A Village Up On High, open

[Huszaria]

The wind settled from it's swirling to reveal from within its midst the dusty shape of a man, dark marks beneath his arms and between his shoulders where the sweat of his rigours had already soaked in. The plough-beast sneezed, tucking its head with each horn-like winding of its muzzle beneath the gathering of its mighty neck. Emmerging from the relative shelter of the piled stone wall, a small boy tapped the tin plate in his hand against an equally battered ladel to call the break. With a wordless nod of a sweat and dust caked brow, the dusty labourer first watered the beast, slowly and in small portions at a time, before he strode with the deliberate steps of a weary man to his meal.
The Farm-holders bony little son openly stared at Ulain, his active eyes squinting against the glare of the sun against the bone dry earth. His rapidly blinking eyes putting Ulain in mind of the strings of unasked questions with which the lad seemingly brimmed to overflowing.
"Go on lad. Ask." Ulain offered over a corner of his one ear of rye.
The lad first delicately ate the bread without dropping so much as a crumb, confirming in Ulain's mind that his kind-hearted family was even poorer than they let on, their father struck with the terrible misfortune of recurring shivering-fever. "You a lancer, isn't you?"
"That I am, lad." Ulain assented. The boy screwed up his face, a tilt of his head as if to look at Ulain with his god eye. "I see: you wonder why a lancer would plough fields? Am I right?"
"Well." The boy dipped his chin, showing characteristic freshness. "Why?"
Ulain carefully drained every drop of the sharp tea in the canteen, the herb steeped within granting his blood protection from the threat of shivering-fever only so long as he regularly took it. "I would prefer to ask you a question in return, lad, and let you come to your own realisation over time." Ulain took a slow breath, weighing the options. "It's always best if we learn the real truths in life ourselves." Ulain's words chilled himself, wondering who he was advising now: the lad, or himself in a way. "A lancer is nothing without a land, lad. Without farms, and people, and little boys to look after. At times of war, we go and make sure what bad must come to pass happens far away, where we hope it will never trouble your safety and happiness." Ulain's eyes searched that of the boy, trying to measure his understanding. "But there is little trouble at the moment. Certainly no need for the craft of lancers. And that is when we must remember what is important! The fields need to be turned, after the winds, but before the rains." Ulain's voice took on a far away tone, recalling words passed down. "Too soon, and the wind carries the topsoil away, leaving ruin. Too late, and the rains flood off the hard soil so that none soaks in. That is what is most important lad, that the fields are ready and the crops grow right. Down the line, through the exchange of many hands, that is what pays for the Lancers to do what they must, when they must." He glanced back down to the uncomprehending face, knowing that the lad would listen, without understanding, anything the Lancer wished.

The sun was little more than a burnt copper line against the sea when Ulain stretched from brushing the beast and racking the tools. He allowed himself something of a satisfied grunt, and after half-heartly washing, put his head through the door. The Master was at the table, looking bright eyed, and less worried than he had since Ulain had arrived. Obviously having put a spell of the fever behind him, and prescient enough to know that his lands were ready for the rains. "Lancer." The Master was somehow able to encompass the entire understanding between them in those few words, he tone of his voice, and the sincerity of his expression.
Ulain nodded, needed to add nothing further to such eloquence. In his hand, outstretched in the same spirit of graciousness that the Master offered over the payment, the weight of golds. "I would not ask-" He was interrupted.
"Lancer Ulain abMeigia. A thankful man, proper thankful, is never misunderstood."
"I thank you Master."
"Takes a spine." The Master called as Ulain bent to pass through the door. "To get down off that horse of yours, and put that hell hard dirt right. Shows the measure of a man."
Ulain hesitated. "I needed the coin."
"No you didn't."
Ulain smiled, with some colour in his sun-darkened cheeks, passing outside with a last nod.

The village shimmered with the retained heat of the day and the chirruping of crickets as Ulain passed down the twilight of the terraced lanes. Ahead the seas reflected brightening stars and a hunters moon. In the harbour, far enough below that the smell of the kelp and the work of the fisherfolk could not be smelt, a few trading vessels were readying to depart on the evening tide. Ulain took the second strangely satisfied breath of the day and ducked through the door and down the few steps inside the Public House.
The archetypal deep-set white-washed walls were lit with a few honey-sweet candles, casting a small circle of light over each of the occupied tables. Most heads were bent close together, a plate of a few choice morsels being shared before the meal when the proper cool of the night had gathered. Ulain did not recognise any faces, and moved out back to the table -seeing to his mare, Buzdona's, needs before he moved to his rooms; washing up in earnest; putting his tunics on for the first time in many moons, and wrapping his cowl in place. He placed an extra copper with the house-keeper to return the farming garb to the land-holders, and took the seat farthest from the musicians retraining their instruments for later in the night.
In the days before, Ulain had left word, and a few carefully placed coins with a few people. He was reasdy to leave the Village Up On High, as it's name translated into his own tongue. Whether he took to sea again, or passed further into Amaltere he had no preference. The message, in the usual terminology: outland rider, veteran, looking for occupation. As to how he was to be kept occupied, perhaps that night might tell.

