One Moo'r Plow

Much as I hungered to leave and set about solving my newfound monster issue, responsibilities came first. Even though the back of my mind itched for violence, I stayed home and tended to my farm. Artyom’s new hut was, sadly, no longer existent. A burnt pile of wood remained in its stead yes, but the felinid needed elsewhere to stay.

Without so much as a sigh, I told him he could sleep inside. Provided he did something about his purring snores. They seemed innocuous at first, but the high-pitched sounds and whines he produced while asleep quickly grinded my nerves.

But such small discomfort was fixable.

Were I a more brash man, I would have taken my weapons and headed off to observe the problem-fixing capabilities of copious violence. The old Garek would have. Been right eager about it as well. But instead, I spent time at my farm, cleaning alongside people I knew. And even, daresay, liked.

Never had I seen a smile so content as the one Le’rish wore now. The petals had not done anything for her missing eye, true. But she did not lament that. Instead, she blissfully strode along, happily breathing. Something so simple could give a hardened woman like her so much joy. I found that frankly amazing. Truly, the simple things in life mattered most.

Wounded or not, the cows called to be milked. And with buckets in hand, I trudged over to attend this task. After yesterday, I was simply too sore to be bothered with Cloven Crash. Instead, I plopped down on my stump-stool beside one and just shot it a tired, grumpy stare.

There was much pawing of hooves, shaking of head, and otherwise dissatisfaction. But, ultimately, it relented and let me carry on with the task while it chewed bloodstained grass.

Several others were not so understanding, but I tried anyhow. Only after several spills of the milk bucked did I give up and freeze them in place with my entirely misused skill. I did my best to be patient, truly. Yet I was still human and flawed, and it only extended so far.

With four people hard at work, the farm was mostly repaired by the time evening fell across the sky. We gathered for supper, with Le’rish and Ishila both accepting my invitation. The huntress sat, her usual hard exterior melted away to reveal happy smiles underneath.

“Mmmmmmmm.” She breathed in deeply. “I usually don’t make assumptions. But none of you have any idea what it’s like to breath. After years of cracked, stunted lungs. Safe assumption, I think.”

I didn’t, and admitted as much. She laughed and shook her head. There was genuine happiness writ on her features.

“It is intoxicating. Glorious. Clean, fresh air. No more fucking slime-haze. Gods Above I fucking hate that taste.”

“I’m happy for ya’”,” Ishila spoke quietly, between sips of soup. Soup that she almost dropped with a squawk as Le’rish leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, lass.” She smiled, and I grinned myself as Ishila furiously blushed. Artyom made no comment, face buried in his own food. The felinid had more important things on his mind than two women flirting. His grub, for one.

There was a distinctly happy feeling in the air tonight, I found. No doom and gloom and worrying about tomorrow’s problems. We had survived the raid, beaten back the monsters, and rebuilt. An ordeal had befallen us, and we had emerged in a better situation than upon going in.

So, I was more than content to simply sit here and sip my soup, rather than break my skull over tomorrow’s problems. Enjoy the wins as they came, and worry about the problems of the world another day.

“So, your didn’t care that you were attacked?” Le’rish asked ishila, her eyebrows raised. The lass shrugged and ran a hand through her hair with a sigh.

“Not really. Ma’ just asked how many I killed and Pa’ expressed his approval of me survivin, but he didn’ expect stonemongers to threaten me anyhow,” She grumbled. “On account of me bein their daughter and whatnot.”

“Your parents must have a lot of faith in you.” I remarked.

“Ehhh,” She shrugged. “Think it’s more then thinkin’ so little of the monster around here. Don’t really care about pests and whatnot.”

“Mmmm.” Le’rish nodded. “I’m pretty sure your mother could march off and murder half the monster on the redtip without breaking a sweat.”

“Yeah, but that’s Ma’, not me.” Ishila grumbled. “And they wouldn’t let me take the Adventurer or Slayer class until I was of age, and by then the Farmhand class had leveled up so much that any progress I make now will be glacial.”

“Did you level up last night?” I rumbled out of curiosity.

“Yeah, Farmhand went up for defending the farm. Maybe if I’d taken Slayer instead of Adventurer i would have gotten a level in that too.”

