Chapter Text
The cart ride to Hearth wasn’t that bad if you weren’t expecting a smooth ride, Rokas decided. He was sitting at the back of the covered wagon which was carrying everything he owned, and some of what he had been loaned, to his new home. He considered that in this trip he might have seen more of the world than in his entire life prior to that point.
It was a long ride, starting at the great city of Comfort and tracing a sometimes winding path through the northern half of the continent. Even before the stone towers and wall of Comfort had receded over the horizon the terrain had begun to change, leaving the well-settled coastal plateau on which the city had been founded and ascending into the wooded foothills of the great mountain range which traced an arcing path starting in the north east and ending in the south west of the landmass.
It was early in spring, but in a matter of days the caravan had reached sufficient altitude that snow was still clinging to the passes which were most frequented. Many of these strategic roadways had small forts situated upon them to check travelers upon the road. Tensions were still high after the end of the last war and more than once in the journey Rokas had been called upon to provide paperwork documenting the contents of his cart and the nature of his travel.
While his supplies and tools were not contraband, it was true that a forge could supply weapons of war as readily as it did the implements that enabled civilization and some concern was paid to for whom he intended to ply his trade. He was not intending to enable some foreign invader or well-organized bandits, was he? Rokas became accustomed to opening the envelope containing his Grant of Settlement and explaining his intent to these officials. He often heard the guards grunt in a conciliatory fashion to him upon seeing where he was bound. They were no less obligated to their charge, having enlisted in the boarder patrol, than he would be having taken on his grant.
Rokas signed a contract when he accepted the grant. He had been given land, a minimum of the equipment that he would require, a small stipend, and an assistant. The expectation was that he would use what he was given to establish a workshop in the town of Hearth and operate it for a period of time no less than five years to the benefit of the town and, by proxy, the city.
He had tired of the city. He spent his entire youth fighting for his apprenticeship and subsequently fighting to complete said apprenticeship. He grew weary of vying against the competition of the established Smiths and had little interest in working under a master for less pay while doing more work. The deal he made seemed an easy one.
Doubt began to set in around the time he noticed the pattern of consolation in those he spoke with, however briefly, about his posting. It was also true that he was unprepared for the weather in this region, even in spring. Comfort was no stranger to snow, but it came in its appointed season and left just as promptly- like a worker who enjoyed their employment just enough to retain it. In the region surrounding Hearth it was an entirely different matter. The snow here was downright enthusiastic.
Four times on the journey the snow had become so profuse that they had to delay travel. Once, they spent almost a week at one of the wayforts guarding the mountain roads. The wooden palisades there offered little respite from the cold, but a bonfire was kept in the center of the fort which Rokas depended upon greatly for warmth.
Much of what he had was new, but in selecting the clothes he would take with him, his heavy, woolen coat was barely sufficient on its own. He had to his name three sets of clothes, befitting his status as a skilled craftsman, but none of the rest of it was sufficient for this. Under his coat he wore a light red linen tunic and dark slacks. His boots, though leather, were well-suited for a warm smithy, or for travel down a city street, but not sufficient for even the last remnants of cold weather here. That left another outfit like what he was wearing and a more fine ensemble, usually reserved for important meetings, to his name. He resigned himself to spending much of his early income on remedying his lack of planning.
The rest of his possessions were the tools of his trade. Primarily, the anvil, hammers and other assorted tools he would require. He traveled relatively light. A minimum would be required, but with time he could make what he lacked. In fact, that was more or less the plan. He couldn’t exactly take a forge, fully constructed, with him. Not of the scale with which he would prefer work. Instead, it was intended that the required materials for his workshop would be available upon arrival. His entire workshop would need to be constructed before his labors could begin in earnest.
The only thing that would be waiting for him when he arrived was a small cottage. Hopefully sufficient to weather the winter to come without any major adjustments. And there was the matter of his assistant.
He knew nothing about who his assistant would be. Were it not for his status as a craftsman, he would be working entirely alone. Since he had some standing in his trade he was to be provided an extra set of hands.
Rokas had never really been in the position to tell many people what to do. He had tried, when he was a journeyman, to not inflict the same difficulties upon the apprentices he worked with that he had faced. In the end, he rarely interacted with them directly or oversaw their labors. He was unsure of how this would go, but it was undeniable that an extra set of hands could be a huge boon. Provided those hands were willing.
