“Stone Crest elk.” Tirwen said with a frown, though it seemed to be aimed at the female members of the herd. “Noisy bunch. They’d better not damage the herbs. Tell them everything under the tree is off limits, Oll.”
A part of her irritation was at the early hour. Early for her anyway. The cervitaur didn’t seem to get up before midday if she could help it, though she’d be up ‘till the wee hours of the morning working on some witchcraft or poultice. The other part of her ire…well, Ollie didn’t want to think about it.
Nevertheless he went out to relay her demands.
The herd had formed a circle on the opposite side of the tree to the Silvermanes, with the few younger calves in the centre. A couple stirred as Tirrin approached, but when Geb rose to greet him the herd calmed.
Gaining a bond with Geb overnight made things a lot easier than they had been the previous day, and as he communicated his welcome, and the message that the herbs growing in plots and pots around the tree were not to be eaten, he got more of a sense of the elk’s personality coming through. He couldn’t say he was surprised at the twinge of pride and affected dignity he picked up on, but it wasn’t entirely possible to square Geb’s projected persona with the panicked and despairing sides of him Oll had seen the previous day.
“Of course, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you follow Tirwen’s rules - it’s her house after all, though I’d try to keep it down in the morning if you can. Don’t want to outstay our welcome, but I guess with the goblins around it’s safer in numbers for now, right?”
Geb bowed his head and gave a low but echoing snort, then flicked his antlers towards the rising edges of the dell and pawed at the ground.
“I don’t know about any other dangers - I’ve not been here long - but I’m sure we can help each other if anything bothers us.”
A memory from a few days before - a large creature bursting out through the treetops in the distance - made him shudder.
I’m not sure [Soothing Voice] would work on something that size. Maybe if I were a higher level…
“Just steer clear of the Silvermanes for now, okay? I’ll speak to Neith too but I don’t want any violence around here.”
He circled the tree until he came across the three wolves and gave Neith the same message. She tilted her head to the side and twitched an ear.
“Yes, even when you’ve finished with the dead one. They’re with us now, so we’ll find something else to hunt.”
She groused about it for a moment, but after a stern teacher-look she agreed.
“Great. I’m glad we understand each other. One pack, one goal: surviving. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got my own breakfast to see to.”
Angling back towards the front door, Ollie felt a twinge of guilt. Not for the creatures that were hunkering down with him, but for their host.
Tirwen had chosen a life of solitude out in the forest, and now she had a dozen other creatures encroaching on her space. And what was worse was that he was responsible for them.
I’ll need to set some boundaries. Make some space. There’s no need for us to all camp out in one hollow. As soon as the wolves are fit to move, we’ll look at options.
There wasn’t a part of him in the moment that considered leaving the creatures. The bond he had with Neith wasn’t just a Skill, it was a real feeling of connection - the same as he was now starting to feel with Geb, who could also do with a few days to recover from his near-death experience.
The Stone Crests would have to sort their own food though; he was busy enough as it was monitoring the goblins and feeding the Silvermanes.
Not a lot of grass here, or plants. Do they subsist off leaves? Bark?
He’d have to ask Geb. Maybe there was some small way he could assist them.
Before he entered the house again, he stopped at a patch of flowers that grew under one of the windows and, despite what he’d said to the creatures, pulled off a single purple bell-shaped head.
Inside, Tirwen had boiled a kettle and was pouring herself some tea.
“Would you care for a cup, Oll?”
He waved a hand.
“No thanks. I’m not a very good Englishman. I’m fine with just water.”
She shrugged, and then grimaced when she saw what was in his hand.
“Foxglove? Again? Why?”
“For science!”
“You know it’s poisonous, right?”
“I did, even before I read that handy little book you lent me. It’s only a single flower though. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s your body, but if you start shitting your guts out, kindly do it out of earshot.
The cervitaur had a loaf of bread and some butter that she set on the table, and as soon as he’d swallowed the flower he took a slice. It was meagre fare, left over from what she'd traded for last time she'd visited the nearest village, but he was grateful for everything she shared, and he told her so. He swept a few crumbs over to the injured bird that perched on a broken branch he’d brought in, its wing still healing, and as he finished, he took both plates and knives to wash up.
“I was thinking I’d head to that village today.”
Tirwen looked up.
“You taking the Sporehide skin?”
“And the Stone Crest antlers.”
“You’ll get a good price for both. No one likes to tangle with a Sporehide, and [Artificers] and [Alchemists] are always after the antlers. Don’t take less than gold for each. What are you hoping to buy in return?”
