SRO-04. Greenfire, page 4
part #4 of Sky Realms Online Series
“You’re right there,” Brandiff told him. “There’s no real draw for a trading village. You’re not on any route, and don’t see one being here for a long time if ever. An outpost would bring in a lot of strangers, a lot of people coming and going. Don’t think you want that.”
Hall shook his head. No. He was pretty sure he didn’t want a constant turnover of people in and out of the village. But he did want it to grow. How? Isolated, how would Skara Brae grow and thrive? Could a village survive on just itself? No matter what, they needed more people. More crafters, traders. Just more.
What would the economy look like? There would be no outside money coming in. A true barter economy?
But why would anyone want to come live in a place like that?
So far the citizens all had a reason to be in Skara Brae, and for the most part it involved not being able to stay where they had been. What kind of society would that build over time?
How would they buy the things they needed from outside if there was no money being used? Could everything come from within? Completely self-sufficient?
The Breakridge Irregulars could bring in money from outside. But enough?
“No need to answer it now, lad,” Brandiff said, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling Hall from his thoughts.
“I just can’t help thinking there’s a reason for this place,” Hall told the other Skirmisher. He had made the decision not to tell the NPCs that in the pre-Glitch version of the game, this village and area had never existed. They would either think him crazy or get that blank-eyed stare.
He cursed quietly to himself. He hated thinking of them as NPCs. He thought he had moved beyond that, but the encounter with Iron had set him back. He knew they were equal to the Players, but he wanted to stop thinking in terms of NPCs and Players.
“You might be right,” Brandiff told him, starting to walk down the stairs. “There has to be a reason this place was built out in the middle of nowhere.”
Hall stayed up top, watching the other turn and disappear out of sight.
“There’s also a reason why it was abandoned,” Brandiff’s voice said, coming from down below. The sound of a door closing followed.
Hall leaned back in his chair at the head of the table. A small table, it was set up in the middle of the wide-open space that was the first floor of the town hall. Nothing fancy. As plain and simple as could be, the table had been made quickly by Duncant. He had promised a better one. Hall was just fine with what they had.
Six seats spread around the table. He was at one end, and Timmin, the former Scribe from Silverpeak Keep and now the Administrator of Skara Brae, sat at the other. Dinah and Brient sat on one side, Duncant on the other.
He had changed out of his armor, which he needed to get repaired again, and into a simple wool tunic and trousers. Not just repaired, most of the pieces needed to be upgraded and replaced. Which meant a trip to Silverpeak Keep or Auld since there was no Leatherworker in Skara Brae.
There was no Blacksmith either. Or Alchemist. Or any other tradesmen beyond Duncant.
Which was starting to be a problem.
“Are you listening?” Timmin’s voice cut through Hall’s thoughts sharply.
That was happening a lot, he knew. Not Timmin interrupting him, but his thoughts drifting and getting lost in them.
“Sorry,” Hall said, focusing on the other man.
Timmin grumbled. He waved a piece of paper in Hall’s direction.
There was a large mound in front of the Administrator. The man liked his lists and notes. He was remarkably good at the job, Hall knew, and he was glad that Timmin was here. But he’d never let the other know that.
“As I was saying,” Timmin said, eyes hard, “we are running out of materials.” He dropped the paper on the table, pointing at it with a long finger. “Again.”
“Make up a list,” Hall said, knowing that Timmin already had. “And we’ll send the Ridgerunner out to get what we need.”
Timmin rolled his eyes. “Oh yes,” he said sarcastically. “Why didn’t I think of that.”
Hall shot him a glare, which Timmin ignored.
“Not that simple.” Brient spoke up.
A former sergeant of the Peakguard, the men assigned to keep the peace in the city to the south, he had been removed from his post for working to stop a gang war. It was his bad luck that some people in power had wanted the new gang to take over. The Silver Blades had been defeated by Hall and his friends, but the people in power had remained in power. Brient found himself without a job. Hall had asked him to become the sheriff of Skara Brae.