Winter, even at this elevation, eventually got the message that it was time for it to depart. It was some time coming and there were higher peaks from which it would never stray. A late spring had at last asserted itself, presumably having gotten lost for some time while on the way. The morning was still crisp there was a promise in the air of warmth to come. It was shortly thereafter that he arrived at Hearth.
Rokas made it into town just before dark. He had enough time to procure a room at the local Inn and to unload his equipment before night had fallen. Everything but the heavy anvil, that is. He would need to figure that out before the crew left town, but he was assured that the teamsters wouldn’t rush off before he had retreived it The sign above the door showed this establishment to be The Hungry Beast.
He determined it was better that he spend a little out of pocket than wander around after dark trying to find the land which he had been bestowed. He wasn’t sure to what extent his cabin was furnished, if it was at all.
That might have to be his first order of business in the morning. He had introduced himself to the Innkeeper, a short man with a long graying beard who went by Finn. Rokas could not place his accent, but found him agreeable. That the room and food were priced reasonably helped brighten Rokas’s mood, but it occurred to him that this far out his sense of the value of things might need to be re-calibrated. In Comfort, the accommodations would have been good for the price paid, but here in the middle of nowhere it didn’t seem that demand was particularly high. He opted to not press the matter tonight, it wasn’t as though this would become routine for him.
The common room of the inn was not full. He counted, besides himself, the Innkeeper and three others. No, that was wrong. There was another figure at a table in a corner well away from the over-sized hearth that dominated the room. Whoever it is, they painted the picture of the opposite of someone who was successfully keeping a low profile. They had about them a baggy robe of a dark material. Its hems were worked with red embroidery, Rokas marked it as being more intricate that what you would find among the merchant class in Comfort. It seemed very out of place here.
That this figure had also seen fit to draw the dark hood about their head and face in such a way as to obscure every bit of their head did nothing to make it less curious. It was virtually impossible that this presence was unknown to everyone in the room. It was for this reason Rokas resolved to stop staring like one trying to figure out a puzzle. Also, he was being addressed by one of the bar patrons.
“Ey, you are to be our new smith, ain’t you?” A large man at the bar addressed him.
The man had a heavy stubble and wore on his head a large, furred cap that despite its lack of fashionably, Rokas found himself being jealous of the warmth it must provide.
“You guess true.” Admitted Rokas, almost having to look up to address the man despite one of them was sitting on a stool and the other was not. “How could you tell?”
“We have long had word you were on your way.” The man said and then went on, “Also you have the look of a man who does little else than swing hammers.” He grinned, gesturing at Rokas.
It was true that Rokas looked the part of a smith. His hands were strong and he had the baring of a man who was accustomed to labor. While Rokas was not notably tall, he also was not considered by most to be short. He had a stable frame which did not immediately project strength until you looked closer and noticed his callused hands and the width of his shoulders.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where my lodgings are then, would you?” Rokas asked, allowing himself a grin.
“It is a bit late to be traipsing about on the path and if I have it right you have secured lodgings here for the night, have you not?”
Rokas only nodded.
“I’ll meet you here in the morning, the boys and I can show you the way. It isn’t far, but there is no sense in wandering around in the dark outside of town when it can be avoided. We would hate to lose another smith so soon after you having arrived.” The man said to the laughter of his peers.
Rokas forced a smile through his immediate concern and thanked the man for the offer, sitting down at the bar some distance away and alone. The innkeeper who was also tending the bar followed along and Rokas took the opportunity to order himself a beer. After having received his drink he met eyes with the innkeeper and tilted his head towards the large man who had just offered to show him the way in the morning. The unvoiced question of, “Will this man lead me into the woods and bash me over the head?” in his expression.
The innkeeper waved dismissively and nodded that he should be fine. “Not good business to waylay someone you publicly invited to help, after all.” He elaborated quietly. “Justice is slow, but it can reach out this far if it has cause.”
“Is that what happened to my predecessor?” Rokas asked the innkeeper.
“Tragic accident, I’m afraid. He was found burnt along with his own workshop. It has set the entire town back months.”
“I wasn’t told anything about this.” Rokas said.
“If you were offering contracts would you elaborate on the untimely end of the last person who accepted the position?”
Rokas could only take a long sip of beer. More like a chug, really. “You make a point.”
