Chapter 1

(Argthanaw 14th Year 672 of the 4th Age)

If there's a word the citizens of Adoran use to describe Belburn, it would be monotonous. To the town residents, there's no other lifestyle they would rather have. There's even a saying among the Adoranians- if you want to witness something more stubborn than an ass, try telling a Belburnen that progress is inevitable. Yet whenever outsiders enter the town to swim in Lake Venland, sneak onto an island in search of the Feral Child, or partake in other aquatic recreations, they enjoy the serenity compared to a city like Edgepoint. Some even decide to relocate to escape the urban environment. However, even the Belburnens can't escape the chill gripping the world. Not the kind of chill that freezes water or can kill a person of hypothermia. It's a cold of the mood. A sinister cold.

On the outer edge of the town outside the walls, the first rays of sunlight begin to pierce into a bedroom at eight in the morning and lounge on a man's eyes, forcing him to alter his position away from them. He's on vacation from the military, and he intends on nabbing every ounce of sleep he can. A discordant sound from the rooster terminates any hope for additional rest.

"One of these days, I'm turning that rooster into dinner," he mumbles.

Laying in bed for a few minutes, he arranges his plans for today before dressing himself in a plain brown shirt. He stares at a picture on the bed stand. Two brothers exist in the photo. One is a child wearing a helmet way too large for him that it covers most of his face, and the other is an adult in military gear. Both are smiling as the mature male embraces his younger brother. Besides the older brother's head is the name Ash.

The man's stomach gurgles as if it's communicating an order to him. Haul your ass! There's a kitchen ripe for plundering! The man exits his bedroom and ambulates over to the dining room for breakfast by his stomach's command. Two other people are already there in the dining room, another male maturer than him and a younger male Half-Elf. The Half-Elf is sitting at the table in the middle of his meal consisting of sunny-side-up eggs, pancakes, toast, and sausage. The elderly human is standing over in the kitchen, prepping the comestibles.

"Good timing, Arven," the middle-aged man speaks. "The breakfast is borderline complete, and I intend to permit it to chill if you refuse to show up on time."

Arven sits at the table. "Morning, father. What's for breakfast?"

"I can cook up some eggs for you. There's also some bacon, sausage, and pancakes already made, so help yourself. I presume you desire your eggs scrambled?"

"Yes, please, and thanks."

"Coming up."

Vacating his seat, Arven obtains a glass of fruit juice, a plate of pancakes drizzled with clear amber maple syrup, sausage, and bacon, and sits back down in his spot right next to the Half-Elf. A couple of minutes later, the eggs are ready, and the older human ambles with a bit of a limp in his steps as he saunters over to the head of the table and sits down.

"I'll be in Belburn to hang out with Merrick as soon as I'm done with breakfast, father," Arven utters.

The parent lacerates a piece of pancake and ingests it. "I have other plans for you. You and Sylfinas will travel together to Belburn and acquire an extra pair of hands or two to alleviate the farm's workload. Then, I want you two to return with the adjuncts and help me congregate the cattle to separate them into two categories; one suitable to sell and another for the exact opposite to conserve for another auction. Then the chickens, pigs, and horses require sustenance, and their corrals are filthy and beginning to reek. The house also could benefit from cleansing and tidying."

"But I had this day set aside, and you agreed to it," Arven protests.

"I know, but the festival and cattle auction swapped to an earlier date, and I recently found out about it. That's the most important day every year, and this coming day is even extra vital considering this is the year of the Darkened Seven."

"So why can't Sylfinas and I stroll to Belburn, hire some people, and lead them here. Then I leave to hang with Merrick while the rest do the work?"

"My rationale is I'm not as young as I used to be, and the injury I received on my right leg hasn't healed, not that I believed it would." Enunciating under his breath, "Last time I visit the Temple of Integrity. Integrity, my ass." In his familiar voice, "I'm optimistic that you and Merrick can manufacture a different day to reunite while you're here during your vacation from the military.

After gulping his drink, Arven lays his glass down. "Dad, I only have two weeks left before relocating to Camp Echo for two years. This was the only day that lined up for Merrick and me to meet each other before then. Why can't you sell this place and live somewhere else that's easier on your body?"

The man slams his drink. "This property has been in this family for generations, and I won't relinquish it until I inhale my last breath and transfer it to Sylfinas. No more discussions about this. Understand?"

"I understand," Arven answers begrudgingly.

