One Moo'r Plow

In the aftermath of several eventful days, it was almost refreshing to have one where nothing of great import occurred. Save for the reaping coming to a close, and Ishila’s struggles with threshing, calm finally settled around the farm. A sort of eerie stillness only occasionally shattered by increasingly colourful persons on their way up the mountain. Mercenaries, adventurers, delvers and dungeonbreakers, if stored knowledge did not suddenly fail me.

Some stopped to exchange pleasantries, most just kept to the climb. Almost all stared at the sight of a minotaur preparing the winnow the threshed oats. Few returned my gaze. The process itself involved large sheet, gently tossing the oats into the air so that the light chaff might be swept away upon the wind and leave the heavier grains to fall back down.

A slow, repetitive process, made only longer by the remarkably weak gusts that ran through the grass. Dust swirled around, raised with every flap of the sheet. That they have cloth bound over their mouths for at least some protection was a point I had refused to budge on. I did indeed know they were hot and not quite models of comfort, but they were more than necessary.

There were protests at first, of course. And while I didn’t enjoy being someone who condescendingly stated they knew what was best for others, this was an instance of such. Although,, the sight of Artyom in an oversized bandanna did stir some amusement.

Ishila finished the threshing towards mid-day, her strength and enthusiasm having shortened the task to a far more manageable time than I had dared hope.

“There is a task I cannot put off any longer.” I informed her with a grimace once my position had been handed over to her. The decision made to forgo dinner entirely, I hefted the massive claymore and its equally ridiculous sheathe, grabbed a large pack, secured my gear and set off up the mountain.

If all went well, I would be returned come evening.

Experience had taught me to expect that it would not.

Many souls traveled up the mountain. Few flowed back down. Drawn, like moths to the flame. The dungeon woke, and those who gathered here came on the faint promise of riches. The prospect of glory hidden behind a veil of danger.

The climb took me ever upwards, the gradual slope growing steeper with every step. The trees tightened around me until the path was choked by growth to either side. Just big enough for a team of horses and a cart in tow. This had not been the case when I first ascended here, but the Verdant Dawn had hacked away the undergrowth until there was just enough room for supplies to be hauled up the slopes.

Dirt became less and less frequent as the ascent continued. I passed the first camp, originally home to the order of monster hunters I had fallen in with. Now, more distinct colours mingled among the walls. More land had been cleared, and even more formations erected as they laboured to transform it into a proper staging ground now.

A greeting rang through the air, a voice I recognized. Raffnyk waved tiredly from a toiling mass of bodies. There was exhaustion in his eyes, yet he issued orders at his brisk pace as I approached.

“How goes the farm life?” Came the question. A polite formality, I guessed. Not content to waste his time, I simply imparted to him a brief summary and took to usual affirmations in return.

“And this?” I asked with a vague gesture to the men and women clearing trees, ripping loose stumps and piling wood to either side of the road.

“After much deliberation, the decision has been made to erect a proper fort here for the time being.” He sighed as we walked along.

“Irnonmoor won’t take offense?” I asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“The opposite. I never thought I would see the day when reason and calm came from that man, but he has agreed that this should be a shared project. One necessitated by circumstance, yes. It seems the Baron has decided that the situation at hand is more important than pursuing his old grudge with us. For now.”

“Still, I was pleasantly surprised that he was capable of seeing past his prejudices and grievances to view the coming threat with this clarity. My soldiers have been mostly rotated out of guard duty at the peak and can now focus entirely on construction of this fort. With more mercenaries pouring in and eager for some pay before the dungeon is opened, I expect we will be finished in several weeks.”

A reminder that levels, skills and the other gifts of this world could harshly skew timeframes in comparison to what I would have expected otherwise.

“We will of course need supplies in a constant matter, some of which I am sure you could supply. Speaking of which, I have not yet received any shipments of healing milk from you.” He stated bluntly.

“There was an emergency that required I use it all.” I winced. “More is in production, currently. Should be ready for delivery soon.”

“Good.” He nodded. “By the mercy of the Gods Above, we have not yet required it, aside from the initial wave that broke from the dungeon. Monster culling aside, there has been no significant combat. Although I fear this is a wary peace that will no maintain itself for long. We scramble more every day, trying to shore up defenses just a bit more before the flood inevitably comes.”

He gestured around as we walked along, gauntleted hand sweeping over freshly-cleared land.

“This here will be a last resort, should it come to that. With the elf’s help, the defences prepared at the peak should, no, must be adequate. If they break through, this is the only true path down the mountain and will need to be fortified. If it does come to that, I suspect all is already lost, yet the attempt must be made.”

“You intend to see if complete, well-stocked and armed to the teeth.” I nodded.