“So, Rokas- I think it was you signed in the logbook, you aren’t already getting cold feet are you?”
The innkeeper seemed to find the situation at least a little amusing. For his part, Rokas couldn’t entirely blame him.
“I think most of me is at least a little cold right now, but I won’t be so easily dismayed.” He tried to sound confidant of this.
“Good man.” The innkeeper offered with a slap to Rokas’s shoulder. “There is a lot of work ahead of us but I am inclined to think that this town has a great future ahead of it with time. The hills around here are rich with iron and good stone and there are navigable waters from here to the Great Sea. No lack of woods or game either. It is wild to be sure, but what would bring you all this way but a bit of ambition?”
“I suppose you could consider it that.” Rokas said and then, “You’ve been here some time I take it, what can you tell me about town?”
The innkeeper turned to look down the length of the bar and, not finding anyone seeking more alcohol immediately, returned his attention to Rokas. “There isn’t much to it. There are about two hundred of us as of the last census- we do one every Summer Solstice. There is a small temple, the mining camp less than a mile north of here, the store across the street.” He gestured towards the front of the inn. “There is an apothecary, for all that is worth. A teamster office. That’s about it.”
“I think I will have enough time to get pretty familiar with the place.”
“Wouldn’t take most more than a day.” The innkeeper said.
“What do you go by other than barman, or ‘hey you!’? I fear I have forgotten my manners.”
“The name is Botond. Now if you don’t mind, duty calls.” He moved on to tend to a new arrival.
A couple had just arrived, seemingly locals. After a short exchange of money and words the two found a table in the common room. They must have been locals, because it did not look as though they had traveled far.
Rokas became aware he was being stared at. He didn’t see from where yet, but he got the definite impression that he was being regarded intensely. In an effort to not seem overly paranoid he changed the manner in which he was sitting to grant him a better view of the room around him. It didn’t take long for him to notice that the robed figure from the back of the room was now standing nearer the middle. In the relatively dim light of the Inn it was still impossible to make out any of this person’s features, but it was apparent that they were looking intently at Rokas. It was also clear that they were much taller than anyone at the bar. In fact, they were taller than anyone he could recall having ever seen.
In a moment the robed figure had proceeded out of the inn without a word to anyone. The patrons nearby moved out of the way without any persuasion required. Rokas was not sure what to make of the situation, but also didn’t want to establish himself as nosy on his first night in town. It was sufficient that nobody seemed alarmed at the presence of the figure and went on about their business without much protest when it had moved through the common room. It was also comforting that it wasn’t somehow the case that he was the only person who was seeing it. He was pretty certain he wasn’t seeing things, which he considered fortunate.
He didn’t linger in the common room long before he proceeded down the long hall to the guest rooms with his gear. His room was simple, but it looked like it was either well kept or seldom used. Perhaps both were true. Sleep found him quickly.
Rokas awoke early and broke his fast in the common room. A simple porridge suited him as well as anything might have. It wasn’t long before the man who had offered to show him to his cabin turned up and they were on their way.
The forest around Hearth was, for the most part, untouched. The local temple revered nature and the felling of trees was controlled, but not prohibited. Up until very recently these woods had never known human habitation of any sort.
It was only a few minutes before they arrived. There was not much to see. The cabin was a squat structure made of logs and it had a thatched roof. There was a single small window which granted almost no insight of what was inside, though its shutters were open. Evident from the outside was a metal chimney, presumably for a wood-fired stove inside. There was a small quantity of chopped wood piled up on the side of the house, sheltered from the weather by an extended eave of the roof.
Some distance away was the burnt wreckage of the previous smith’s workshop. Not much of an effort was made to clean what remained, but in truth there was not much left to tidy up. The primary remaining features were the fallen beams of the rafters which had once supported a roof and the large posts that were the primary supports of the structure. Of the roof and walls nothing remained but ash and ruined wood. All the wood was blackened and scaled from the heat.
Fires were not unheard of in a smithy. On reflection, fire was somewhat mandatory, but most agreed that it was best to contain it somewhat. What struck Rokas was how intense the flame must had been to entirely consume a structure like this. His preference was to have his work area be primarily of stone, but it was not uncommon for small or primitive forges to be in wooden structures.