The man reduces his temper. "I apologize for the inconvenience, and I'll devise a way to amend it, somehow. Now you better start your trip along with Sylfinas. Time waits for no humanoid." After several minutes pass, the father supplies a coin sack each to Arven and Sylfinas before the duo exits the dwelling. "The one I gave to Sylfinas is the budget to employ people. Arven, this is your present for your 23rd birthday, and I know you're disinterested in presents on your birthday anymore. But consider this as a tiny step towards my apology for screwing you out of meeting your friend today. Feel free to utilize it however you wish."

Within a few minutes, Arven and Sylfinas are now walking down the road towards Belburn. The weather is near perfect with sunny, blue skies with patches of clouds. The temperature is warmer than typical this time of year, and the humidity is up also, but the constant breeze comforts the travelers. 

Sylfinas rummages through the coin sack. "Looks like we have an approximate of forty gold to work with, Arven. How much did dad provide you for your birthday present?"

"I'm not that interested in finding out," Arven answers dismissively.

"Come on, brother, you know that he's attempting to rectify his relationship to you for what he did."

"If he wants to mend it, he'll permit me to hang out with Merrick. The money in this sack isn't acceptable for me." Shaking his head, "Gods, why can't father give up that tedious farm already? His body can't bear the rigorous activities of operating a ranch, and this is at least the eighth year in a row for hiring temporary assistants. A portion of it was when I wasn't around."

"You heard what father articulated. The farmstead has been in his family for generations. That place has a history to it, and the memories he retains of him living and maturing there won't fade. I imagine he still hopes that he can pass it down to one of us."

"Well, he knows I have zero interest in staying. Have you told him about your opinion?"

"I haven't told him at all," Sylfinas answered after he shook his head.

"You need to do it at some point. Maybe that'll convince dad to finally cede and sell the place and migrate to another settlement that's painless for him to live."

"I understand, and my reasons why he doesn't know are that I haven't found the right time, and I lack sufficient expressions that won't devastate him."

With a pivot towards Sylfinas, he and Arven pause in their footsteps. "Listen. Sometimes some ideas need articulation that can't be sugar-coated. On those occasions, bluntness is the best way to convey your message. When we have dinner tonight at home, you'll reveal it to him." They love their father, but they have a desire to ingest the world's offerings. For individuals that desire to spread their wings, Belburn is a cage.

"Alright." Noticing his favorite flowers along the edge of the path, Sylfinas plucks one of them to sniff it. He personally refers to it as Sutera paniculata, but ordinary people call it a Lion Flower because the red petals form a lion's mane around the yellow center. Usually, the plant lives for several days with proper care without its roots, but this time it withers away, giving him just seconds to savor its sweet aroma. Another herald of dark times ahead, he thought. The wind carries the remains away and its soul into the afterlife.

Out of the green tunnel of the forest, the brothers behold Belburn and a wide gap of farms ahead. Most of the farms specialize in animals. The minority consecrates towards produce. The farmsteads share two traits: they are busy with an army of helpers harvesting or herding, and each, particularly on the crops side, is operating above their typical capacity. A sign Arven and Sylfinas deduce that the farmers are cognizant about the Darkened Seven approaching as they observe them, the latter fearing that they will face slim pickings to select from for help.

As they walk on the road, Arven and Sylfinas hear the familiar sounds of farmland: sheep's baaing, horses neighing, cows mooing, chickens clucking. Landowners giving orders such as giving directions or telling helpers to pick up the pace add more sounds. Sylfinas can't help but groove his body while walking when he detects Kivalians singing in a cornfield in their native tongue. His love for learning foreign languages gains him some knowledge in Kiliv. Enough for him to understand and recognize the song and to respond part way, "Navõ baat nẽ attorimi wõlk." The four-armed, bright-red male, with a face closely resembling a water buffalo that is the song's conductor, responds by giving him a thumbs up with his right hands.

The path guides the siblings to the Amanes's house next, an oddity of the farms due to its small production size and the duck. Outside watering is a senescent woman, while her husband, in the same age, is picking peaches off a tree.

"Howdy, Mrs. Amanes," Sylfinas speaks.

"Morning, Sylfinas, Arven," Mrs. Amanes responds. "Off to find help for your father, I assume."

Arven and Sylfinas nod their heads. "It's around that time of year to hire them," Arven replies. "From what we see, the rest of the farmers have all the available hands."

"This isn't your standard harvest year," Mrs. Amanes utters. "Signs are out there that the Darkened Seven is forthcoming. According to the news, it's one of the strongest on record since the time gap from the last event is wider than normal." She sighs. "Can't accurately predict when it comes, but at least we can determine the intensity. The farmers are busy harvesting the plants before the crops or hay become another harbinger of its approach."

