After Discord's defeat, a wayward young man finds himself as a griffon in a world that has just begun to rebuild itself after a century of strife. Fate sees him raising his own banner and beginning to write his own place in history.
The age of chaos has come to an end. The Avatar of Chaos, Discord, has been defeated by the valiant actions of the newly-minted alicorn sisters. Their courageous victory has earned them the adoration of their hometown of Evergreen, and they now seek to unite all of ponykind under their banner.
In the disconnected world left in the wake of Discord's reign however, theirs is not the only story to be told. Not all of them even start in their world, for that matter.
Geralt is a unassuming man living a comfortable but mundane existence. While not dissatisfied with his own life, he has always dreamed of what it would be like to make more of himself. To be able to live a life of adventure and glory, to steer the wheels of history.
Fate has smiled upon on him and granted him the opportunity to do so when he is swept away by a chaotic winter storm across worlds, finding himself in a new feathery body. He soon finds himself taking the first steps and rising above anywhere he thought he could reach as he defends his new home, and begins to build a shining beacon of prosperity that will resound throughout the ages.
But victory comes only to the prepared, and the road to his dreams will be long and hard. It is world filled with all manner of mysteries, monsters, and rivalries. A world where a land is kept safe by the armies that it fields. And so Geralt will resolve to stand tall, to defend his lands and his people, and to see his banner flying forevermore.
The spoon clinked around in the mug as I stirred the hot chocolate. On a freezing winter night like this one, there was nothing in the world that could beat wrapping myself up on the couch in a blanket with some warm cocoa.
Wind and snow from the storm outside beat against the windows furiously in the dark night. I had tuned the television to the weather channel, where the anchors were already calling this the ‘storm of the century’. I grimaced as I saw the predicted snowfall. It was going to be hell to try and shovel all that tomorrow morning.
As I plopped down on the couch to start scrolling through my phone, a text message popped up on the top of the screen.
'Wanna chat?' It was my friend Zach, and after a quick response of 'sure' he sent me a call.
"How's it going man? Jesus, it sounds like the storm is even worse over there than it is at my place. I can hear it even through the damn phone!"
I stood up from the couch and walked over to a quieter area before responding. "Yeah it's pretty bad, the way it's going it almost feels like a demon is trying to get in the house."
"Ooooo, spooooky."
"Ach, I'm not worried. Santa is the only eldritch being of winter I know of that can break into people's houses. Mid February is a bit too late for him to be skulking around," I joked.
"Yeah man, if there was anything out there you'd be fine. You’ve got the name for fighting monsters, don't you Geralt." I let out a small sigh at the snickering tone in his voice. Ever since Zach first got into the Witcher years ago, he has occasionally teased me about my name. “Anyways, what are your plans for tomorrow? With this weather, it’s not like we can go out for the weekend.”
“Nothing much, was just planning on shoveling off the driveway and playing some games,” I responded. We talked for a while about our small plans to stay inside this weekend, and about the various little events going on in our lives.
Eventually it became time for me to retire for the evening, and I bid Zach good night. As I pulled the covers over my head, I tried to get some sleep over the sound of the storm raging outside.
A few short hours of sleep later I was jolted awake by the sound of shattering glass. The wind began howling through the house, and I immediately fumbled out of bed. As I ran down the hall towards the noise, I could already see snowflakes drifting in the air around me. Rounding the corner to the living room, my worries were confirmed.
The window had been smashed to pieces somehow by the storm, with snow and shrieking winds pouring into my home. The inky void outside seemed like a portal to the abyss, and as soon as I approached the window the room started to get cold.
Unnaturally cold, colder than even what the weather report had suggested in a matter of mere moments. The temperature was plummeting rapidly, and the way the storm swept through my house sent my mind into a racing panic. I spun on my heels and tried to sprint out of the room to somewhere safer.
But the wind and snow buffeting me stripped me of my balance, and I stumbled around blindly as it became impossible to see anything even a foot away from me. The freezing cold bit me to my bones, and I already couldn't feel my fingers.