He was a sheriff over two dozen people, most of whom would rarely be in the village. With nothing to do, he spent most of his time in the fields, helping Dinah and her daughter, Hitchly. Hall had noticed that Brient and Dinah were spending a lot of time together beyond just working the fields.
“It takes too long for the Ridgerunner to go to Silverpeak Keep and back,” Brient said. “Slows progress down considerably.”
“And there’s only so much I can do,” Duncant said. “We’re going to reach the point where a Blacksmith is needed.”
“Full time,” Timmin added. “And while we are at it, we need a Leatherworker, a Cooper.” Timmin started counting off on his fingers as he listed each profession. He kept going when he ran out of fingers. “All that requires more people beyond the craftsmen, which would mean more guards,” he said, looking at Brient, who just nodded.
Hall wondered if Brandiff had been talking with Timmin.
“We need more guards anyways,” Brient said. “You lot won’t be here all the time,” he told Hall. There wasn’t accusation or anything in his tone. Just stating a simple fact. “We’ve taken out three dozen of the Trow in the last two raids. They can’t have that many more warriors left to throw at us. I don’t see them making another raid, but…” He paused, fingers tapping on the table. “I wonder,” he started again, eyes staring at the ceiling. Hall could tell that Brient was thinking out loud, not making a suggestion. At least he hoped so. “They are pretty weakened right now. We could maybe get the Firbolgs and possibly the Peakguard, along with us, to make our own raid. Take out the Trow while they are weak…” Brient shook his head and refocused on Hall. “Anyways, the Trow raids have shown that there are dangers around here. We need to be prepared for those at any time, and if you and the rest of the Irregulars aren’t here…”
Hall nodded. He was right. Not about the raid on the Trow. Although it wasn’t a bad idea, Hall just couldn’t see them convincing the Firbolgs and Peakguard to assist. The Councilors of Silverpeak Keep would think the Stonesky tribe of Trow were too far from the Keep to pose a threat. Which was somewhat true. In the case of the Brownpaw Firbolgs, Hall didn’t think they would sign on for the slaughter of a whole tribe of beings. Even if the beings were Trow.
But Brient was right about needing more guards.
“Can I say something?” Dinah asked, raising her hand.
“Of course,” Hall told her.
For the most part, in the almost daily meetings of Skara Brae’s councilors, Dinah was quiet. She’d speak if spoken to but never put out her own ideas. Hall had started to be a little disappointed in his choice of her in filling one of the spots. He had hoped she would represent the citizen side of Skara Brae. Brient, as sheriff, would represent the protection and justice part, and Duncant would be the merchants. Hall was the mayor and Timmin the administrator, who would oversee all other aspects of village life. Dinah’s silence was something Hall had hoped would change. It just hadn’t. Yet.
He smiled, trying to encourage her.
“It’s not just guards and merchants,” she said, looking down at the wooden table. Her voice was quiet, low, but gaining confidence as she spoke. “There’s only Hitchly and myself really working the fields. The Ranchers help, as do you others pitching in. But as the village grows, that help will vanish, and it will be just Hitchly and myself planting and harvesting all the food. Georwin and Herklin can only handle so much livestock. With more people in the village, there would need to be more food produced as well as more animals.” She looked up from the table, eyes moving from one to the other, stopping on Brient, who nodded, giving her encouragement to continue. She turned and looked at Hall. “We’d need more Farmers and Ranchers as well.”
“Might as well add in Hunters and Fishermen,” Timmin said.
Hall sighed. He tried to keep track in his head but was lost. Numbers flashed through his thoughts. Two more here, which meant four more there, but only one more here. If they added more merchants, that would mean more food needed and more guards to keep everyone safe and law abiding.
Why did I decide to do this? he thought.
“Basically you all are saying that we need more,” he finally said. “More of everything.”
They all nodded.
