One Moo'r Plow

I awoke to Valencia rummaging through my pantries, in search of breakfast. With a grunt, I sat up, realized I had no clothes on, and yanked up the blanket to cover myself. The human glanced back over her shoulder, smirked, and resumed her search for foodstuffs. For a while, I lay in silence and contemplated what had happened. Either that or I was mildly shellshocked at all that she had done.

This had not been the outcome I expected. Ever. And my mind still didn’t know what to make of it.

“Don’t be shy.” The dreadknight tossed over her shoulder. “I’ve seen it all already.”

Easier for her to say when she was fully dressed and I was buck-naked. But still true.

Made none the easier as she leaned back against the counter and watched me dress.

It was near mid-day, I found once the door was opened. That was…unsurprising.

If I had ever seen judgment in Ishila’s stare, it came now as I walked down the hill to meet her. Still, she said nothing aside from a raised eyebrow and flat expression.

Le’rish, who stood next to her, seemed surprisingly less judgemental. The older of the two -perhaps not by much, but still- seemed unbothered by Valencia’s emergence. It was her presence she disliked. Her eyes narrowed, and the feline features that underlay the huntress form arose. She bared fangs as Valencia, dislike in her eyes.

“There’s a lot of explaining to do.” I pre-empted whatever would come of this. “And a lot to catch up on.”

Once more, I recounted everything that had happened at the fort. Everything relevant, at least. Le’rish’s expression remained neutral throughout, showing the great range of emotions that the huntress was truly capable of. So enthralled was she, in fact, that I occasionally got a nod or sound of acknowledgment as my tale progressed.

Her story was much simpler in comparison.

“Nothing.” I repeated once she was finished. That was all that she had found.

“Yes. I am sure of only one thing. The attacker is a human.”

Her list of reasons proved mostly deductions from disturbed wildlife, the make of the arrows themselves, where they aimed, the speed at which they switched positions to fire from different angles and what they targetted.

“There is either an Ishkoni far, far from the home they’re never seen outside of, or a human with a good portion of levels in ranged hunting.”

We could safely rule out the reptilian jungle-stalkers of Ishko, given that they needed sweltering heat and humidity to survive. Given that these were predominantly human lands, any other race traveling through it would have aroused some interest. The arrows themselves were not bloomed from wood and fused with metal, ruling out any remnants of the dryads.

The steel head upon them was made by a blacksmith of some skill, and carefully, almost meticulously fused to the shaft. The fletchings were also of high-quality, crisp and clean.

“I think we should inquire around Hullbretch and see if anyone there has purchased quality arrows recently.”

Le’rish suggested. I agreed with her. I had to ride and meet the Baron anyway, so I would go. Le’rish and Ishila I asked to stay and keep watch on the farm in my stead once more. Valencia, well, she would do whatever she pleased. This was known.

What she pleased turned out to be journeying with me. She had business with Ironmoor, and little reason to wander about the farm without me here. I spent some time discussing repairs, directing efforts to what I wanted done first and preparing to head out once more. My weapons had been lost or broken in the siege, and so I needed replacements.

Of which the old Garek had plenty. And if those ever ran dry, the gifts spent to me by quite literally everyone to curry my favor remained amassed. Spoiled for choice as I was, I settled upon an axe and a hammer eventually. If these impressed Valenica in any way, the dreadknight did not show it. Instead, she leaned against a wall and watched me flair about, testing these things and trying to find what abilities they had hidden inside.

I supposed the human had little use for these, given that her fists were the dreadknight’s weapon of choice.

“A fitting weapon.” She remarked with some approval once I had chosen the hammer. “Crush your enemies before you and stride over their bodies. Nothing fancy about a good hammer. But reliability speaks for itself.”

She would know a thing or two about crushing foes. There was scant little healing milk ready, given the past several days. Taking it all proved to only be enough to fill two canteens.

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It was then in that moment that it really hit me.

No longer did I have the safety net of It Will Not Die. Now, I needed everything I could get. This world provided scant few things in the way of second chances. I could no longer afford to skirt along death’s door, safe with the knowledge that I could deny death outright.

That, I had given to another.

This thought followed me as we left and headed back down the mountain. The path upwards had been trekked maybe a day before, and now I followed its road down once more. Empty farmsteads greeted me, crops late into the harvest, forced to fruition by my Skills. A few neighbors remained, toiling at their fields. Fewer waved.