After what felt like hours, but could only have been a few moments of my blind panic, I collapsed to the ground and tried to curl up and preserve what little body heat I had left.
It ended up all being in vain however. The cold snuffed out the last of my life, and as my eyes drooped shut, I could have sworn I saw an eagles feather swirling in the blizzard around me.
I woke up to the morning sun shining through my bedroom windows. The light washed over me and stirred me awake. With a heavy yawn I raised my claws to my eyes to rub the sleep out of them, and stretched my wings for the day to come.
Wait a damn minute here.
I blinked a few times to clear my head and stared blankly at my new appendages. Sure enough, instead of seeing the hands I was used to, a pair of clawed forearms had taken their place. I could feel a set of wings on my back that were shifting around uneasily, the alien sensation only adding to the absurdity of the situation. Bringing my brand new claws to my face, a quick prod at where my mouth should have been confirmed my suspicions when instead they met the keratin of a sharp beak.
I whipped my head down between my forearms, no… not forearms, forelegs now, to see a pair of lion paws on furred legs at the back of my body. To complete the picture there was a lion’s tail swishing back and forth behind me. Looking at the front of my body, eagle became lion at the base of my chest, but my furred front legs had eagle talons as forearms.
Yup, there was no doubt about it at this point.
I was a griffon.
And as that realization sunk into me I did the first thing that came to mind. I screamed loud and long, the eagle’s cry that came out sending birds and critters fleeing at the sound of a predator.
I fell to the ground, mind racing, as I tried to rationalize my situation.
Before I had taken a look at my new body, I had thought that what had happened last night was just a nightmare. But there must have been something, otherworldly, about that storm. Whatever had smashed into my house that night, it had decided to shunt me off of earth and into a brand new world. It didn’t even let me stay human, instead transforming me into a mythological griffon.
I flopped onto my back in the grass and stared up at the sky. I wasn’t even in a human body anymore. I had no information about where I had found myself now, and I had no idea where to go next.
At least from what I remembered, it was a pretty common trope that griffons were the mounts of mighty knightly orders. They also were pretty much universally recognized to be intelligent little beasties, which hopefully meant that I didn’t have to worry as much about concealing my intelligence, even if any people I came across wouldn’t immediately assume that I was sapient. So I could hopefully count on me being a rare and tameable creature to stamp out any ‘kill on sight’ mentalities, as long as I myself wasn't aggressive.
Either that or I was a savage monster that was destined to receive a blade through the eye from the Butcher of Blaviken himself.
Well, regardless of whatever rules this world was running on, there was nothing to be gained just sitting here in the forest waiting around to starve to death.
Looking around said forest, I could at least admit that it was a very beautiful sight. Evergreen trees filled most of the space around me, with the occasional oak and birch mixed into the glade. There wasn’t a great deal of undergrowth in the forest, giving me a decent line of sight through the woods over the ferns and grasses. I wondered if some of the berry bushes I could see were edible, but risking them didn't seem like the greatest idea at the moment. Snow-capped mountains rose in ranges in the distance. It reminded me of the lands of Skyrim, or Banff, someplace of crisp northern beauty.
With no idea about anything in the surrounding area, I figured that just picking a direction and walking was as good a course of action as any. At least whatever had brought me to this world had bothered to give me a rough mental software update on my new body, so I could manage to walk alright as long as I didn’t think too hard about it, and start applying human leg mechanisms to a quadruped.
But after a little while of plodding through the woods, I felt that it was time to take flight for the first time like a proper griffon should. I was giddy at the prospect, as virtually all of humanity since the dawn of time dreamed of what it would be like to fly like a bird among the clouds, and now I would get to live it. I spread my wings and crouched to the floor. I felt the breeze ruffle through my feathers, and with a mighty push I launched myself from the earth.
What followed was less the majestic flight of an eagle, and more the spastic actions of a drunken chicken. My takeoff went well enough, but when I tried to move my wings to fly I quickly learned that whatever griffon instincts I had been gifted did not cover flight. Or maybe my human mind was just unable to reconcile with the presence of wings, since I had absolutely no frame of reference on how to move my wing muscles to propel myself.
