One Moo'r Plow

“I am unsurprised that this is somehow related to you.” The Red Cleric spoke these words as she tended to those who still lived. My ample supply of healing milk helped ease the strain and allow her magic some leeway on the more grievous wounds, I had quickly found.

If that was supposed to stir guilt in me, it did not. I had not influenced the warband to attack the camp. My hands were clean in the slaughter of those caught outside the gate. I said as much as she closed up a gashed-open sternum, the man underneath in shock from bloodloss and pain.

“No guilt was implied.” She said this all without her eyes leaving her work. Her red sleeves soaked up blood even as her hands glowed white-hot and knit the flesh back together. “It is a fact that every time anything of note happens in this particular area, you are involved.”

I had little reply to that. The wounded lay in rows here, freshly dragged away from the corpses outside the camp walls and into relative safety. More were dead than I had first glimpsed. It spoke to something dead inside me that I did not stir with much emotion when I regarded the freshly-made corpses. Too much war and bloodshed for me to care anymore.

There was a lack of knowledge on my part, but I was able to piece together events from what little had been hastily told to me once Velton had vanished to fetch the Cleric. Gods Above, his ability to step between spaces in an instant proved invaluable time and time again. And there was an entire race of people just as powerful as he, only they hated us.

That thought I shelved for another day and returned to what had occurred. Fairly straightforward, in terms of what I had expected.

Scouts had alerted the camp before the warband had even arrived. Riders had been dispatched the beg for Velton’s help immediately as the camp walled itself off. The gates had been shut as soon as the warband came into sight, trapping hunters outside the walls. Even so, the camp’s new leader -who I had yet to meet- had refused to open the gates as the minotaurs drew near.

What exactly had transpired between the two forces I did not know. Those details had not been provided in the short time I was not attending to the wounded. But they had clashed, with the Verdant Dawn fighters brutally and decisively cut down as archers ineffectually fired on the warband from the walls.

My arrival had come moments later, and events had further transpired from there. This was all the knowledge I had. Aided by Garek’s memories of his kind, my gambit to drive them off had succeeded with Velton’s help. Instead of a glorious death in combat, those killed were foricibly ground down without a chance to fight back.

Death was welcomed among taurkind, but not one where the warrior died helpless. A hatred for magic was quite healthy among the bullish population, as was fear of those that could wield it.

Temporarily at least, they had been forced to retreat with their leader dead.

“Your kind is among those that give my Order the most work.” The Red Cleric commented off-hand as she reattached a shorn forearm.

“I remain unsurprised.” Was all I grunted in return. “You seem to follow violence wherever it wanders.”

“Are you aware why we are followers of the Red Godling?”

Well versed in theology, I was not. Yet I could hazard a guess.

“Almost universal to all races, red is the color of blood. The life-liquid that stains our robes crimson as we kneel among the dying and help them cling to this mortal coil.”

“Your order must be popular with vampires.” I blurted the thought out.

“The few that have not fallen to darkness do business with us, yes.” She remarked, unconcerned.

“You do not consider them monsters?”

“They try not to be. Like you. A very distinctly different being than the rest of your kind.”

I saw that quite clearly. Why so many people had been scared of me, nervous in my presence even with an established reputation for kindness. The warband had marched in and butchered the first fighters they encountered with no qualms.

I tended to the wounded as best as I could, until my finite supply of healing milk ran dry. The Red Cleric toiled away without complaint, her task a long one. I excused myself once my reserves ran dry, having helped to the best of my abilities.

And now I surveyed the aftermath of what had happened. The two minotaur corpses were left where they had fallen, untouched except for hunters stripping the bodies of gear and weapons. I furrowed my brows at this and stomped over, leaving the wounded behind.

“Their leader was my kill.” I grumbled to the beastkin warrior that appeared to lead the effort. “His belongings are mine.”

Such was minotaur custom. If you killed it, it belonged to you.

“Tere’s orders.” The hunter scratched the back of his neck and looked around nervously.

“What you do with that,” I jabbed my finger at the minotaur Velton had killed. “Is of no concern to me. By right, this one is mine.”

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It seemed something random to be contentious over, but such was what it was. My kill, my body. One of the few things universally honoured among the minotaur tribes.

“The corpse and all belongings found on it are mine.” I reiterated. “If you wish to take it, you may duel me for it.”

This seemed to force the man into acceptance, and with a few muttered words, he gestured to the two others and trudged over to the other corpse instead. The bodies seemed massive compared next to the humans they had slain. The short one was well over seven feet tall, and the leader, larger than his kind, almost broke ten feet, if my eyeballing estimate was correct. Almost twice is tall as most of the humans, and with five to seven times their body mass.

Gigantic, bulky beings, not unlike myself.

