Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
The heat crept into his boots, the ground beneath him smouldering as he waded through the ashy remains of charred crops, not likely safe to be standing upon. Still, off in the distance, it looked even worse, the fields of wheat still aflame. Several hundreds or thousands of meals being destroyed, and in return only giving a bit of light to break the dark of night. Surrounded by scorched stonework, probably once a fence or a wall, there were a few black timbers, barely holding together after the blaze tore them apart. Behind the wanderer, not far from the road, a missus was seated upon a cart, weeping and crying. Her husband the farmer was on his knees at those timbers, digging with blistered bare hands, hoping to find anything of value still left from the remains of his home.
By some miracle, a storage hut not far from the road was still standing. In fact, most of the devastation seemed to be pointed in one direction. If he stood in the right spot, everything in front of him was burned, or was about to be, and everything behind him from that point was untouched. That seemed to throw his first suspicion of a barn fire or some such out the window, a blaze would have burned much more evenly if that was the case. There was no barn, anyway, wreckage from one would have been more prominent than the ashes of the house. He paced forward until the farmer was about ten feet from him, but he said nothing. What was there, that a stranger could say with any meaning? Gestures would be bare, too. He knew how to lift a bucket of water, but that wouldn't do a thing except sizzle against the burning fields.
He had heard of a terror-beast, that preyed upon those who had no protection from pillage or war. He'd never seen it himself, but few humans could honestly declare that they'd faced up against a monster and lived through the encounter. None of the tales he listened to ever described it the same, adding further to its mystery, but as he looked upon the devastation before him, a hand reached for the holstered weapon at his side, shaking in anger as he gripped it. With a few more breaths, his temper calmed, and he walked the remainder of the way up to the farmer ahead. He took his pair of gloves off, and tossed them in front of the bent-over man, before turning away. He was no carpenter, he couldn't rebuild a homestead like this, but perhaps they would prevent burned fingers from scorching any further tonight.
He was a foreigner to the town, approaching it only a couple hours before daybreak, his legs weary but his chance for a night's rest gone. He'd catch only a select few scurrying about, so early before the roosters crowed, and few paid him any mind, most having duties to prepare for. The reaction didn't surprise him, most folk didn't want to chance an interaction with somebody carrying weapons as openly as he did. Only when there were about three or four fellows more of his kind in a group did it grab attention, and then usually the kind that he didn't like. Funny, how it was only one way or another with those things. When a young servant, engrossed and rushing at his task, swatted into his leg, he knew a reprimand would just scare the boy even further. Without even an apology, the youngling tried to pick himself up and sidestep the warrior to be on his way, but an arm outstretched to block him. He didn't bother to speak back to the boy, returning the rudeness, but his hand gave the signal for "temple", and the fellow knew well enough to point him the right way, and only then was he allowed to scurry past.
A door creaked open as he let himself into the building. Three acolytes were huddled around an altar, and two sets of eyes lifted up to stare at him. Only the most trained of the three kept his position, being sure never to let the incense burn too much or too little. The soldier interrupted anyways, his thoughts going towards the farmer and how to protect his kind, holding more respect for them than men whose occupation was mostly reciting memorized words and chanting. "Would you help a humble traveler orient himself in this town? I don't know where to obtain them, but I need some particular services..."
By some miracle, a storage hut not far from the road was still standing. In fact, most of the devastation seemed to be pointed in one direction. If he stood in the right spot, everything in front of him was burned, or was about to be, and everything behind him from that point was untouched. That seemed to throw his first suspicion of a barn fire or some such out the window, a blaze would have burned much more evenly if that was the case. There was no barn, anyway, wreckage from one would have been more prominent than the ashes of the house. He paced forward until the farmer was about ten feet from him, but he said nothing. What was there, that a stranger could say with any meaning? Gestures would be bare, too. He knew how to lift a bucket of water, but that wouldn't do a thing except sizzle against the burning fields.
He had heard of a terror-beast, that preyed upon those who had no protection from pillage or war. He'd never seen it himself, but few humans could honestly declare that they'd faced up against a monster and lived through the encounter. None of the tales he listened to ever described it the same, adding further to its mystery, but as he looked upon the devastation before him, a hand reached for the holstered weapon at his side, shaking in anger as he gripped it. With a few more breaths, his temper calmed, and he walked the remainder of the way up to the farmer ahead. He took his pair of gloves off, and tossed them in front of the bent-over man, before turning away. He was no carpenter, he couldn't rebuild a homestead like this, but perhaps they would prevent burned fingers from scorching any further tonight.
He was a foreigner to the town, approaching it only a couple hours before daybreak, his legs weary but his chance for a night's rest gone. He'd catch only a select few scurrying about, so early before the roosters crowed, and few paid him any mind, most having duties to prepare for. The reaction didn't surprise him, most folk didn't want to chance an interaction with somebody carrying weapons as openly as he did. Only when there were about three or four fellows more of his kind in a group did it grab attention, and then usually the kind that he didn't like. Funny, how it was only one way or another with those things. When a young servant, engrossed and rushing at his task, swatted into his leg, he knew a reprimand would just scare the boy even further. Without even an apology, the youngling tried to pick himself up and sidestep the warrior to be on his way, but an arm outstretched to block him. He didn't bother to speak back to the boy, returning the rudeness, but his hand gave the signal for "temple", and the fellow knew well enough to point him the right way, and only then was he allowed to scurry past.
A door creaked open as he let himself into the building. Three acolytes were huddled around an altar, and two sets of eyes lifted up to stare at him. Only the most trained of the three kept his position, being sure never to let the incense burn too much or too little. The soldier interrupted anyways, his thoughts going towards the farmer and how to protect his kind, holding more respect for them than men whose occupation was mostly reciting memorized words and chanting. "Would you help a humble traveler orient himself in this town? I don't know where to obtain them, but I need some particular services..."
