expression impassive, I towered over the humans that stopped a fair distance from me and gazed around.

“Announcing the presence of Lord Jamel-Ramsey-Pratt of House Ramsey-Pratt, Lord of the Murkdeep Keep, the Black Hills and all beyond. Son of the Slayer of Thelames and rightful claimant of the Spear of Thale!”

A squire stepped forward, sucked in breath and bellowed out this stream of titles. Magnified, the young man’s voice rang over the drone of saws and ring of hammers, clear and crisp. I rolled up the map into one hand and looked on as he continued.

“And his fair wife, Lady Ramsey-Pratt of House Ramsey-Pratt, Lady of the Murkdeep Keep, maiden of the Moonlit Meadows and The Red Rock, daughter of Stonewarden and Shipmaster Kylios!”

Impressive titles. They meant nothing to me.

“What do I owe this pleasure?” More out of nicety than any desire to make their acquaintance.

“I’m told you know where Farmer Garek resides?” The Lord Jamel spoke, chipper and enthusiastic as his head swiveled from side to side.

“Indeed I do. And the nature of your inquiry?”

He seemed more incredulous that I would persist in questioning him rather than that a minotaur could string together coherent sentences. His retinue stood silently, all eyes fixed on me as the man spluttered.

“I have business of a most important nature with him.” He sniffed. “If you could perhaps point us in his direction?”

“Or better yet, beckon him to our carriages.” His wife spoke, decidedly disinterested in all this, both in tone and scent. The mounted knight’s smell beside her flared with disdain and disgust at her words even as his face remained in an easy smile.

I nodded along to the man’s request, map held in my fist like a small piece of paper. Silence stretched on for a moment, just enough for annoyance to enter the man’s smell.

“You stand before him now.”

There was disbelief and annoyance on them. More in their scent than upon their features as they regarded me.

“I am Farmer Garek.” This was repeated after a short pause, and with that I fell silent. There was no world in which they had expected this, but their expectations were not of my concern. “Might I inquire the nature of your business with me?”

“Surely, a jest?” The Lady asked her husband, bored look back upon her features.

“Is this some sort of jape at my expense? Does your master think it humorous to greet one of my station with a brute like you?” Lord Jamal barked. His mounted knight frowned in disapproval and laid a hand on the hilt of his lance, but his scent carried amusement. Merriment, even. All was not as it seemed with this man. ‘That something like you could even jest to be worth my time? Go and fetch your master, now!”

“Careful, human.” I rumbled, towering over the gathered crowd. I had had enough of insults towards my stature and intelligence by strangers. ‘You trespass on my land without invitation, here by my hospitality.”

A veiled threat. One I was certainly able to fulfill. The man’s armed retainers bristled, but they were human, and I a minotaur. There was a terse silence now as the sun roasted down. I had forgotten how quickly, how easily the honor of these self-important nobles was to offend. Perhaps I had been spoiled, dealing with an ice-cold pragmatist such as Ironmoor. The baron was a vicious man, but he had a mind for treachery and kept his violence restrained.

So far, at least.

“You dare issue a threat against my person?”

And just like that, and wish I had to meet with and potentially deal with this man were gone. Irrational people were far from those I preferred to deal with. Much as I strove to be a kind, gentle soul, I could admit to my limits. We had very nearly reached them.

I was done babying the feelings of some spoiled, rich noble who wanted his every whim and want catered to.

“I issue a promise.” I replied, voice cold. “You are a man, held aloft by gold and fortune. I stand here by virtue of snuffing the life from a god. We are not the same.”

I was Godtouched. Blessed with their interest. Twas time I started to act like it. These people and their petty posturing, their squabbling for intangible crumbs of power were beneath me. Through action alone, I had already risen so much further in life than any of these pampered humans ever would.

They deserved to know it.

Fear. Hesitation. Realization and confusion crossed beneath their features now. All save for one who sat upon his steed, face thunderous but scent smug. Ser Tollish smiled inwardly as his liege squirmed. A procession of nobility in fine garb, covered in dust and dirt in some farmer’s field beneath the baking sun. Unsure of what to say.

“I will ask again: What business do you have with me?”

My tone carried none of its prior warmth. I had stood slightly hunched before, my posture relaxed to be threatening. Now, I straightened fully, a giant among these men. Nothing came, and after a moment, I was done with this wait. With a snort of disgust, I turned and strode away. Worse than rejecting their proposals, I had shown they were not worth my time.

Lidya eyed me carefully as I strode up, only for me to nod curtly and tell her to keep up the work. Once her crew was finished here, I expected them to start at the farm immediately.

Twas to my temperament that I had not even noticed the adrenaline had coursed through me until I was nearly back to my farm. There was an anger in me, one fed by years of memories from the former Garek. And today, I had acted on it outside combat. This stopped me for a moment. Bloodshed had been how I channeled pent-up rage until now.

My mind equated myself becoming angry with things dying. Now, it boiled outside that.

I was unsure how this made me feel. Cautious, mostly.

Fields were being reaped as I returned, the very first touch of another harvest set to begin. Blessed was my class that it allowed several per year, I mused. People moved to and fro, prepping places for the grain to be threshed and then sorted. This satisfied me. Tash directed several men to build what I recognized as a cattle chute. A space designed to keep livestock restrained with gentle pressure. Simple, but effective.

While unexpected, I had given him permission to go ahead and do whatever he felt needed to be done. If it kept the taur-cows in check without the need for Cloven Crash, I was all for it.

“I don’t know how or why you’ve been milkin’ em out in the pasture every day.” The drow drawled as I approached. “Figured this would be much better for everyone.”

I did truly want to slap myself, right then and there. I had been aware these existed all this time. While not overtly familiar with them, I had seen them used before, albeit in a previous life. They had simply not crossed my mind. My previous life had not been spent preparing for another and soaking up every bit of information possible.

“Indeed.” I agreed. The man eyed me warily. He could see something off, I realized.

“Little run-in with some unwelcome folks down by the logger’s camp.” I sighed. There was no request for further explanation and little enthusiasm from me to give it. I moved on, headed over to check on the rest oof the farm.

There was a commotion on the field’s far end. I recognized it as where the acid plants were fenced off, and my stride broke into a half-run as I approached. Ishila stood over a frightened youth.

“Don’t ever go near this without metal covering you. Do. yah. Understand?”

The lad lay on his back, and angry orc towering over him. Ishila looked furious, covered in her guardplate and armor. The lad had hardened leather on, save for his gloves. Those lay nearby, eaten through and smoking.

“Look at this!” Ishila snarled, her arms held out. Her steel gauntlets were pockmarked, stains from where the acid had rusted and melted the metal. “When I say you need armor, I fecking mean every word, ya daft prick! Not yer daddy’s swamp-fishin gloves!”

“I’m trying to teach this..ungrh!” The lass bit back a curse as I came into view. “Why don’t you idiots ever listen?”

Someone had gotten orders from her, thought they knew better, and now experienced her full wrath. The natural cycle of enraging an orc, I guessed.

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