He approached the wreck more closely. He could see a section of the debris which was suspicious in that it had been cleared away. Rokas wondered if this was where the remains of his predecessor had been recovered. Had the townsfolk buried him someplace nearby?
Also evident, now that he got a better look, was the remains of the forge. It was a small brick arrangement. Such a forge would be sufficient for the needs of a small town. It was dirty, but it appeared undamaged. Rokas was not certain if he would try to make use of it himself. There was something appealing about taking advantage of what was already here, but also some reluctance to use it if it were responsible, at least partly, for a death. He saw no sign of the prior smith’s anvil or tools, the metal of which was unlikely to have been meaningfully harmed in the fire. There was no evidence of the billow, it had probably been consumed entirely in the blaze.
He needed to begin work quickly, he decided. The quickest way to begin work would be an open-air shop using what he could from the remains of this one. He could deconstruct the existing forge, build a stone foundation and roof the structure. Such a construction might be a bad idea come winter, but he reckoned it would do until the weather turned cold again. Rokas was not certain how many months that would end up being.
He regarded the scene about him. The small cabin, the ruined workshop, and the small path which led to town, the mining camp, and into a great wilderness. Only the most opportunistic of plants had begun to show green in the forest undergrowth. Above him towered the skeletal grasp of the old forest, still dormant from the winter. The only sound was that of an alarmed squirrel in a nearby tree. It had spotted Rokas and was now dedicating its morning to making sure everything in a couple hundred feet radius was aware of him as well. It was doing an excellent job.
Had Rokas made a mistake in coming here? Doubt had visited him a few times on his travel, but he was committed to this course of action. He thought he was in any case. He had given up a laborious but more certain lifestyle for a life no less laborious and much less stable. The security of the city was different than the life he would need to make here. While muggings were ever a concern, being eaten by bears or wolves never were previously factored into his considerations regarding safety. Trading one sort of predation for another, he mused.
He noticed something which stirred him from his reflection. A single print in a damp place between his cabin and the ruined workshop. Was it a wolf or some immense dog? Rokas was not knowledgeable where the outdoors were concerned. He was educated, in a way, but the scope of his knowledge was specific. It wasn’t that he was incurious, but just that his life up to this point had not offered much in the way of opportunity for idle or wide-ranging study. He had learned his letters, but it was to the end of the business and craft he undertook. He had no reckoning of if it should concern him to see such a print here, nor what he should do if it did represent danger.
Initially, Rokas had planned that some of the first things he would make upon the establishment of his workshop would be some of the tools he had omitted from his baggage. Now he considered that he might want to add a spear head to that list.
He produced a small notebook from a pouch at his belt and looked at the list he had made there. It was the most recent note he had taken. He needed a few things to run the business of a smithy in the long term. He had with him a small quantity of lime, but would need ore and coal both to make steel. For most of what a town like this would require simple iron would suffice, but he wanted to eventually build the capacity for steel as well. It all would depend on the availability of the lime in this region. It was likely it would only come at great expense here. The local stone was not correct for it, he had been informed, but he knew both coal and iron ore were present in the region.
Hearth did not produce coal in its mine, but he knew that he should have direct access to the ore. There was also a quarry there. Much of Hearth proper was stone, despite being a rather small settlement. Rokas felt both of these facts were boons to his goals.
The logistics of getting the materials he needed would eventually be sorted out. He was getting ahead of himself if he addressed those concerns without first establishing his workshop. Ideally, he needed stone and wood. He would also require barrels for quenching and for storage. There was no indication as to if there was a cooper in town or not.
He took account of his funds. Anyone who accepted a grant was set to receive a stipend from Comfort, but it was a small amount. He was also nearly certain it would arrive only irregularly, if at all. What he had on him was sufficient, he determined, to get started. He would need to be careful. Rokas had none of the skills required to feed himself in this environment and so he would be entirely dependent on selling his services to eat. The winter will be long and he will need to have procured a store of food that would last the entire season well before it came.
Everything he did now would be important in setting a foundation for what was to come. If he made a bad choice now he could suffer greatly in the future. Rokas frowned, deciding to not dwell on that notion.