“But it’s not a situation of just adding numbers,” Hall continued. “There’s some give and take. If we bring in the merchants we need, they need people who would buy their wares, but at the same time they would need food, which means upping the production of the fields, which means bringing in more Farmers.”
“Running a city is all about the numbers,” Timmin said, with a little sympathy. Very little sympathy.
“That’s a blunt way of putting it,” Brient said. “But he’s right.”
“Growth needs to be in waves,” Timmin continued. “You can’t just bring everyone in at once. The village can only hold so many before expanding, and if you expand too fast, you can ruin it all. Growth needs to be controlled, measured, steady.”
Back in Silverpeak Keep, Timmin had just been an accountant. Hidden away. No one of import except for his ability to forge the Councilor of Coins’ signature. That had brought him to the attention of the Councilor of Trade, Cronet, who was secretly the leader of the Silver Blades, a thief’s guild that was trying to cause chaos in the city. Cronet was working to stage a somewhat bloodless coup and would have succeeded. Except for Hall and his friends.
Hall had realized early on that Timmin was wasted in his previous post. The man was hard to like, but he knew his stuff. Hall would be lost without him. He was half tempted to just give Timmin control of Skara Brae.
“Okay,” Hall said. “We’re not going to accomplish much more, so let’s call it a day.” He looked down the table at the administrator. “Could you come up with a plan for steady and controlled growth, focusing on the primary needs first?”
“Of course,” Timmin said in a way that made Hall think such a plan was already created.
“Thanks,” Hall said to them all.
The group stood, pushing back chairs.
“Timmin, could you stay for a bit?” Hall asked.
“This is my office,” the Administrator pointed out, and Hall winced, forgetting that fact.
They waited until the other three had left, the door closing behind Brient. Timmin walked to his crowded desk off to the side. The surface was covered in papers, multiple inkwells and quills along the top edge. He sat down, pulling up a piece of paper. Quickly scanning it, rereading to see where he had left off, Timmin grabbed a quill, dipped it in ink, and started to write but stopped. He looked at the tip of the quill, then back at the ink bottle. Picking it up, he looked inside and frowned. Setting the bottle down, he flipped through his pages of paper until he found the one he wanted and quickly wrote “ink” on it before going back to the top paper.
“Well?” he prompted without looking up.
“Can we get a postmaster stationed here?” Hall asked, deciding to get right to the point.
Timmin looked up and smiled. Not a nice one. The look was one of satisfaction. Hall felt like he was being examined by a teacher whose student had finally arrived at the obvious answer.
“About time you asked that,” Timmin said, returning to his paper. “Of course we can.”
Hall sighed. “How?”
“You need a writ from a Postmaster General,” Timmin said, still not looking up.
Hall stepped back in shock as a notification filled his vision.
You are being offered a Settlement Quest.
Skara Brae is isolated and it takes days to get to the nearest large city. As such, the village would benefit from having a Postmaster stationed there so messages can be sent and retrieved quickly.
LETTERS IN THE MAIL I
Be issued a Poststation Writ from a Postmaster General 0/1
Reward: +100 Experience; Ability to create a post office in Skara Brae
Accept Quest?
Hall did so quickly.
What was a Settlement Quest? That was a first.
“Where’s the nearest Postmaster General?” Hall asked.
“Silverpeak Keep,” Timmin said. “Auld might have one as well.”
“I guess you’d better add a postmaster to that village-growth plan.”
“No need,” Timmin replied.
“How so?” Hall asked, aggravated with the Administrator’s quick and short answers.
“I can hold that position. For a time. Once the population hits a threshold, I would have to pass it on to someone else.”
Hall sighed, fighting back a rage rant. It would have been so easy for Timmin to mention all that before. He took a deep breath.
“Okay,” was all he said, turning to leave the town hall.
He stopped halfway toward the door, turning back to Timmin.
“That’s the second quest you’ve given me,” he pointed out.
Timmin looked up, annoyed.
“You’re a quest giver?”
