One Moo'r Plow

Once again, I found myself alone on the trail down the mountain. The elf had bade me farewell and vanished into the cracks between reality, headed to the fort atop the Redtip. My business concluded and my presence not quite welcome, I had excused myself from the Verdant Dawn’s camp and headed back home.

My first mistake was not bringing a torch. Night fell in its utter darkness before I had crossed half the distance to my house. Only because of a clear sky and bloated moon was I able to make out anything at all.

The second was my lack of attention given to the path I walked upon. Over and over, the events of the day were retraced in my mind, a quiet obsession that kept the small spark of hatred inside me alive and fed.

And I wondered, was I in the right to wish for their deaths? I styled myself a man of peace, violence never being my first option. These bearded soil-dwellers had marched into my home, demanded utter compliance and left without so much as a please. Not that a single word would have eased the situation any. I was told that resorting to violence would only make it all worse. It was that option being forcibly stripped away that galled me more than what had actually occurred.

Was I being petty that there was someone larger and stronger than me? A threat I couldn’t kill outright was what infuriated me?

I wished for death on them. Truly, wholly. No other race I had ever seen or heard of had evoked those feelings in me. I recognized this as irrational, but the flame of hate remained, a sickness that spread inside to poison me.

Alone in the darkness with naught but the empty trail and my thoughts, my foot caught on an exposed root. Yet despite gravity, I did not trip. My hoof continued its path forward and ripped the root from the ground, soil bursting upwards as the path was as torn open.

It was then I stopped and clarity set in.

Was this how others felt in my presence? I was someone they could never hope to defeat. Through virtue of my race and class alone I was a titanic force of destruction if I so willed it. I caged it well, never let my temper show, never let my disgruntled side so much as stir on bad days. For when it emerged, there ran rivers of blood.

If I was so angered by these dwarves, how did the people around me feel? The humans much smaller and frailer than I, unable to fend off most dangers unless in numbers or with the right Class. They survived. They thrived, by all accounts. Even in this world with all it’s myriad dangers and apocalyptic events, they carried on.

I could stand to learn from them. From who I once was. I felt no specific kinship with the race I had once belonged to, truth be told. Yet that did not mean their experiences and examples could be dismissed.

It seemed almost silly to think, but I reckoned I needed to be stronger. Even more resilient. Not once had this world proven to be fair, and I was the sole fool here for thinking it should be.

The farm had to grow, and I needed to cement myself as an invaluable source of goods to the region. If I could not withstand a threat alone, then let other’s power and influence do it for me, if only for selfish reasons.

This epiphany came to me as I stood at the edge of Velton’s farm, staring out over the empty farmhouse. The house stood dark and empty, its occupants far from home. There was some lantern light in the barn, likely Artyom settling in for the night. I wondered for a moment if I should go and catch up, hear his woes and triumphs before I departed myself.

In the end, I decided against it and carried on, hooves trodding the road overtop of boot-prints left just hours earlier.

Wide awake my watchmen were. This pleased me as I stood and waited for the gate to be hauled open. I paid these men and women for this specific service, and bored as their scents were, they performed it well so far.

Given that it was night, it would have surprised me to see any of the help still about. What did catch me off-guard was Tash lounging about, clearly waiting for someone. Given that I was the only one not on the farm, it was a clear guess who.

“What are you still doing here?”

Blunt and to the point. After this long and exhausting day, dredging up niceties took all the effort I could muster.

“Waiting for the farm’s master to return, obviously.” The satyr waved off the question.

“And what matter is so important that it could not wait for the morning?”

“Dwarves, of course. They claim importance everywhere they go.”

It was at this point that a question that had lingered in the back of my mind sprung forward.

“Answer this very, very carefully.” I regarded the beastmaster with some suspicion. “The entire farm was dragged before the dwarves to answer their questions. Yet I did not see you. And as I recall, their sweep was very, very thorough. So why were you not one of those put to the question?”

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Silence, followed by the strangest thing. Tash’s scent simply vanished.

“I hid, of course.” He shrugged. “In the old cellar, behind the junk tossed down there, squatting in the mud till they were gone.”

“Why?”

Another pause.

“Dwarves and drow have a very..contentious history. We’re kill on sight for them. Much as I would have loved to be interrogated-”

“But you’re a satyr.” I cut him off. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

The only thing I saw was a blink of surprise, followed by agonizing pain in my skull. I bent over, hands clasped to my head, whatever I had just said forgotten as agony knawed away at my cranium. The world swam, all my senses mixed up by whatever had just occurred. The day’s stress and strain had taken their toll on me, and the affects had just arrived to collect.