Instead, he turned his attention to the cabin. The door was without a lock, but inside there was a bar which could be set across it. It opened easily. The light of the open doorway and the window was sufficient to let him see well inside. There was little there to see. A bed occupied the most space, it was larger than he had expected. Pushing down on the mattress he confirmed it was straw, but it had not seen much use. The bedding, including a single down pillow, were clean. There was a small wooden table and chair. Opposite of this was the stove. It was a large iron vessel with a grated door on its front. It stood on four legs, all of which rested upon a brick foundation. Otherwise, the floor was bare dirt. At four points in the room there were affixed to the walls of the cabin iron candle holders. Two of these were over the table. The metalwork could do with some improvement, Rokas determined. All furnishings, excluding the stove were of a rough, solid wooden construction.
Not present were any personal effects of the previous occupant. Scattered in the shelving built into the walls around the stove he was able to find half a box of candles, flint flint a tinderbox, some molasses, salt, a large cast-iron pot, a few porcelain drinking vessels, and some wooden dining implements. There were two empty barrels here as well, but in them were no provisions. He was not sure if these were the items which had been provided for the cabin or things which had belonged to the previous smith.
He said a small prayer of thanks with his predecessor in mind. He was not a particularly religious man, but he also wasn’t in the mood to make enemies. There was no call to go and get haunted right at the start of this venture.
Had some agent of Comfort come here and reset things in preparation for the arrival of a replacement? He knew that twice a year his progress would be checked in upon. These visits were conducted roughly at the time of each solstice, as many administrative tasks were. Rokas wasn’t certain if that would be possible here in the winter. There was an entire agency dedicated to overseeing these grants. It was considered a matter of priority of the government to secure a foothold over the most of the continent, most particularly in places with an over-land connection to the western continent.
It was strange to be a small piece in such a vast conflict. It was true that the war was not long concluded and had ended in a stalemate, but a great tension remained. Rokas didn’t concern himself much with politics. He was not the sort to argue in a bar over which Guildmaster had the best policies or who should be the next representative. He would have to visit bars more often for that to be the case.
He leaned down to close the door of the stove. It was still a little bit warm from the previous night. Someone else has been staying here.
The trail back to town from his cabin was not difficult to find or follow. His mind returned to the wolf track he had seen near the cabin as he walked the path. He had a small knife on his belt, but it offered little comfort to him at the notion of encountering dangerous wildlife.
Depending upon the account, wolves were either largely disinterested in humans for food, or a danger even to soldiers traveling to and from battlefields. It seemed unlikely to him that both of these things were true, but he had little desire to find out to which extremity the truth veered. Having walked it twice now, the path to town offered little opportunity for him to be waylayed. His cabin was barely out of sight from town. In a few years it would likely become incorporated into the town if it grew and prospered.
There was a sound of activity from Hearth that only grew as he drew near it. Children could be seen playing games in the street that were inscrutable to Rokas. Motivated by mercurial rules, the young folk of town ran at and from one another. There was likely a sense to their game, but none which Rokas could determine from causal observation. There was one cart making its way, unladen, towards Rokas. The draft horses pulling it paid Rokas no mind, but the driver waved at him as he passed.
When he came near to the inn he assessed the town square around him. Opposite of the inn he noticed two buildings of note, both of stone. The nearest had two large windows in front and a wide double door granting access. Above the door was a sign identifying the business as Caelan’s Supplies. A smaller board in the window indicated that it was open for business.
Next to it was the small temple and a ceremony must have just concluded, for nearly a score of people were now making their way out of its two, front-facing doors. The temple was very usual for one the eastern tradition. Located centrally in front of the temple was a single, free-standing stone column that was nearly as tall as the structure which it fronted. It was carved extensively with figures that Rokas could not make out from where he stood, though he doubted he could name half of the events and figures depicted if pressed. Several trees and bushes surrounded the temple, almost giving the impression that the structure was being re-absorbed by the forest.
There were some homes here too, half of which were stone and the other half of a wood and plaster construction. Only a couple homes had thatched roofs, most were topped by wooden shingles. Few were taller than a single story.
Rokas noted a couple more businesses here on the main stretch before turning his attention to the hill which overlooked the town square. Two paths branched off from the main road and traced separate paths up the hill, sometimes having to double back upon themselves in the climb. In places he bare rock of the mountains showed through the earth of the rise. The hill was entirely bald of trees and the top of it had been flattened for construction. Of that construction little was evident other than the scaffolding which gave some impression of the intended extent of a planned perimeter wall. This was to be a fort one day.
