One Moo'r Plow

Book 1: Chapter 45: Beyond All Reason III

For once, I was thankful that nothing of great import occurred in the time it took me to deliver a load of bottled acid up the mountain. Once the viscous liquid was firmly the alchemists problem, I made my way back home, considerably richer in terms of coin. With the sun dipping towards its afternoon slouch, I sat the cart back down and pondered what would happen next.

It was..inconvenient, to say the least. The first harvest loomed ever closer, the crops ripe and ready to be taken off. But once that was done, what would I plant in return? I had taken the last stock of seeds from Hullbretch, and unless there were others with Skills like mine that accelerated the growth cycle, my pickings would be slim indeed.

The crops I had planted were not entirely optimal either. Having discussed prices and the like with Ishila, I had come to conclude that they could instead be channeled back into my farm. My original plan had been to sell the crops for profit. This had changed.

I leaned against the fence and gazed into the pasture as Gol approached and pressed his head into my side. The big burly beast was well-fed and placid. Slow and lumbering, not unlike the bears he resembled. But I knew all too well what lurked beneath that exterior, had seen firsthand how terrifying those creatures could be when spurred on by hunger.

It raised an interesting question. How and why were several of the animals here loosely similar to those back home?

While I had no concrete answer or even a theory, I did possess multitudes of questions. Queries for another time. For now, I simply stroked the lazy goofs head and surveyed my fields. Large as the pasture was, the cows kept it under steady pressure. The growth of grass kept up to their needs, but just barely. My eyes wandered over sections gnawed down to the ground, yet I knew it would rapidly regrow and sprout with the new few days.

I wondered on this for a while. Was it at all affected by my Skills, like the crops in the field just across the road? If it was indeed not, could I then some influence it?

The situation called for me to introduce even more cattle to this pasture for the sake of profit. More milk meant more supplies streaming up the mountain. Scent flooded my senses as I took in the smell of grass fertilized by cow manure. Hmm. That would unfortunately need to be cleared, sooner or later. Too high concentrations would render the soil burnt and unwilling the grow anything, if my experiences remained relevant.

A dirty job I could perhaps foist upon someone else. If not, I would need to grit my teeth and do it myself.

Oats would make for a decent feed supplement, I reckoned as my poor gaze slid between the fields and the pasture. Help take the strain off the grass and be able to accommodate more cows comfortably, for a while. Mental notes set in order, my attention turned back to the crop that could render me the most profit.

Monster plants.

The cleric-shine held so much value that it could not be understated. I had an entire stone fence erected around its patch to prevent the possibility of any pest being able to damage its precious petals. It alone was the source of my best seller, and I would do everything in my power to ensure it remained so.

Deal with the alchemist secured, the acid leached from the pepper-like plants now could also serve as a stream of revenue. If the burstbombs and biterpods proved popular among guards and adventurers, I would also soon need to harvest more of them.

The spores I planned to keep for myself for the time being, and other plants I had examined, but could not find a practical use for. A snake-like flytrap that moved unground seemed like a cool concept, yet it offered me little in terms of financial gain. Perhaps I could harvest its fangs?

Not everything that moved could be forced to turn a profit for me. This I realized.

But for now, my affairs seemed to be in order. I needed work. Forward momentum to bury myself within as I hoped for news regarding Ishila. I had no idea when Lerish would return, nor in what state. At current, she was the sole person I knew who could tell me where this eccentric farmer lived that could sell me more of these cows.

Perhaps Ishilas parents knew, but I doubted they would be keen to answer. Even as I stood here, I itched for action. To get up and move. Do something. Anything. Try to occupy myself with anything but standing here and wallowing in my own worry.

I needed help. Up until now, Ishila had stop-gapped that issue with impunity, single-handedly carrying the workload of several men. And now she was gone, and I knew that realistically, unless I tore myself seam from seam, something would fall behind.

Artyom had earned his place here, no one would dispute that. But his size alone prevented him from doing so much of what needed to be achieved. Another task filed away in my mental list. Wary gaze on another column of green-liveried infantry marching up the road, I continued to scratch behind Gols ear and sighed.

With so much excitement whipped up by the dungeons discovery, I suspected help might be hard to find.

The day grew late, and a choice was presented to me. Prepare supper and likely end the day, or try to cram in some more, much-needed work before the light fled beneath the horizon?

I chose the latter. I had already achieved a long, tenuous prosperous day. Survived an attempt on my life, cut several deals and reaped a very respectable profit. But there were tasks that called to be finished with all haste, and I had procrastinated long enough.