The water in the wooden sink was warm, and it sluiced over his hands as he rubbed the crockery with a spongy moss.
“Clothes and a better bow mostly. Arrows, or maybe some woodworking tools, although I’ve not done anything craft-y beyond kitbashing a few plastic minis before. Any suggestions? I could get some glass vials; I’d like to experiment with some of the herbs if you’d permit it. Maybe look for a few seeds to plant - not just herbs but maybe some vegetables if I’m going to be around here a while, even if I move out of your hair…anything you’d pick? Or tips for setting up a bachelor pad in the woods?”
The cervitaur chewed her lip.
“I’m not going to turf you out if you want to stay. If you want your own place, that’s fine, but it would probably have to be out here somewhere; even in a village like Tamar’s Vale you won’t find a place for a handful of gold. But as I say you don’t have to go...”
“That’s most kind of you, and for the short term I’m beholden to that generosity. I’ll make it up to you. Speaking of which, can I get you anything when I go?”
A pouch jingled as she tossed it at him, and he almost broke a plate trying to catch it.
“That’s what I took from the goblin bodies; you did most of the work but since you are staying here rent free… even split? It’s not much anyway.”
“Even split seems more than fair.”
“Good, well, in that case, bring back some eggs. A dozen would be nice. And some more butter. And salt if you can get it.”
“Of course. I’ll head out after lunch, but until then… lessons?”
—
Tirwen paused and straightened up, hands encrusted with dirt.
“So it lets everyone see what is going on around the world? No magic? And everyone has one?”
“Sort of.” Ollie replied as he twisted a weed out from amongst some chamomile. “They run on electricity - harnessed lightning I guess you could call it. Television only shows what the companies that run their channels create. Some are for news, others for entertaining children. Lots for entertaining adults.”
“It sounds a little like {Scrying},” Tirwen said, plucking a few orange flowers from another plant, “but only higher-level [Mages] can cast that. I’ve heard they can make hundreds of gold a year hiring themselves out to rich [Nobles] and [Merchants] to let them communicate with each other.”
“I think it was like that on Earth at first too. I know my grandma took my father to see one when he was very young. Only one person in the village had one. That was decades ago though, and now most people, at least where I’m from, have a television, but the real game changer was the internet and mobile phones.”
He pulled his phone out from his pocket. It didn’t work, having broken in his fight against the goblins, but it could at least demonstrate what he was talking about.
“So small.” The cervitaur murmured, taking it in her hands and turning it about. “This lets you see across the world?”
“Yeah. And basically everyone has one. We - I mean humans, not me personally - made a network that spanned the globe. We could share information across it almost instantaneously. I could be ten thousand miles away, turn on my phone and speak to someone on the other side of the world.”
“That’s incredible!”
“More than that, the internet allowed us to create websites - sort of like books that anyone could look up and read on their phones. And then you could take pictures - capture images - with the phone and put them online for anyone to see. Videos too, like I was describing with television.”
“Your society must have been very learned and wise with access to so much information whenever you wanted. Was everyone a [Scholar]?”
Ollie snorted.
“You’d think so, but no. Most people used it to watch cat videos, or, well, no. Let’s leave it at that.”
Resisting her attempts to get him to divulge further, Ollie finished up in the herb patches. After half a week (at least by his standards; Tirwen had informed him that they were eight days in this place), Ollie had reached [Herbalist] level 3 - a feat of speed that had astounded the cervitaur. He’d only picked up a couple of Skills in the process: [Basic Herb Lore] and [Efficient Harvest], but that was more than enough to make him useful to Tirwen as she gathered ingredients for her various concoctions.
He finished up by hanging the bundles they’d collected from her ceiling; his greater reach made tying them to the hooks she’d somehow managed to fix there much more manageable than it was for her.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
After that, and a bowl of porridge with berries for lunch, he was ready to head out.
She wasn’t kidding about needing salt.
Walking out the door, a sack under his arm and the goblin bow over his shoulder, he came face-to-face with Neith, who tilted her head.
“Feel free to come, although I’m not sure how would the villagers will react to you.”
Her mouth opened in a wolf-like grin.
“Yeah, I thought as much, though if you’re happy to wait nearby I wouldn’t mind the company.”
—
It took three hours to reach the village of Tamar’s Vale. Back on Earth, Ollie would have put it at eight or nine miles, but with the levels and Skills he’d picked up, and what Tirwen had told him, he guessed it was closer to a dozen.