Their corpses would be fine for now, in the cool and clouded forest’s edge. I would strip the armor and posessions myself later to see if I could discern anything as to where they were from and such. Their motives I could guess. They were here to kill me and make a name for themselves. Most of them looked young by minotaur years. No scars, shorter fur, unbroken horns. A few old bulls scattered in here and there, painfully obvious.

Yet all of them were fighting age, and all of them would have spilt copious amounts of blood before they ever thought of finding me.

They would have to be driven away. A warband loose and thirsty for blood in this area would be bloody to deal with. For everyone involved. The cost of grinding them down promised to be brutal.

With that in mind, I turned and walked back into the camp. Those inside it’s wooden walls reeked of nervousness and anger, and I was reminded how dangerous this world was. A day that had started with no signs of danger had so quickly whirled round and cut down those unaware.

Raffnyk met me inside. The human’s face looked stiff and tired, and like the rest, there was rage embedded in his scent.

“You arrived in time to stop them from attacking and likely breaking through the wall.” He remarked. “Gods Above, I dont know how, but you even scared them off.”

“I would thank Velton for that, personally.”

“Then I will, once I find a moment.”

He was unhappy. That much was obvious. Not just as this situation, however. This anger reeked of something older. I asked as much, and received silence as well reply. Honorable as he was, however, he did not deign to lie to me.

“The elite hunters the order saw fit to send finally arrived several weeks ago. They saw fit to make several changes. Changes I disagreed with. Changes that affected what happened today.”

“You let them?”

The knight’s face tensed.

“I had no choice. They are of higher rank than I, and while I protested, it was my duty to duly obey. I was relinquished command of this camp and delegated to less sensitive matters once I would not stop questioning the validity of moving all our higher-leveled huntres up the mountain to the fort.”

I glanced around now, realizing that I could not verify that on sight. I had never gotten to know the Verdant Dawn mercenaries that well, aside from the few I had conversed with now and then. The orc and the beastkin that had first accompanied Raffnyk to my farm were missing. Stationed at the redstone keep?

“And these hunters that came and took over?” I looked around.

“Also at the fort. I am now a glorified steward here.” He all but glowered. “They send command, I see them carried out. This camp is a shell of what it was before. Nothing but walls and the lowest-level recruits that have trickled in here. Weak. Ready to be overrun.”

“Well, that might change after today.” I tried to offer some solace.

There was no hint of laughter on his face as the human looked me dead in the eye and shot down that idea.

“They will hear of this, learn that the minotaurs were driven away and discard it from mind. So obsessed are they with the dungeon that this will be but a brief distraction. I would stake my honour on this claim, Garek.”

The human had never been one to be dissatisfied with a little dirty work, or one to complain about his lot in life. This much i had learned in the time we had spent together. He was a man of conscience, of integrity. But now, he was disgruntled. Stationed at the shell of what this camp should have been to look after the weakest recruits.”

Call me opportunistic, but I saw the glimmer of a chance and decided to seize it. Lest is slip away and never be brought up again.

“Work for me, then.” I announced. “Come join my farm, train my guards. You will be among friends. Well compensated for your services. In complete control of those handed over to your training. My farm expands, grows in size and fame, and I will require someone who I trust to help me guard it all. Who better than you?”

He considered the offer. Really, truly did.

“And to do that, I would violate the oath of loyalty I gave to my order. Desert my post. Forsake my soldiers. Break my own integrity.” His back straightened, eyes hard with resolve now. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I will not. My duty comes before all else.”

I nodded sadly. I had thought he would say as much, yet opportunity had compelled me to try.

“And I will respect that. But know I would value your services and opinion if you ever chose to take me up on this.”

“One day.” Came the answer, non-commital. I would have to be satisfied by this. “Until I end my contract or am duly discharged, my post comes first.”

We talked for a bit more, quick catch-ups on recent events exchanged. With a promise for him to visit soon exacted from the tired, honorable man, I left to find Velton and Ishila.

The half-orc seemed unfazed by what had happened. If the camp being besieged had bothered her, she did not show it. Her face was sanguine as her father hovered around like a worried mother hen.

“And what then?” He spoke as I came into range. “You reveal the lance, kill one or two? Then what, Ishila? The rest are still there. Questions start to be asked. The awakening of the dungeon is still fresh on people’s mind and not everyone believes all the culprits perished.”

“Then I would strike down more until they broke.” She replied, arms folded in confident defiance. “I can fight for myself, father.”

Velton all but threw up his hands in frustration.

“Daughter. I love you, but I would prefer you alive and in hiding, not brave and dead. You had every opportunity to jump the walls and run, but decided to stand your ground in the path of a warband.”

I coughed to signal my presence, then louder to garner their attention.

“Garek.” Velton sighed. “Please, do your best to talk some sense into my fool daughter. You seem to be the only person she listens to, anymore.”

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