The sounds of evening rose around me, a mixed cacophony that sounded from all directions as I slid lumber onto my lodges roof and did my best to secure it. Log after log was heaved into place, lain into grooves and secured as best I could. Artyom perpetually hovered around me, ready to hand me tools or fetch supplies as I worked on the wooden roof. This time, I followed Lerishs design, with a few of my own adjustments to better house someone my size.

Slow and deliberate as it was, I managed to get perhaps half the roof in place before a lack of light forced the day to end. With a sigh, I helped Artyom pack away the tools opting to store everything inside the lodge. A door was still required, and I could perhaps work on a few windows afterward, but the structure was largely completed. With how much I weighed, I had some misgivings about the hollow space beneath the floor, but the lumber held my weight without much protest.

A few more good days of work, and my new home would be complete. Just in time for me to vacate the old house and convert it into a storage space for crops and other goods. The vegetable garden near the place was also doing well, accelerated onward by my Skill and otherwise bountiful conditions.

The lodge would be complete just in time for me to be rushed headlong into more work. Torch in hand, I left Artyom with instructions to go light the fire and carry some water to the pot while I procured ingredients for yet another soup.

Some part of me said it was just begging for thievery if I left the tools unsecured in the lodge. Another replied that if there was a thief ballsy enough to stalk onto my property and not be mauled by Gol, I wouldnt even feel peeved about the loss.

Lantern in hand, I yawned, stooped to make sure the chill-vines were properly secured around jugs of milk and groaned as I realized I would soon need to harvest more. Either that or find a way to grow my own. The idea of venturing into a warzone to cut more of these for myself held little appeal, yet I needed them to preserve my goods.

Milk. Ishila was the one who usually delivered to the young couple down the road, and often returned with several small gifts of gratitude in return. They were due a delivery soon, I remembered. Another task past due on an already lengthy list. Something caught my eye, and I grabbed the sack I had stored in here earlier this day.

All that remained of the madman and his vain attempt upon my life.

With a snort, I tied that to my belt, grabbed varied ingredients and trudged off to once more taste my own miserable cooking. Perhaps it was Gareks tastebuds being skewed, but nothing I had eaten in this world had ever tasted quite the same as back on the old world. I almost thought of it as home, then. The thought lingered, yet I banished it and forged onwards. Sentimentality aside, there remained little for me to return to, if I ever could.

If I ever wanted to.

By some mercy, Artyom volunteered to try his paws at tonights meal. More than glad to pass this task to another, I instead sat back and began to pull items from the sack. The worth of this man remained..meager. All that he left in this world was a broken sword, a pouch with scant few coins, faded crystals, some trinkets and little else.

I knew not his name, yet I was certain he had died a fool.

The snapped blade still thrummed as I slowly moved the broken rapier around. A few experimental pokes showed it slid through the wood and even stone with almost no resistance. Even in its broken state, whatever spell made the edge so lethal held true. But how long would that last? The hilt was unremarkable, save for etches and patterns that adorned the guard.

Most of the crystals inside the bag were spent, lifeless husks. I had distinctly seen the man pull out several of these if a glowing state and call forth power stored within. What were they, exactly? The ones he had used when attacking had been cast aside once spent, yet these were carried still.

Was there a way to refill those spent? What were their affects? Those few that held an azure glow within I avoided, lest I somehow trigger them. I had no idea as to their effects, yet thinking back on the blurred, focused moments of the attack, I noticed a general pattern to them.

Most, if not all, had aided the caster in some form. The doppelgangers, the icy whip, the azure prison. Only the explosion had not been something that directly buffed or enabled the wielder in some shape.

Questions piled upon each other with no distinct answer in sight.

I distractedly thanked Artyom for his wonderful cooking and sipped soup directly from the bowl as night reigned across a starry sky. Yet tired as I had been, sleep did not call for me yet. Curiosity fueled my search as I turned trinkets in my grasp, determined to see if they were mundane or magical.

Of note was a metal star enclosed by an iron circle, a flat pendant dangled from a steel chain. There was something hidden inside it, I was sure. Yet try as I might, I could not coax forth its secrets. The fire flickered, faded and eventually ran out before I looked up and realized Artyom had headed to bed and Gol was sound asleep.

With my own yawn, I decided that this was enough exploration for the night and rose to turn myself in.

Almost to the house, the sound of hooves striking dirt caught my attention and I turned to find a black figure riding through the darkness atop a silent stallion. Malice and dread washed over me as the specter drew near.

Valencia.

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