“Of course,” Timmin answered with his own sigh and roll of the eyes. “When more people become citizens, others will become quest givers.” He returned to his paper but looked up again, a smirk on his face. “You seemed reluctant to dig deeper into Brient’s idea of taking the fight to the Trow but might need to accept that it will happen. Soon enough, I’m sure one of his quests will be to thin the Trow population.”
Timmin returned to his work, chuckling softly, as Hall left the town hall.
Chapter 4
Hall made his way across the meadow. The tall grass shifted in the wind that came in off the island’s edge. Fast and hard, the wind blew across the meadow and hit the Breakridge, bouncing back into the meadow itself. It created some odd currents that made landing an airship tricky. The dragonhawks flew high to get away from the winds. Nothing else flew over the meadow.
The Frost Tips rose before Hall, reaching high into the sky, the tops covered in snow. He found the pass that cut steeply into the side of the first mountain, sticking out into the meadow past the rest of the range.
Two statues stood on either side, worn down and cracked by wind, rain and time. Standing five feet tall, the two totems would have resembled trees but did so no longer.
He passed them by, heading up to the first plateau about fifty feet off the meadow. The trail was steep, smooth, cut into the mountain. It switchbacked a couple of times as it rose. A stone shelf, the plateau sloped up to the cliff side at a slight angle, about thirty feet deep. Another path cut across the mountain to the higher shelf, this one curling around the mountain to the northwest. Mostly dirt and exposed rock, grass started near a stone arch to the northeast. Two stones were set vertically with a thin one laid across the top.
Passing underneath the stone arch, Hall saw the Druids’ Grove spread out before him. Long and thin, covered in bright green grass, speckled with spots of brown. Dead grass surrounded by new growth. In a few places Hall could see the purple tinge that had once covered the entire meadow, the sign of the corruption brought by the last Custodian.
He walked through the meadow toward the single large tree in the center. Huge and white, branches and leaves spreading wide. The Branch of the World Tree. It sat on an island in the middle of a pond, stepping-stones forming a path to the tree. It was in much better shape than the first time he had seen it.
Then the tree had been corrupted, cracked and pitted, reddish sap dripping down the side. Now the Branch was full of life. Birds chirped from the branches; squirrels and chipmunks ran up the trunk and along the limbs. It seemed to glow with an inner light. The only reminder of its time corrupted and dying was a small scar on the trunk. Jagged and black, it was where the Black Nail had been stuck. The nail had been the symbol of the deal between Vertoyi, the previous Custodian, and a demon known as the Dark Man or Feardagh. Leigh doubted the scar would ever fade.
It would stay as a reminder of the corruption and how fragile the balance was.
At the pond’s edge was a gathering of figures standing in the shadow of Grayleaf. The Craobh, the walking tree, looked down at the three Druids. His branches creaked and groaned as he turned to see Hall walking their way. The Craobh’s attention returned to the Druids.
Seo and Bealee stood on either side of Leigh. They were both dressed in their Druid robes. Seo’s was a light brown color, trimmed in green, and Bealee the Wood Elf’s was a darker brown trimmed in gold. She stood a foot taller than Seo, the same height as Hall. A pure Wood Elf where Hall was a Half-Elf, she had tree-bark-colored skin with light green hair and tall pointed ears. Pretty enough, her brown eyes were often hard. She was no-nonsense, not taking any excuses. The work would get done, and there was nothing to be said about it. Hall had not spent much time with her, as she rarely left the Grove.
Leigh kneeled between them, the hood of her dark green robe pulled up, the tips of antlers peeking past the hood’s edge. She was digging at the earth, pulling it apart with her hands. Stopping the digging, Hall watched as a pale arm and hand reached up toward Bealee. The Wood Elf pulled a small object out of her robes, Hall thought he recognized it but was too far to see details. Leigh didn’t look up, her other hand moving in circles over the hole she had dug. The robe’s sleeve slid down, showing more of her pale skin along with some of the light blue tattoo linework that covered both arms.