--

word count: 1106
comments: Ulain is not especially looking for danger here. I have established earlier in the post that there is little in terms of warfare at that point in time. Perhaps a hired hand needed by a convoy; a ship willing to take an untrained man in return for passage. Or a dalliance perhaps, with a local? Surprise me.

[Angel of Chaos]

"Well," Angel muttered to himself while staring down the tip of the spear, "this is quite the mess I've gotten myself into."

/\/\/\/\

About a week earlier, Angel had been wandering the port village of Andolith on Nerandor when he came across the three-masted galleon known as The Deft tied up at the pier. It wasn't the grandest one he had seen, but it still seemed a very seaworthy vessel. From what his ears had gathered from around the port, although she was primarily a trade ship, she was able to ferry passengers as well, so long that they had the coin to pay for the trip. Also, she had been scheduled to leave for Amalterre very soon. Having spent almost the last of his gold on trail rations and a full waterskin, Angel could have just boarded and worked on the ship as payment for passage aboard The Deft. Yes, that would have been the normal approach. But where would the fun be in that?

Besides, he had a great reason to board The Deft. For the first time in years, he had heard of a reliable lead as to where his lost love, Aerynn, might have gone. One of the villagers had spoken of a tan, bronze-haired half-elf woman passing by here and leaving for Amalterre on one of the trade ships almost three weeks ago. Two more villagers had confirmed what the first had said. There was no doubt in Angel's mind that Aerynn had been through Andolith recently. He was getting closer.

But how could he board The Deft unnoticed?

It was amidst the creaking of wood upon the galleon in the waters that Angel had noticed that there were several large crates beside the dock, waiting to be loaded upon The Deft. They had seemed big enough to hold at least one human-sized person with plenty of room to move around in. In fact, they had almost seemed too conveniently sized for that very purpose, which had begun to make Angel very suspicious about exactly what the trade ship was transporting.

Once he had been sure that everyone was on break from loading and that no one was watching, Angel had swiftly and quietly made his way over to one of the large crates, which had been perforated with only a few tiny holes on each side. His short, pointed ears had caught the sounds of something--or rather, someone--quietly sobbing within the crate. A simple lock had held the door to the crate shut fast. Quite simple for Angel, who happened to have his lock picks in his coat. After a few tense moments, the lock had sprung free, and Angel had swung open the crate door.

To his great surprise, there had been two other people in it...two half-elves, no less! One was male, the other female, both seemed to be around 15 (which translated to around 20 by actual half-elf standards), and were dressed in tattered, dirty clothing. Mud, dirt, and dried blood crusted their frail bodies.

"Wha...who are you?" the half-elf girl had feebly asked. "Why are you helping us?"

"Because people don't belong in crates," had been Angel's response. "And I am a half-elf, much like yourselves. I'm doing all of us a favor."

"What do you mean...by all of us?" the boy had inquired.

"I need to get myself to where this ship is bound for," Angel had explained. "In order to keep from arousing suspicion, I need you to grab one of those empty barrels and lock me in this crate along with it."

"What?" the girl had asked in shock. "But why--"

"Shh, let me finish," Angel had interrupted. "After you do that, I want the two of you to quickly hide beneath the docks until the galleon has left and gone beyond the southern horizon."

"But what can we do with ourselves afterward? We've nowhere to go and nowhere to live," the boy had stated.

Angel had thought for a moment before concluding, "Then, at the very least, do this: when night has fallen, go to the Rusty Dog Inn and ask the keeper--Jaspar is his name, I believe--for work and a place to stay." He had then taken out the last of his money--four gold pieces--and placed it in the boy's hand. He had then smiled and said, "Tell him that Angel Macleod did you a favor."

Without another word, the two half-elves had done what Angel had instructed by bringing him an empty barrel, which he had stepped into before they had pushed the barrel into the crate. It had been a tight fit, but at least it wouldn't tip over within. The two half-elves had then closed and locked the crate, then they had run to under the dock before the crew came back to continue packing the crates.

It had been a most uncomfortable ride for Angel when his crate was lifted and carried onto The Deft, yet when the three-masted galleon actually set sail, it had not been quite as terrible as he had expected. The waters had been relatively placid for the duration of the week, and Angel hardly got seasick. Of course, it had been rather dark inside, so he had used just a little of his light magic to dimly light the inside of the barrel. He had also wisely divided his trail rations and available water across the week so that he did not become terribly malnourished. There had been a little space in the barrel for him to shift around, so he had not been in the same position for too long.

It had not been an easy voyage for Angel, but it was bearable.

On the seventh day, The Deft had made port at the Village Up On High, as Angel had overheard from the crew. He had been sleeping rather soundly when he had felt himself being violently dropped onto land, which had caused him to bang his head and jar him awake. "Ow! Oi, watch what you're doing!" he had snapped.