“There’s a reason you didn’t take the first one?” I grunted.

“Well, to me, adventuring ain’t all about killin. Now if I’d have taken Slayer, I’d get more Skills and stuff that specifically helps me kills monsters. And now, don’t get me wrong, every party needs a competent Slayer. But I want my adventures to be about more than that. Fighting and combat are dangerous. People die. We all know that. Prepare for it best we can, but it still happens, especially if you around lookin’ for trouble, which is what that class specializes in.”

“Now, if you want to find trouble and stay out of its way, you become a Stalker.” Le’rish grinned. “Like me. Hell, I’m sure the four of us have the right makeup for a decent party ourselves.”

“You’re a?” She gestured to me, and I shared my class with a shrug.

“Right, Berserker. Assuming you have a competent Stalker, that’s one of the better Slayer offshoots to have in a party. Doubly so given you’re a minotaur. You’d have me to make up for your poor vision and lack of range, find the enemies before they find us. Traps, pits, enemy scouts and assassins? Forget about them. Ishila havin the Adventurer class could take the Treasuresense, Danger Alert and Pathfinder skills and the like to round things out.

The woman leaned back, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Cat.” She gestured at Artyom. “What Class do you have?”

He looked peeved at being referred to as that, and looked around uncomfortably before sharing his Class.

“Scavenger. Hmm. Not too good, not too bad. Usually comes with Skills that let it pull useful items from nowhere. Increase finds in certain places. We find any relics or chests, we let him pop them open.”

“In this hypothetical scenario, yes.” I sighed. “But I am a Farmer.”

“True.” She lamented with a rueful smile. “You’d have made a great adventurer. Maybe even grown to a high-ranked or Known one. But you’ve made you choice, and I am happy you chose to come here.”

I nodded, and the conversation drifted off into other topics. Le’rish mentioned she had been approached by the Verdant Dawn camp to hunt for them, and intended to take them up on that offer.

“Good pay. Turn’s out soldiers who ride around all day and prefer to loaf in town can’t hunt for shit. I mean a few of them can. But not enough to feed all of them.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

“I have services and talents, they have needs.” She shrugged. “Long as the coin flows, those services will continue.”

Artyom muttered something about her seeming like a very expensive doozy and immediately bolted as Le’rish whipped her spoon at him. Still cross from being called a cat, the felinid bounded across the field as Le’rish’s death glare followed.

“Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they can’t be mean.” I shrugged. “Cats are vindictive little bastards.”

“I’ll exact payback.” She shrugged, and I remembered she too had feline features.

Ishila dismissed herself soon after, citing that chores still awaited her at home, and Le’rish left with her. With little company save for a sound-asleep Gol, I turned myself in for the night.

Sleep did not find me waiting. Instead, I sat on the bed’s edge and stared at the wall. I contemplated tomorrow, and all that I intended to do.

In all this time here, I had not gone to purposefully seek out violence anywhere. Even my fight with Gol was a spur-of-the-moment decision of righteous anger and rashness. But here I sat, preparing to go to do so.

I had come here, far away from any possible strife and conflict to be at peace.

And yet, the monsters of the world refused to leave me alone. For there was nothing that fate hated more than a quiet, peaceful place, it seemed. It refused to simply let me be, to quietly raise a homestead and live out the test of my days in silent satisfaction.

My eyes rose to the wall, where Garek’s armor was messily piled into the corner. Weapons and armor forged for the express purpose of war. I had hoped to never use them except in self-defense.

But how much more would the next raid claim? How many burnt crops, dead animals and ruined houses would be piled here when more monsters came knocking in the night? Would a stonemonger run down Art, or a lucky blow down Ishila? Would Gol find his way back to the farm next time?

These were all questions in the aimless hands of fate, and I was not content with that.

Hard was the resolve that lurked within me as I straightened and gazed upon the steel before me.

If fate’s answers to those questions were uncertain, then I would remove the variable that posed those queries in the first place.

I was not a soul that hungered for violence, but I was also not some helpless creature to be carried by the current and hope it did not dash me upon the rocks below. And I refused to let tragedy strike because I was too scared, too tied up in my own morality to take necessary action.

This time, I had emerged lucky. Next time, I might not.

There would not be a next time.

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