The result was that after a few uneven strokes, I came crashing back down into the forest floor with a squawk. At least my ineptitude made it so that I didn’t make it that far up when I tried, so I didn’t break anything when I dropped like a rock. Groaning on the ground, I was forced to face the fact that I would be resigned to walking until I could get some time in practicing with my new wings.
After walking through the forest for a few more hours I came across a dirt trail cutting through the woods. This at least gave me a direction to head in, and the hopes that I would find something useful along the way, like a rabbit. Or a deer.
I could feel my stomach complaining about a half day of hiking with nothing to eat, and I was more than ready to try out my new predator instincts. But as I continued on, the undergrowth in the forest began to thicken, and it became near impossible for me to spot anything around me. My eagle eyes were not that useful when surrounded by leaves.
‘I could fly like I’m supposed to be able to, this wouldn’t be an issue,’ I grumbled to myself as I kept plodding along the path.
Eventually I passed a bend in the trail to get around a massive fallen tree, when I spotted something that sent me retching.
Laying against the side of the tree was the mutilated corpse of a fellow griffon. I didn’t know exactly what was out here in these woods that could tear into a griffon like that, but I sure wasn’t interested in finding out. Despite my revulsion, a glint of metal by the corpse caught my eye, and I stepped forwards for a closer look.
The griffon had tattered remnants of leather across its body, and spilling out from a scabbard beneath the griffon was a gleaming sword. The sword had a simple long blade extruding from an unadorned crossguard and hilt in cruciform style. I couldn’t see any sign of whoever the rider was, but I had a hunch that whoever they were, they had ended up the second course of whatever tore the griffon apart.
As I took a closer look at the corpse, I felt the feather on the back of my neck stand up.
There weren't any maggots in the wounds, and blood still dripped from some of the wounds lacerating the body.
This was a fresh kill.
Almost as soon as I had made that revelation I heard movement coming from the underbrush behind me.
‘Shit shit shit!’
Not willing to trust in my claws against whatever horrific monster was about to jump out at me, I went for the sword. Mother nature may have her own course charted out for this encounter, but I wasn’t willing to go down without a fight.
Diving for the blade, I quickly wrapped my claws around the hilt and tugged it free from the rest of the scabbard. After a brief struggle levering it out from under the body, I had my new weapon at the ready.
I spun around to face the oncoming threat, but stumbled as I lost my balance on three legs. My head snapped back up as I heard the sound of growling in front of me.
Emerging from the brambles came what looked to be the sorriest excuse for a wolf I had ever seen. Its grey fur was patchy and coarse, and the thing looked like it hadn’t eaten in weeks. In fact I could see the outline of ribs poking through its thin fur.
I almost let out a laugh of relief at the sight of it. I seriously doubted that this thing could have been responsible for killing that poor griffon and its rider.
Despite its condition, its hackles were raised and it was looking at me with the wild and dangerous eyes of a desperate beast with nothing to lose. While I may have been the superior predator in this instance, the intensity of the gaze made me flinch away.
Desperation had given it a sort of wild strength, its muscles coiled in defiance of its apparent frailty.
As I was sizing up my opponent, it was clear that they had been doing the same, and the mangy beast suddenly crouched down and leapt at me. Diving to the side to get out of the way, I swung my sword to intercept the wolf’s jump.
I got lucky and felt the sudden force of the wolf colliding with my blade in midair accompanied by a yelp of pain, but the mass of the animal ripped the sword from my grip and sent it tumbling to the ground along with the wolf.
Both of us tried to scrabble to our paws, but the wolf managed to be faster than I was.
It clamped its jaws around my outstretched left wing, and bit down. Hard. I hissed as I felt its fangs dig into my flesh. There was a sickening snap and a sudden unbearable pain shot through my body from my wing. I tried to yank my wing away from the wolf, but the bastard was holding on tight.
Panicking, I swung my claws up into the wolf and felt them rake across its face. With the sudden intrusion of talons into its eyes, the wolf finally let go of me and leapt backwards.
Immediately I went for the sword again, and was able to scoop it up while the wolf shook blood from its head and tried to recalculate its position.