The sun was brighter as he came out from under the trees at the edge of the forest, the light not having to filter through layers upon layers of leaves vying for its energy, and he stood at the summit of one of the two hills that gave the village its name, though who Tamar had been he had no clue.
A stream wended its way out of the forest below; he’d been following it most of the way, and the village lay on the far side of it, but he’d broken off before leaving the shadow of the great trees to see Neith settled.
“I’ll probably be an hour or so. Maybe longer if I get caught up talking to people. Any trouble, howl and I’ll come running.”
The Silvermane settled down with a contented whuff, which was muffled around the body of a rabbit that she’d caught unawares half a mile back. The creature was barely more than a snack for her, but after gorging on the dead elk she didn’t need anything more.
Leaving her to doze in the afternoon heat, Ollie pointed himself towards an opening in the palisade wall that surrounded the village and set off downhill.
As he drew closer, his eyes roved the wooden stakes that rose eight feet from the ground.
Trouble?
There were notches in the wood, and a couple of scorch marks. Then he spotted a couple of familiar-looking arrows.
If he hadn’t seen figures moving about inside - ones too tall and decidedly not green - he might have hesitated in his approach, but the presence of a rangy man in leather armour leaning by the open gate reassured him that, if there had been trouble, it wasn’t present at the moment.
The eyes of the watcher at the gate were hard and lidded, and though they tracked him as he walked up and passed under the wooden frame, the man said nothing.
A rough path led through the village. Low houses lined the way, wooden-framed and thatch-roofed, none more than two storeys tall. Front gardens had vegetables, and a couple had goats - the normal-looking kind rather than Sporehides - whilst glimpses around the back and the sounds of larger creatures spoke to a lifestyle of self-reliance.
Men and women were out and about, carrying bundles of wool or planks of wood or carting round heavier crates. At least, he thought of them as men and women; he wasn’t sure if other terms applied here. Tirwen had spoken about the populace of Tamar’s Vale and the wider world, but to see creatures out of fairytales - dwarves, or the part-animal beastkin and allati, or even one halfling carrying a barrel larger than she was, all going about their business alongside the human population - was a real shock. It was all so... strange.
One thing that was entirely familiar though, was the air of exhaustion that hung over them.
Not so different from rush hour on the tube.
Each man and woman he passed wore weary expressions and trod with heavy feet, though the handful of children running round were laughing and carefree. Maybe the trouble was less than he’d imagined, or perhaps it had even passed.
Then again, children are always more resilient than you’d think.
With a rough idea where he was going, Ollie followed the track to the centre of the village. It wasn’t far, only a hundred yards or so, and Tirwen had told him that was where he’d find most of what he was after.
Tamar’s Vale was small. Fewer than two hundred people lived within its walls by Tirwen’s best estimate. Many were [Hunters] and [Trappers], but the village, like the people who dwelt there, was self-sufficient. There were a couple of [Carpenters], one of whom had levels as a [Bowyer] or [Fletcher], and a single [Blacksmith]. There were a handful of people with enough levels in [Weaving] to keep the populace reasonably well clothed, and whilst most saw to their own sustenance, there was a watermill on the stream, surrounded by its own small wall, though that one was made of stone.
Before he had a look round any of those though, he needed money, and for that he needed one of the buildings that overlooked the pond in the centre.
One of those was a tavern - The Hollow Mug - which he fully intended to check out before he left. Another was the blacksmith, but the one Ollie headed to was called The Post.
He couldn’t mistake it; it was the largest structure in the village, though that wasn’t saying much. It was still only a couple of floors, but the addition of a watchtower on one corner set it well above the rest.
Pushing through the swing doors to the inside, Ollie felt like a cowboy entering a saloon in the wild west, and a series of round tables and chairs and a bar to his left only added to the experience.
The room wasn’t large, but it was warm and welcoming, fitted with dark wooden panels worn light with age and use, and a trio of large notice boards on the far side, covered with pins and notes, showed how the place had gotten its name.
A couple of heads raised to glance in his direction as the half-doors creaked closed behind him, but the only one who paid him any attention was the man behind the bar.
“Greetings stranger. Welcome to The Post. How can I help you? Looking for work, or one of our services perhaps?”
The proprietor of The Post was a stocky man with a huge, bushy, bright-red beard. The same coloured hair might once have covered his head but, long past his prime as he was, he was now mostly bald.