The smith entered the store first. There was a long counter running the length of the narrow shop. Behind the counter were sacks and cases of goods. There were two scales, a smaller one atop the counter, and a much larger one behind. Everything from potatoes to yarn could be found at a store like this. Displayed on the wall opposite of the counter was a selection of tools and a small quantity of clothing. In the middle there was a section of shelving that rose to about shoulder height and a variety of barrels. It a place like Hearth people would make what they could on their own, but there was always demand for finer goods or things which could not be produced locally.
The man running the store addressed Rokas before he was able to look the store over more closely.
“You must be the new smith.” The thin man said, extending his hand for Rokas to shake.
Rokas shook the man’s hand and responded, “You have guessed correctly. I am Rokas, I have contracted to be this town’s smith.”
The man behind the counter stroked his tidy grey beard and looked at Rokas for a moment. “We are happy to have you here at last. We were all winter without a smith and while I don’t mind the business, I can hardly order every tool the town needs in and expect us to get anything done. It is next to impossible to get a shipment in through the winter around here. The prices were absurd, I heard no end of complaints”
It occurred to Rokas that this man was, in some regards, competition for him. It wouldn’t do to import everything ready-made to a place like this, but the storekeep had been profiting in the absence of a local smith. Simultaneously, Rokas knew he would likely have to deal with this man to get much of what he needed, both with his immediate needs and in the future to get the materials he would need to operate his own shop. Getting around an established broker like him would be very difficult starting out. It was best to be cautious.
“I am certainly excited to begin my work, but there is much to do before I can start.” Rokas said.
The clerk nodded. “My name is Caelan, proprietor of this shop. If there is anything I can do to help you my services are available to you.”
Rokas thanked the man and said, “I have been considering my needs and have a list of things which I would like to order from you, if you have them available.”
Rokas produced a list and handed it to the other man. Most of what was on the list was basic provisions for the next couple weeks. The man took it and looked it over, nodding. Caelan indicated that he could provide everything which was requested and gave a price. Rokas nodded and accepted the offer, he had set aside money in the main compartment of his belt pouch that was sufficient for this transaction. Rokas was pleased that the man had not tried to take advantage of him in this exchange. He anticipated needing to order a good deal more and at greater expense from Caelan. This initial order was more of a feeling out, than the bulk of the business he would need to conduct. Rokas, it seemed, was not the only one gaging the other.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what rank had you attained in the guild before you left Comfort?” The shopkeep asked.
“Master.” Rokas said.
The shopkeep seemed surprised to hear this, but the expression was only there for a moment. “Do you mind if I ask to see your signet?”
Every member of a guild had proof of the rank which they had attained in their trade. It wasn’t always a medal or signet, but they were each intricate objects in their own right. Difficult to forge. Some speculated that these icons were imbued with some magic that only the learned could discern. Rokas had no idea if this was true, but the engraving on the metal disc he produced from his pouch was very fine. He had been instructed in the specific details that a forgery was likely to miss. For all he knew that was the only mechanism which prevented people falsely claiming a rank they had not obtained.
Before he handed it over to the shopkeep he held its weight in his hand for a time, remembering the efforts he had undertaken to gain it. He had not been seeking to become a master, instead he was trying to advance normally through the guild ranks. The course was forty different objects, each intended to demonstrate a different strength in the craft. It was the shortsword, number thirty-two, which the judging masters had determined to be his first masterpiece. It might remain his only such work.
It wasn’t that everything a master made was a masterwork. Few could maintain the standard of production which it demanded. The most famous might have a couple hundred such objects to their name in their entire life. It did come with a status within the guild. He could take on apprentices directly and induct members to the rank of Journeyman, yet his attaining mastery so early in his career was as much a hindrance as a boon.
His status entitled him to a level of pay under guild charter that his renown and prestige within the guild couldn’t carry. It was more difficult for him to find work from established shops afterwards than before, but some were willing to let him do work discretely and at reduced pay. He continued to deliver quality work, but he had not again made a masterwork.
Rokas handed the medal to Caelan who took it and examined it closely. He chuckled wryly and handed it back to Rokas after a short time.
“Who would of thought such an esteemed figure as yourself would end up in a place like this?” He said. “You didn’t happen to knock some Guildmaster’s wife up on the sly and have to flee town, did you?”
