B2-Chapter 15: Iron is the hand III.

B2-Chapter 15: Iron is the hand III.

Smoke arose from buildings of dried wood and corpses lay in the fields upon my return. Mostly monsters. But not all. A singular human body lay covered in dull sheets before the loggers bunkhouse, surrounded by those off-duty. The unease here wafted into my nostrils as I drew close, pace increased to a near-jog. Anger bubbled beneath the surface here, its scent thick in the air.

Scant few turned as I approached, most locked onto the dead body. Lidya was absent, I surmised after a quick look around.

Came from the woods just hours before dawn. One of the workers spoke, his face stiff. Poor Laim was on watch. Raised the alarm and was dragged down for it. We chased em off. I think.

Lidya? Any other events of importance? Does the man have a family? I spoke in quick, clipped bursts. His death was unfortunate, yes. I had not known the man long enough to form any sort of connection, but it fell on me to do the right deed, now.

She headed off the farm. The scraggly human waved in the general direction, squinting into the rising sun right behind me. Inform everyone of the attack and other matters. The bunkhouse nearly got torched. Old Pealy got his arm slit open by claws so they sent him up to the mercenary camp for a proper healer instead of wasting healing potions. Aint right, if you ask me. What good is havin' them on hand if you arent willing to use em?

Let us worry about the dead first, and be glad the living are still with us. I gently guided the conversation away from a rant that no doubt formed inside the mans mind. Tensions were high, and preferred they did not spill over. His family?

Anger slipped from the mans face at the thought, replaced by tiredness and sorrow.

Oh. Someones gonna have to tell Jenna shes a widow again. Poor waif has the worst misfortune Ive ever been cursed to see. First her child, now this.

Every sentence spoken only hardened a conviction within me. This would be resolved, and soon. No matter the outcome, I would see this whole matter laid to rest.

Gold may not ease the pain of this, but I will see his family is compensated for and taken care of, at least. I promised. There was a price for a human life, contrary to what one might think. Coin might be an empty and callous way to repay this mans family, but I suspected it would not be rejected.

Over the next little while, I pieced together what exactly had happened through several testimonies. Most concurred that they had swept in from the rest, been repelled and had thrown firebombs at anything wooden in nature. Two of the pits had been torched, sawdust and dried wood sparking immediately. Save for the tools stored inside overnight and tarps to cover them, nothing had been lost. Nothing of actual value, anyway.

In return, there now lay corpses across the fields. These I went to examine, and found myself surprised.

Not the monsters I was used to. The Stonemongers had attempted first, and then whatever had been behind the attack on my farm. This, however, dug further the certainty that druids were the source of my woes.

Ironmoor had alluded to as much, and while I was detest to trust the man, there seemed a grain of truth to his words. Before me lay creatures that seemed carved from wood, covered in vines and tendrils of plant-life that oozed sap. These things, while humanoid in shape, lay utterly broken. No single wound had felled these creatures. Only the utter rending of their bodies had ended their flight.

My own picking and prodding led me to the conclusion that these were constructs. Humanoid in stature, mostly. Others appeared more animalistic. All were of wood, permeated with the stench of magic. Expandable, I assumed. They must have had decent motor functions to carry, light and throw firebombs.

With the order given to have the corpses hauled to the farm once everything was under control, I set a brisk pace and headed there myself.

A familiar sight greeted me, slinking out of the trees as I drew near my own home. Gols large form awaited me, ears down and forlorn. The big beast seemed..sad. Depressed, almost. He had not taken the arrival of so many new humans well, I surmised. Hand rubbing behind his ears, I stood and gave him attention, if only for a while.

Duty called.

Quiet and stolid, Gol remained at the treeline as I strode past and onto my farm. No trace of smoke here, nor battle.

Ishila and Lidya were near the lodge, I found. I was sighted before I caught sight of them, and promptly waved over. There had been no disturbance on the main farm overnight, but Ishila had sent scouts to check several of the closer fields in case of fires.

Will your men be able to continue working, or do they need a day off? I questioned. My concern was unwarranted.

For what? She asked, puzzled.

To mourn their friend.

I understand. Really. Its the right, rational thing teh do.

There was not but. She ended it on that, nodded and strode off. My eyes watched her cut across the field until she became a barely-discernable blur, vanishing up the road toward her fathers farm. Perhaps there was no real urgency, no need for speed and to make every moment count here. But I would rather be efficient and deal with this mess now than have another worker buried.

For what reason these druids wanted to root out me and mine, I did not know. The former Garek knew very little of their culture and ways, and I knew littler still. They were hostile towards Ironmoor, that much I knew. Very little greenery grew in his castle, and the area itself was devoid of so much as a bird. A thorough purge of all wildlife?

The extent of the former Gareks knowledge was that druid could control animals and monsters. Nothing more. Were they a race, a calling, a Class? All blank.

These were the thoughts that swam through my mind as Artyom approached me. So deep was I consumed in my own pondering that I failed to notice his expression.

The felenid appeared sad. Nervous. Yet he smelled of conviction.

Garek, A moment? He asked quietly, tone contained, usual excitement gone.

Yes? Came the answer, doing my best to be patient and polite. As always. There were no excuses for rudeness, even if I disliked being interrupted now.

I want to leave.

Any impatience I felt was gone immediately, replaced by concern. This, I had not foreseen.

Why? Is everything alright? Do you need anything?

A barrage of questions, rumbled out with genuine concern in my voice. The felenid sighed and jumped up on a stump next to me, somewhere where he was closer to my height. Just a little.

I like the farm, yes. He started. Good work, good friends, good advice.

But? I gently eased after a moment.

Too many people. Too many humans.

He didnt give a further explanation, and I didnt seek one. In my experience, if a mind was already made up, there was little changing it. Why try to persuade him to stay when I could not change why he wanted to leave? Instead, I merely nodded and understood.

Do you have a place in mind? Do you need coin for your travels? Is there anything I can provide?

A nod, then two shakes of his small head.

Velton has told me I can have a place at his farm. He needs someone to do all the small chores, and will pay me well. Told me that I wasnt the only one seeking to get away from humans.

Whenever youre ready, then. I smiled sadly. You wont be far off, but your presence will be missed, Artyom.

I know. And Garek? Thank you.

A day for departures and death, this was. Druids sought to burn what was mine, those I was close to drifted off or had their own needs, and there was little I could dedicate to help. The farm needed its master, and so my attention was consumed.

Onwards.