That wasn’t to say the man looked feeble by any stretch of the imagination. The hands that were currently cleaning out a pewter mug looked as though they could crush it without a second thought. The biceps on him were like steel cables, and the size of his chest would have put a barrel to shame.
“Afternoon.” Ollie said, giving his best new-to-the-area smile. “I’m not sure what it comes under but I’ve got a few things I’m hoping to trade, though if there’s work going I’d be interested in hearing what’s needed.”
“Let’s see what you’ve brought first. You can tell me about any Skills after.”
The man gestured to the nearest table as he came out from behind the bar and swaggered over, but for all his friendliness and enthusiasm there was no disguising the dark circles beneath his eyes.
The antlers fell from the sack with a clatter as Ollie upended it, followed by the Sporehide skin with a dull thump, and the man leaned in.
“Oho, unless I’m very much mistaken I’d say we’re looking at the skin of a Sporehide, and a Stone Crest's antlers. Fresh too.”
“You’re not mistaken, sir. Less than a few days old. I take it they can be of use?”
“Indeed lad; Jarek in the smithy would take some, as would any of the [Leatherworkers], let me just check my books though. Feel free to inspect the boards over there whilst I look them up. Leftmost one is jobs, middle for anything arcane-related, rightmost for messages. J-A-M.”
With a nod of thanks, Ollie wandered over as the stocky man went back behind the bar and pulled out a colossal tome that shook the glasses on the counter as he set it down.
Almost penniless as he was, the jobs board was the one he was most interested in, but he scanned the other two first. The messages board proved to be a map, with rough envelopes pinned to it. He checked a couple of the names and addresses on the front, lifting them up to see where they’d be fastened to the map.
Do you write a letter and pin it to where the recipient lives? Who takes it? Anyone heading that direction? Guess they don’t get dedicated [Messengers] out here much…
The middle board only had three notes posted to it: one request to identify a suspected magical item, one from a retiring [Woodcutter] looking to sell or trade his Keen-Edge axe, and one from a [Hunter] who’d lost a treasured possession (undisclosed) whilst out hunting and wanted someone with a tracking spell or equivalent Skill to help him find it.
If only I had proficiency with axes…
He could pick it up of course, he was fairly sure, but he couldn’t afford the price the man was asking anyway.
Turning his attention to the last board, Oll scanned through a dozen listed tasks, ranging from a request to clear out a cesspit infested with rot grubs, to escorting a [Miner] as he checked the forest for possible ore veins, to someone to give sword-fighting lessons, but the one that caught his attention was plastered in the centre of the board.
OPEN GOBLIN BOUNTY
-
6 silver for each pair of goblin hands turned in to Harvin, or a full gold in store credit.
-
Extra silver (or two in store credit) for each pair with proof they’re from the Moon Sliver tribe.
Ollie turned round to find the man flicking through the book still.
“Excuse me, are you Harvin?”
The man held up a finger for a few moments as he stopped and his eyes scanned down the page. He grunted and looked up.
“That I am, why do you ask?”
“Just checking who I’d hand in this bounty to.”
Harvin perked up.
“Oh? You taken down some of those green-skinned bastards?”
“I have - seven myself, and another eight at least by my Silvermane companion, Neith. I didn’t know about the bounty though so I didn’t take any hands. Maybe I could go back and find the bodies, if they’re still there.”
“Silvermane, eh? You a [Ranger] then?”
“[Beast Tamer] and [Woodsman]. Not very high level though; I’m…new here.”
“Good on you, lad. Not many willing to brave the edge of the wilds. Too many can't live without the luxuries of civilisation in the cities.” He held out a hand. “Harvin Wells, former [Soldier], current [Reeve]. Run this place with my wife, though she's away on business at the moment.”
Ollie took the proffered hand, feeling like a child as it engulfed his smaller one.
I guess [Enlarged Grip] doesn’t actually make it any bigger.
“Ollie. A pleasure.”
With a couple of hearty pumps and a friendly squeeze, Harvin released his grip.
“You keeping the Silvermane in the forest?”
“I thought it best, yes.”
“Smart lad too, then. I can issue you with a collar for the creature next time you come if you want to bring it inside the walls - lets people know not to panic - and you might want to think about it sooner rather’n later. I laud your courage toughing it out in the wilds but we’ve had goblins at the walls the past three nights in a row and people are flagging; I can only imagine what it’s like for you out in the forest with those monsters on the rampage. Roots know what set them off; they’ve always been troublesome, an’ their tribe was growing larger, but they never dared attack us until just recently.”