Rokas shrugged. “Not so far as I know. In my experience, some of those women offer little in the way of conversation.”
Having said that, he did also remember that many such woman had assets that might supplement a lack elsewhere.
He tucked the medal away.
“It is good that we can count on your craft to be better than your predecessor. He seemed an alright man, but I can order better tools than that which he would take a week to make.”
Rokas had noted the candle holders which he had seen in his cabin were not up to his standard, even for rustic, practical items. It wasn’t so bad that he felt compelled to replace them himself unless he found he had an excess of time and material, but the way the angles of what should have been square stock were unable to hold a line irked him greatly. He wondered if this was the late smith’s doing.
“I have heard that there was a fire, do you know anything of what happened?” Rokas asked.
“Nothing beyond what you may have been told. It is regrettable. The fire was spotted only as it raged, by the time anyone from town had arrived he was long gone.”
“I see. Would you mind if I look about town for a bit and pick up my order on the way home?” Rokas asked.
The man at the counter nodded, “I’ll have it here at the counter when you return.”
Rokas nodded and left the store.
He nearly ran into a antlered woman as he left. The antlers were not hers, not naturally. It was part of the vestments she wore as a priestess, a head garb that covered her own hair entirely and had long streamers of colorful fabric streaming down her back. She was short, but full of figure. The tight black robe she wore barely contained her form. The robe’s aggressive cut-away on each side did not do much to obscure her thighs. Chastity was not requisite for entry to faith that most followed in the east, it turned out.
Rokas apologized to her profusely, succeeding for the most part in not staring at her compelling physical qualities. There would be irony had one of those antlers taken out his eye.
For her part she did not seem to be too bothered at the collision. She quickly realized he was not someone she recognized from her flock, however. Like so many others had marked in his time in town, she placed him as being likely to be the new smith, an accusation he was growing accustomed to.
“It is wonderful that you have arrived- I have someone I must introduce you to.” The priestess said, taking Rokas by the arm and leading him to the temple.
“If this is about tithing, I need to make some income before donations become practical, you must understand.” He said as she opened the door for him.
She laughed in a good-natured fashion, “You need not worry. You can keep your kneecaps intact for the time being, but there really is someone you should meet.” She said as she guided him inside. Bodily.
“Welcome to The Temple of the Manifold God at Hearth.” She intoned with some theatricality that was quickly dropped.
The temple only had a couple wooden benches for seating at the back, presumably for the elderly or injured. Rokas guessed that everyone else had to stand the entire time, but was not certain. While most of the east worshiped the same gods, it was not a faith that had a uniform method of practice. The general tenants were agreed upon, there were historical accounts dating all the way back to the creation of The Partition on which all humans now lived.
Everyone, even atheists, agreed that humanity in its entirety was a relatively recent arrival to the world which they now occupied. Some disputed the divinity or intent of the being or beings (it was complicated) which formed object of worship in the religion. The Theocracy in the west still held to the gods of the old world.
If Rokas was more of a religious man he could see about him depictions of most of major events that the faith maintained as elements of its belief. He did recognize a tapestry depicting the Cataclysm which had destroyed the old home of mankind. The story of how humanity had been held still while land was prepared for them by their new deities only to be released suddenly in a world on which they had laid no mark was more tricky to depict, but he thought that was what the one with all the people standing looking confused in a field was trying to get across.
And the smaller shrines that dotted the perimeter of the temple were also familiar to him. The Anticipations of the Gods of the New World. They were not the beasts we had known from our old home, but the shape of the Stag, Wolf, Raven, and so on suited them as forms that humans might relate to. Their precise number was unknown, but a dozen of them were most frequently worshiped.
At the shrine to The Wolf the robbed figure he had seen the night before knelt. Her voice was in the middle of a recitation, but was entirely unlike what he had expected from so large a figure. And it must have been the voice of a woman.
“She is finishing her affirmation, it is so infrequent that we receive the joy of one of those who hold a Pact with The Manifold.” The priestess intoned. Rokas got the impression that there were more capitol letters in that sentence than he would immediately guess. The highly religious had a propensity towards lapsing into proper nouns.
When she had concluded the robed figure stood and turned towards them. Her amber eyes locked on Rokas, glimmering unobscured under her hood. He met her eyes with his and for a moment there was quiet.
“I would like you to meet Oona.”