"Keep your mouth shut, slave!" he had heard someone snap back. "Wait...that doesn't sound like a slave! Men! I think we've got ourselves a stowaway!" The shuffling of feet and clanging of metal had sounded as the crate had been opened. "Buckets of blood! The slaves are gone!"

"Then...who's in the barrel?"

"Only one way to find out, lads!"

Angel then had felt the barrel being pulled out as the night sky dimmed in. He had then risen from out of the barrel and groaned, "Do you mind? I'm trying to get some sleep here."

/\/\/\/\

And that was when Angel found himself in his current situation, staring down the point of a spear along with several disgruntled sailors, all with weapons ready.

The man at the other end of the spear, who appeared to be the captain judging by the coat and the hat, growled, "Alright, lad, what have ye done with our slaves? Ye better answer quick now!"

Angel looked genuinely confused as he put on his act. "Slaves? What slaves? I was just sleeping quietly and peacefully in this barrel, and I found myself in that crate. Methinks it was someone else who took your slaves, captain," he said, gently moving the spear aside.

The captain just gave Angel a grumpy look and trained his spear on the white-haired half-elf again. "Now I think ye be telling a twisted tale, lad. Who would switch out the slaves with that barrel ye've been sleeping in?"

"Indeed, who would do something like that?" Angel spoke nonchalantly. "Perhaps some vagabond misfit who wanted to prove something to his peers? I honestly haven't the slightest idea as to who, nor do I know how I got here or where 'here' is, anyway."

"Hrmm..." the captain muttered. "Ye've made yourself a good argument, lad, I'll give ye that much for sure. And ye've managed to stow away--ahem, more rather, have been stowed away--on our ship for a whole week right under our noses. Still, though, the crew here doesn't take too kindly to stowaways of any sort, even if you came by accident. But since ye were straightforward with us, your discipline won't be too harsh."

"Really then, captain?" Angel said, a look of genuine surprise lighting his different-colored eyes.

"Aye, lad, ye have one of two choices. Ye can either pay a toll of one hundred gold pieces, or ye could work on our ship to repay your debt. Which will it be?" the captain asked.

Angel pursed his lips in thought at the very situation he was trying to avoid in the first place. Then he said, "Well, where are we, first of all?"

"Why, we're in the Village Up On High, on the country of Amalterre," was the captain's response.

"Interesting. I think whoever put me in that crate did me a favor," Angel replied. "You see, I was about to head to Amalterre when I fell asleep in the barrel and somehow wound up to where I was about to head. How oddly convenient. Still, that won't prevent me from paying your toll if you absolutely request it." He then reached into his coat to get his money satchel, but then remembered it was empty. "Hmm...strange, it seems I've no money."

"Well, that's not our problem, is it lad?" the captain said with a wry smile on his face. "Welcome to the crew."

"Well now hold on," Angel protested as he fished through each of his coat pockets. "I must have something of value in here somewhere." He had to find something of value in order to get away from the sailors. He was so close on Aerynn's trail that he'd be damned to give in to some paltry sailor's work now and be set back even further. To his luck, he felt something smooth and polished in one of his inner pockets. "Huh. What's this, then?" he mused as he pulled out a small ruby no bigger than his own eye. "Ha! I completely forgot I had this!" And that was not a lie.

The crew all awed in amazement as the captain inspected the ruby. "Now where did ye come by this, lad?" he inquired.

"Why, I found it on one of Erenor's mountain ranges," Angel said. That was a lie, but Angel masked it well. He had really lifted it from a well-known gemcutter wandering around a few villages back. "You seem like a decent appraiser of such things, captain. How much would you say it is worth?"

The captain paused in thought before saying, "Well, lad, from the quality and size of the ruby, I think it will sell for around two hundred gold on the market."

"Then that means you'll be gaining profit, then, if you take this off my hands and sell it," Angel said. "What say you to that?"

The captain smiled and took the ruby out of Angel's hand. "Very well, then, lad. Ye've got an accord. Now be on your way."

"Yes, captain," Angel said with a sigh of relief as he got himself out of the barrel and onto solid land. Then he remembered something else. "Oh, just one more question, captain."

"Aye, lad?"

Angel then pulled out a rolled piece of parchment from within his coat and unfurled it, revealing a fine portrait of a beautiful half-elf woman...Aerynn, more specifically. "The reason I was planning on heading to Amalterre is that I have been searching for this woman for quite some time now. Have you perchance granted her passage or at the very least seen her?"

The captain looked over the portrait for a while before answering, "No, not that I recall, lad. I don't believe I've even seen this lass before. And if she stowed away on our ship, she certainly did a hell of a better job of it than you did, even if it was unintentional."

Angel gave a small, mirthful laugh. "I thought as much," he spoke as he rolled up the parchment and put it back into his coat. "Well, thank you anyways, captain. I should be on my way, now." He then left the dock, The Deft, and the ordeal behind.

Whew, that went better than expected, he mused.