Mr. Amanes appears at the fence, eating one of the peaches in his hands. "Arven. Sylfinas. Pleasure seeing you again. Off to find help?" They nod their head. "Alar has heard and answered our prayers. I'm positive all the farmers in the world that believe him are grateful, especially this year." He eats a part of a peach. "Any farmer worth his salt in Illyria believes and reveres Alar or the equivalent of him in a different religion in hopes of a bountiful harvest. He's the only entity that actually gives a damn about farmers. The general populace doesn't comprehend how crucial they are. Sure, there are harvest festivals, but they're only interested in the attractions, food, games, and other bullshit. And don't get me started on the criminality of the leaders' policies."

"How are you going to weather the upcoming Darkened Seven?" Sylfinas inquires. He wants Mr. Amanes to cease his tirade before he gathers steam. "It's supposed to be one of the strongest on record."

Mr. Amanes consumes another portion of the same peach. "Aye. More ferocious than a Razorclaw on the verge of expelling babies through her pussy." The question diverts his attention. "Don't worry about Shayla and me. I located and exploited a loophole regarding the size of a farm and optimized it to yield the most product without subjecting us to King Dyral's edicts. Plus, we've been preserving meat and plants for years." He finishes the peach. "Mmmm. Sweeter than sucking on a Llavine's tits. All of them."

"You speak like you have the experience," Arven comments.

"I used to be an adventurer until I took a spear to my legs. Skewered them together, bone through bone. I have a plethora of stories about my adventures, like the Llavines, the Restless Woods, and Razorclaws. Or even that there's more beyond the-"

"That's enough, Ivin," Shayla interrupts him. "Engross the young men in your tales, and there'll be no one left for them to hire."

"Do you have any means of defending yourself?" The Half-Elf asks. To answer his question, a white duck waddles into view, and Ivin gestures towards it. It quacks.

"That is our protection. Mr. Quackles."

"A duck?" Arven inquires in disbelief. Every farmer and their family is aware of the duck's horrid disposition. Still, he can't fathom how the waterfowl can fight against a larger opponent resolute in violating the home and its occupants. A guard dog like a mastiff would be more adequate.

"That's right. Mr. Quackles isn't afraid of anything. He even chased a mama owlbear and her cubs away while Shayla and I were camping, and you're aware how protective a mother owlbear is of her children."

"Then he had the bright idea of keeping him, and we've been stuck him ever since no matter how hard I try," Shayla complains.

Ivin appears slightly offended by his spouse's words. "Mr. Quackles is a member of the family, and he has more benefits. He keeps the chickens in line better than that dumb rooster."

While the Amanes are in the middle of their playful bicker, Arven and Sylfinas leave to locate assistants before none remain. The two arrive at Belburn near 11 am. When they enter from one of the main gates, Arven speaks, "We're splitting up. You'll scour the town for people that will aid us on the farm."

"And what you'll be doing?" Sylfinas asks. With an archive of memories in his brain, he's all too familiar what happens when they separate jobs.

"I'll locate Merrick."

"You're forcing me to complete all the work again."

"This time, I do have a reason or two, and the first is you possess better charisma than I do, so you're better at persuading people to accept the offer. The second and primary explanation is warning Merrick that we can't hang out today. Fear not, I promise to repay you soon."

"I'm counting on it." Somehow Sylfinas knows that's mendacity from Arven.

Arven and Sylfinas disband and travel disparate streets in the town. Arven's route leads him to the market square near the center of the settlement. The area is active as people tread from one merchant to another, accumulating necessary items from merchandise ranging from meat and vegetables to trinkets and everything in between. Merchants behind their stands are vying for customers and utter pleasant, compelling words to maximize transactions. Depending on the circumstances, some merchants with customers engage in haggling, and a couple of instances transition to argumentative. An urchin steals a couple of apples and scurries away under the shouts from the owner. There is a wooden post in the center of the street with postings on it for jobs available and the news, and he decides to investigate to satisfy his curiosity.

The news Arven indulges frequently is military, so he reads papers with the exact topic. The Dark Elves of Pheha are attempting to claim the Romboia Islands in the Kerithian Sea as their territory. The leaders of Krusia are sending warships to protect the archipelago. What else is new about the Phehans? 

"How's your day so far, Arven?" An unknown voice asks.

Pivoting, Arven discerns a Beastman with a mix between Human and Káyüt in military chainmail with the flag of Adoran on his uniform, a blue, yellow, and white stripes with a start in the center of each bar. Instead of Human ears, he has a Husky set along with a Husky-patterned tail.

“Corporal Berryn,” Arven acknowledges, “my day could be better."