Many thought I attracted trouble, and they were not wrong. Events here seemed to almost exclusively revolve around me, and folks were quick to pick up on that. Still, there were those that remained friendly enough.

The young couple I supplied milk to for their child greeted me from afar. I would admit I had forgotten their names, but I returned their gesture of greeting in kind.

But those were scant few, and we reached the mountain’s bottom without much delay. Now we ventured towards Hullbretch. The hours passed in small talk, occasionally interspersed by more important matters. My mind did travel back to the previous night in lapses of silence, only to be forcefully nudged away again as I flushed and looked away

Gods Above, was I really that embarrassed as if I had never done the deed before?

Like some shy youth getting laid for the first time. I shook my head at the thought.

Ever since I had came here, I had not even considered that this would eventually happen. I had written off any such relationships on account of, well, being monstrous in size and form.

And yet, Valencia had not cared. My body and features meant little to her, in the most ironic twist of fate. Where she had once despised me for what I looked like, the dreadknight had plainly told me she had been excited by the person I was beneath that.

And I was completely fine with that. I did not think that we were a thing, or had any sort of relationship going. Instead, we had our fling and that was that. If anything more would come from it, then I would look forward to it. But in the meantime, I expected nothing.

Hullbretch had banners raised above the walls today. Horns blew from inside and there seemed to be streams of people headed towards the town. Something of note was occurring within its walls, and I wanted to know what.

Recognized as I was, the guards gave me little trouble today. Both I and Valencia were persons of interest and notoriety, and waved through without much stalling.

I wanted information, however. A firm hand on a young guard’s shoulder and some gentle coaxing proved necessary for me to extract what I sought.

My eyebrows raised in surprise as I learned that the Baron himself was in town today. Here to honor the fallen of Greysong Keep and look for worthy recruits for his army. I also learned that the young man intended to leave his post and join up as soon as his shift was over, even though Valencia laughingly advised against that.

“Doesn’t surprise me.” She remarked as we ventured into the town. “Londer has always been hand-on with important situations. He’ll be here to assuage the losses of the town’s widows with words of bravery and duty, and then take their sons away with promises of gold and glory.”

“He’ll keep his word, of course, but this is somewhat foolish of him.” She sighed.

“To be among his subjects and show them he’s a strong leader?”

“In a time where war is brewing on his doorstep? Yes. I’d have just sent an envoy to do it in my stead, were I in his skin. He’s too exposed out here. Probably why he came. Gotten sick of being holed up in his castle and now wants to show his subjects he isn’t hiding.”

The town square proved to be packed, and so I went another route. I had business to attend before I would go and see what the Baron was orchestrating today.

I was lucky, I suppose. Even with the town swarming and the baron himself here, most of the people I needed to speak to dutifully toiled away at their shops. Yet most had little information for me. The alchemist could not identify what, if any enchantments were in the arrow itself. He did, however, try to bargain and get a new contract for supplies of plant acid. It took several instances of delining and then just walking out of his shop to leave me alone.

While I might have enjoyed the bargaining another day, I was in too much of a rush for it. The blacksmith had no recollection of forging these arrowheads, but begrudgingly admitted they were high-quality steel. Not something often found in the baron’s lands, he remarked. I went so far as to track down the town’s resident enchanter and have him examine the arrow, but got nothing from the man.

Only once all my leads had been exhausted and my knowledge remain un-furthered did I return in the direction of the square. Large as I was, I had no issue clearing space to move through the dense throngs of people. Here on this road to the square gathered the entire population of Hullbretch, the hamlets that surrounded it and everything in a several-hour walk.

That masses of humanity was packed tight, their smells all but jammed up my nostrils.

Gods Above, were they averse to a good bath now and then?

Another unwilling sniff and I discovered something that made me stop.

There, among the thick mix of smells was something.

A lack of it. A void of scent amongst the crowd. Not someone scrubbed clean and with fresh-scent herds crushed onto their skin, but a complete absence of it. I stood still as this scent moved towards me, it’s bearer pushing through the crowd, away from the square.

Amidst the dense throng, I reached out and grabbed at where the void of scent was, even though I saw little there.

My hand snatched a cloak and a figure blurred into sight. A pale face with unremarkable features.

Ser Tollish. The lady Ramsey-Pratt’s retainer. Before I so much as utter a word, he slipped my grasp and bolted into the crowd just as screams began to rise from within the square.

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