It subsided quickly as it had come and I sat, blinking furiously. What had I just been saying?

Tash stood in front of my kneeling form, worried look on the drow’s face. With a grunt, I hauled myself back up and shook it off.

“Don’t worry about it.” I rumbled. The pain had passed, gone quickly as it had come.

The drow shook his slender face, worry and disdain painted on them equally.

“Thrice-cursed dwarves must have left something behind when they interrogated you. Petty and malicious to the core, they are. That’s why I hid from the questioning. They’d kill me out of spite just because I exist.”

Ahhhh. That explained why he hadn’t been bunched up and questioned with the rest of us. I had meant to ask him that once the conversation drifted that way.

“Where did you hide around here?” I gazed around and wanted to scoff. Not exactly a wealth of places to conceal oneself. “The biter-patch?”

“I was considering that.” The drow spoke with the straightest expression I had ever seen. Not so much as a hint of humor, all seriousness. “Didn’t have enough pollen in the shed to make them sleep long enough, however. Ended up hiding in the old cellar, behind all the crates that get tossed down there. Cold and muddy, but it kept me alive.”

“One might wager you did not expect your life to be in danger at random times when you signed up for this job.” My weak attempt at humor.

“I always expect danger.” Came the stone-faced reply.

“A life in the tunnels taught me that.” Was what followed up, several moments later.

“I thought the dwarves had massacred everyone other underground denizen?” I was curious now. Velton had told me this, and in my experience, the elf was not often wrong.

“This is true. But do you know when?”

I did not.

“It is a fresh thing, Garek. A mass slaughter and exodus that happened within the last generation. All our people were driven to the surface world, forced the live underneath this monstrous sky. Drow, goblins, driders, even powerful Liches chose to uproot their phylacteries and come to the world above. The lands Below are in the sole hands of the Dwarves now, and the entire world has felt those effects.”

Well, the entire world did not include me, then. This was the first I had heard of the subject. I did not go actively seeking knowledge, even though that had proven to my detriment several times.

“And they would have killed you up here, on the surface world?”

“Spite, mostly. A bit of old grudges. The Drow did not go quietly. But the dwarves started that war, and they made sure to finish it.”

“We are a race in exile, yearning to go back to a home that is forsaken to us.”

“And you?”

“Truth be told, I was never too attached to the Underdeep. The exodus happened and now I consider the Lands Above my home. While the rest of my race pines away for the tunnels and their dangers, I am content to trod on firm soil and endure the sun above. The dwarves now claim sole rule over the Lands Below, and I cannot foresee any force outside of godly intervention that will change that.”

“And it will never happen for us. We chose a cruel god to worship, one that delights in suffering. For a time, the suffering of our enemies was enough for him. But now we are the ones that must endure this agony, and the only answer to our prayers is the laughter of a thirsting god.”

“But that is the past, and we are here now.”

Here proved to be on the hill near my lodge, sitting around a crackling fire, pot of stew being reheated over the flames. Mug of ale engulfed by my hand, I poured the beastmaster a drink and listened to him speak.

“And that brings us to the current events.” He sighed and downed another gulp. “Minotaurs, dwarves, druids. All dangers to your farm, way I see it.”

“You have my agreement there.”

“These are just the ones you can see. What about those that lurk just out of sight, the ones your eyes move over and never notice are there?”

“Haven’t met any of those myself.”

“Or perhaps you have and simply didn’t notice.”

“What I propose may seem preposterous. But just hear me out. We are all in a precarious situation, here. Help is needed, yes? An alliance or three would greatly benefit you and the farm, put more bodies between you and whatever may lurk out there in the darkness. Monster or not.”

“And where,” I asked with some amusement, perhaps helped on by the liquor. “Would you find anyone around here that would enter an alliance with a farm about to be overrun by several different forces? I have already received many offers, and categorically ignored them all. What would make this one so different?”

“Need, of course. You’re in a pinch here. As a Godtouched, you can have your pick of who gets to ally with you. But you’re not the only one of your kind that will be standing on this soil, soon. The warherd coming down on this place is lead by not one, but two of your kind. Now, simple math tells me that that is pretty bad for you, and by extension, me.”

“So. How do you feel about an alliance with the queen herself?”

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