"We're not in a military encampment, so there's no need for formalities," Berryn replies. "What's the latest news?"

"The Phehans are after the Romboia Archipelago, and the Krusians are intending on protecting it."

In disbelief, Berryn shakes his head. "Damn moss kissers never cease though you figure they would learn in numerous conflicts by now not to exasperate a dragon." Descrying another news article, he laughs. "Listen to this. Brotherhood of Liberty members in Tumal and Wysan provinces are attempting to recruit neighboring regions to their campaign to demand King Dyral to acquiesce to their requests. If they seriously believe he'll consent, they're delusional. I covet them to initiate a conflict."

"You desire a conflict against the southern citizens?" Arven asks.

"Yes, it'll be the easiest path to improve my resumé and rank up. The mud bathers possess zero combat skills and lack military organization, so they'll lose in a battle of two. A better alternative than maintaining watch at the Northern Barrier with the backstabbing Cerths and criminals as a Warden against the Dark Elves. When an adversary is a legion of unorganized commoners or a battle-hardened army, it's no contest on what any sane individual would select."

"Commander Wilkin would force you to cleanse the Shit Room for your overconfidence," Arven articulates.

Berryn laughs again. "Lucky for me that he's still at Camp Echo and can't eavesdrop on our conversation from there. Still, both options are better than working on Croynigan Island. I pity those that live there." It dawns on him that he's in the middle of a task. "I must shop at the Hot Anvil now. Take care now."

As Berryn leaves and waves goodbye, Arven scours the news one more time, discerning that today’s the sixth anniversary since the assassination of King Theandren by a member of the Sturn House. As they read the paper, several people voice their sentiment that the perpetrator belongs at the Northern Barrier since he and the Cerths have a congruity. To Arven, his loyalty to the crown is the only reason why he shares the public’s view about him. Shaking his head, he ambulates over to a location in the marketplace by a baker and scans the area to locate his friend, considering this is where they agree to meet up. A hand grabs his left shoulder and, with blinding speed, draws his military sword from its sheath.

Wanting to perceive the stranger, he pauses as he stares at the person in front of him. A man that is younger than Arven by two years, albeit he stands taller than him. Other characteristics include blue eyes, pale skin with grime, light brown, spiky hair, and both arms containing tattoos of lightning symbols that extend from the wrist to the elbow. His clothes are plain, just like Arven's, except the colors are a faded blue, and there are a few holes. This man also appears he needs to bathe from the rancid odor he emits.

"Had you been anyone else, you would've lost that arm," Arven speaks as he sheathes his sword.

"Had you been anyone else that drew that sword at me, you would receive quite a shock," the figure responds, grinning as he extends his right hand out, and little bits of lightning flicker between his fingers.

The two embrace each other warmly. "It's a pleasure to catch you, Merrick," Arven greets the person.

"Back at you," he replies in response. "It's been months or a year since we met before you left to join the military. What are the plans for today? We can walk to the Leaky Tap like usual or Muffin Top since we're nearby."

"I would enjoy that, but unfortunately, I can't hang out today because my father requires me to help around the house. He sent Sylfinas and me over here to locate people to help also."

"Bummer. This was the day that we could manage to fit into your schedule mainly. I was looking forward to showing you how much I've progressed with my lightning abilities. I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"How about I come help at your house today. I'll let you use your friend's discount, and I'll work for free."

"That could work though you'll be doing physical work."

"I've learned new tricks that I believe will offset my skin and bones. Where's your brother, by the way?"

"I've given him the task of finding the people to hire."

"You're still letting him do all the work for you?"

"I'll requite him. Besides, I've found one person that just promised he'll help for free." He pats Merrick's right shoulder

"Was hoping you forgot that."

"Come on, let's search for him. If I return home without him, my father will give me his biggest bitching of a lifetime".

The two leave the marketplace in search of Sylfinas with no success after a couple of hours.

"I feel like we should've spotted him by now," Arven says to Merrick.

"Let's try that alleyway over there," he replies as he points ahead and over to the left. They walk over to the alleyway, and they perceive nothing at first, but something catches Merrick's attention. He retrieves the object and brings it to Arven's awareness.

"Recognize this?" He asks.

Arven brings it closer to his eye to inspect it. The material is brass, and it shows an avian carrying a tiny twig in its mouth. "I recognize that pin anywhere. That's Sylfinas's. He always wears that pin since it reminds him of his former home, wherever that is. That means that something terrible has happened to him," he replies.

"Where do you think he went?"

"I can think of where to start first," Arven responds as he stares at a manhole cover.

 

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