“Aye.” He nodded curtly. “If it falls, then so will I. My duty has been given from on high, and my life will be forfeit before I forsake my oath.”

With that, we reach the road’s end, at least as far as Raffnyk was concerned.

Tiredness and fatigue pervaded the man, and with some pity, I let him go. My own road lay further on, higher up the slope. Here, the trees grew thinner, with less soil to fully sustain the lush forests below. The soil began to take on a crimson tinge, almost as if stained by blood. No monster bothered me as I climbed towards the summit.

The was not truly a mountain, as it lacked a distinct, single peak. The top was shaped as if it had been shorn off, with a cratered plateau that served as its highest point. Undisturbed save for the occasional patrol or messenger riding past, I soon found myself above the treeline, the vastness below me so far, far away.

Only once had I traveled this way, and yet the path was familiar. Possibly helped on by the that there was only one such route up the mountain, but that was far from the point.

I crested a ridge and gazed into the craters that had been torn into the mountain soil. Many lay empty, naught but dust and crimson rock. One in particular however, teamed with the life.

Quick glances showed it was the largest in sheer size, and now it overflowed with humanity. Where the dungeon’s entrance was located, I assumed. From where I stood, my eyes could not glimpse the actual opening, so heavily buried was it in fortifications. A stone fortress now stood within the crater, reinforced with wood and iron. Velton’s handiwork?

There was no sight of the elf, yet everything I had heard of late indicated he spent most of his time on the peak. In preparation of the inevitable wave come to crash upon the defences and see if they were wanting.

Soldiers patrolled along the battlements, Ironmoor’s green flag flown overhead. From here they seemed small, off in the distance. But I was not here to admire the elf’s handiwork or to speculate if these preparations were in vain. I knew little of fortifications and how they were designed to keep monsters locked inside. I would leave such things to those with more knowledge than I.

Instead, I set off to find the chillvines I had come here for. Knife in hand and pack empty, I scoured the mountaintop, searching under every shaded rock and among the scarce bushes. They were plentiful up here where magic permeated the air, and I harvested quickly. Despite the pack’s insulation, I could feel the cold upon my back, in sharp contrast to the heat that broiled down from above. When I had first cut and carried these, the chill had been uncomfortable. Now, it was welcome.

The pack ran over soon enough, stuffed to the absolute limit I could manage without crushing those already inside. But I wanted more. These were more than enough for the jugs I had now, yes. Yet forward-thinking and my plans to expand demanded I think larger. So, I draped them around my neck and over my shoulders. Cold to the touch, almost icy, even under the smothering heat.

But I did not do this task quickly enough. Riders approached, the baron’s banner held overhead.

“What business have you here?” The one leading demanded from atop his stead. Were I a human, this armored figure would tower over me. Instead, he was just a bit above head height for me.

“I am gathering plants.” I stated simply, arms folded. “Plants needed for my farm.”

They glanced back and forth for a moment before the man shrugged.

“Very well. We are only here to warn you, if by some miracle you have not yet heard of the dungeon close to here, then you know now. Monsters are abundant here, and prone to bursting from the depths at any moment. Tread with caution.”

Much as I tried to find some hidden threat in the man’s words -and could see that hard look in his eyes-, I could admit he was simply too tired to give a damn.

“The fort.” I broke in suddenly. “I would like to see it.”

There were glances of suspicion, but once more, their unwillingness to release a single ounce of caring shone through.

“I am a farmer, yes, but also adept at battle. Should an attack happen, I would not drag the defense down, only bolster it.”

“First part surprised me more than the second.” The lead man grunted and pulled down his visor. “Forts’ open to all brave enough to lay down their lives in defense of these lands.”

With that, they galloped away, back towards the stone castle, and I was left unbothered. Mayhaps they really had been sent to simply investigate and report. One never knew what surprises awaited. Still, I had plenty of daylight left, and my curiosity was firmly piqued.

Rocks crumbled beneath me, crushed by the weight of my hooves as I began the descent into the crater. The soil, while hard, was malleable underneath my sheer bulk and prowess. The singular path towards the fortress was smooth and leveled perfectly, in sharp contrast to the steep jagged slopes that surrounded it.

Velton’s handiwork.

A large question posed itself. Was it possible the elf had raised the crater walls to entrap this entire place? Such power seemed frankly god-like, or at least what I could think of a god to be. To shape the very landscape itself in his image was true power, by my reckoning.

Or maybe it had always been like this. I did not truly know, as my only other expedition up here had been the outside ring of trees and rocks, not the peak itself.

Any further thoughts I had were drowned as horns began to sound. I did not recognize those. Garek’s memories did, and blood stirred within. The call came of war, a signal that monsters had been sighted, and that an attack came.

Hesitation cast aside, I ripped my claymore from it’s sheathe and began to run towards the promise of blood.

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