Uh, I might know why.
Ollie swallowed as he considered the timeline. That seemed like it was only a day or two after he’d come across and slaughtered the adolescents. If the goblins found their dead and assumed it was the villagers…
“I’m being careful, but I’ve taken a few out.” He glanced back towards the bounty.
Harvin stroked his beard.
“It’s not that I don't believe you, but I can’t hand out a reward without proof I’m afraid.”
Ollie had a thought and pulled the stolen quiver from his back.
“I took this off one of their archers if that counts. Don’t worry about the ones I’ve killed though; I’ll just make sure to collect any…hands… in the future.”
The idea made him vaguely queasy, but the man needed some way to ensure the work had been done.
“I like you, lad. I’ll credit you with one kill for sure, but you had business here - let me give you the price for the beast parts and you tell me what it is you’re hoping to buy. I’m sure we can sort you out.”
Ollie laid out the scope of what he was looking for: a better bow and arrows, a set of clothes, possibly some leather armour, a handful of vials and glass equipment, a couple of woodworking tools, nails, strong rope, a large backpack…
There were almost fifty items he'd come up with as immediate wants, but most of them, like quill and ink, were easy asks and not likely to break the bank. When he finished by listing Tirwen's request the [Reeve] hummed and hawed as he considered.
“I can help you out with most of it, bar some of that glasswear and books on magic. All in all you'd be looking at around…sixteen gold or so if you're happy to have it second hand, not including the bow and the salt.”
“And with the bow and salt?”
“Well salt’s in short supply at the moment; the goblins set fire to a store house when they first attacked and it happened to hold most of our salt supplies. You could get a small pouch but it'd cost you a few gold by itself.” He winced at the look of shock that passed across Ollie's face. “I know, but if we make it through these raids there'll be another delivery at the end of the month when Sera gets back. Now, for the bow, it depends on if you want longbow or shortbow.”
That was an interesting question. The English part of Ollie’s heritage instinctively said longbow, but he knew they were hard to draw, and there wouldn't be much point in the extra range whilst he was in the forest; the trees limited how far he could shoot more than the strength of the bow. And yet…
“Give me the price for each.”
“Well, and this is still second hand mind you, I could get you a longbow alone for thirty gold, or you could have a shortbow along with the rest of your list - minus the salt - for thirty gold total.”
That decided it.
Taking the Sporehide skin and the Stone Crest antlers into consideration, Ollie could only manage to cover twenty gold and a few silver, and that was including the guild credit Harvin had offered him and a little extra for the goblin bow, so he reluctantly began cutting his list - a set of leather armour, a few of the larger tools and the surprisingly expensive ink went into the ‘purchase later’ pile. The saddle he’d been considering was the first to go.
By the time he’d finished negotiating with the [Reeve] he had enough to get him through the next few days, and if he could take down a few goblins there was the opportunity for more.
“I’ll keep an eye out for any of those books you were interested in, Master Ollie. In fact, I’ll put a notice on the Arcane board about them. A pleasure doing business with you.”
Harvin’s parting handshake was just as firm but a little more friendly than his greeting, and as Ollie promised to come back when he had more to trade and stepped out of the half-doors into the village again, he felt at the pouch in his pocket which now only held copper coins.
The Hollow Mug opposite was enticing, but he couldn’t help but feel bad about returning to Tirwen without the salt she’d asked for. As he wavered by the village pond, a noise caught his attention and he smiled.
—
Neith’s head rose and snuffled in his direction as he strolled back up the hill, backpack full of the most essential tools and supplies strapped tight and the quiver holding the unstrung new(ish) bow slung over his shoulder beside it, but the focus of her attention was what was perched on his branch-club, propped up over the opposite shoulder.
Four chickens burst into panic as the Silvermane rose, and it was all Ollie could do with his [Rudimentary Beast Speech] to calm them.
A woman in the village with a dozen in her yard had been only too happy to sell him a few, though the look she’d given him when he’d asked if they were normal chickens or something like frostfeather chickens made it seem like he’d been licking the Sporehide skin.
I only did that once, and only a tiny bit.
He fixed Neith with a serious stare.
“These are not to be eaten, okay? Four should give enough eggs for Tirwen and I to make a meal once a day. It’s a solid investment, but not if someone decides they want a snack.”
A sliver of drool dripped from the Silvermane’s lips but she snorted her reluctant agreement.
Ollie smiled.
“I’ll make it up to you, don’t you worry. How do you feel about hunting some goblins this evening?”
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