I didn’t give the opportunity, and I charged towards the beast with my sword ready to spear it.
With the initiative on my side this time, it was the wolf’s turn to dodge but its paws failed to find purchase on the ground, and I quickly closed the short distance between us.
I rammed into the wolf, and drove the simple blade as far as I could into its side. The sword sank nearly to the hilt in its sorry fur, scraping off one of the ribs and lodging deep in the vitals.
Remembering the sensation of the wolf’s jaws on my wing, I tried to pull my weapon free and make some distance between us, but once again my lack of experience hindered me.
I had pushed the blade in so deep it was stuck fast. As I wildly tugged at the hilt to get it back, I was able to get it free with a sickly squelching sound as I levered it out through various organs and innards on its escape.
Stumbling backwards on my rear, I took a moment to observe the results of my efforts.
Whatever I had managed to lodge my sword into, it had the desired results.
I watched in morbid fascination as the wolf spasmed on the ground, trying and failing to stand over and over again, as blood poured from the gaping wound on its side. Eventually it gave up on its efforts, and just lay there gurgling on its own blood.
Feeling a sense of pity for the miserable beast, I limped over and stabbed my sword as hard as I could into the skull of the animal. A brief crunch sounded out, and the wolf fell still.
Silence reigned in the following moments, as I sought to catch my breath and sat on the ground opposite from the two corpses that now occupied this small section of trail. Setting my bloodied sword beside me on the ground, I held my claws to my head as I tried to calm my racing thoughts.
Despite being wounded, I had prevailed over my first opponent, whose blood even now continued to flow from its side and paint the grass where it lay red. But my victory had been made far easier by both my lucky find and the miserable state of my foe. If a full wolf pack came after me, or whatever monster killed the poor bastards whose sword I now held, I could kiss my life goodbye.
I realized quickly that I had to get to work, and get away from the trail and bodies before they attracted more attention.
I decided to start with the corpse of the griffon, or more specifically the scraps of leather and fabric that were on it. Prodding over the remnants of one of my now-kin sent my stomach bubbling, but as I looked over whatever remained of its attire I managed to find a few items of use.
The first of course was the scabbard, attached to a loop of leather with a buckle that wrapped around the waist of the griffon. Tugging it out from under the poor sap, I was able to fit it snugly around my own waist. I picked up a swath of relatively clean cloth, and wiped the blood from the blade as best I could before sheathing it back in its proper home.
The second grand treasure was found by following another set of leather loops on the corpse. With a little bit of effort, I was able to flip them over to reveal a saddle bag. I unbuckled it from the corpse and settled down on the game trail to sort through it. First was a small pouch with drawstrings that turned out to contain a handful of coins, mostly coppers with a few silver and near the bottom a single shining golden coin. With no understanding of their value, I set them aside to continue looking through the bag, finding two large chunks of flintstone as well.
I hummed approvingly, being able to start a fire might not be something a typical knightly mount was capable of, but it made me feel a lot more at ease with a way to deter predators or cook any food I found.
The next thing out of the bag was a rolled up leaflet. Opening it, I was both shocked and immensely pleased to find I could read it. The content wasn’t good news though. It was a bounty posted by some ‘Lord Silas’ about a group of bandits that had taken up residence in the local woods. Apparently there weren’t many of them, the bounty estimated 4-6 of them out there. The posted reward of 14 silver seemed quite high to me for such a small group, but what did I know? There weren't any images on the paper besides what looked like a noble seal on the bottom, so I couldn’t gather any more information about the world from it.
The only other thing in the bag was the most valuable to me at the moment. A small roll of linen bandages. I immediately scoured the trunk of the fallen tree looking for two decently straight small twigs I could snap off. Sitting down I was able to hold them on either side of my bent wing with one claw, and wrap the whole affair with bandages using the other. I hissed as I felt the sting of fabric on the open wound, but with a few minutes of tight wrapping I had made what I considered a decently serviceable splint for my bloodied wing.
Wounds treated and corpse looted, I turned my attention to my victim. The wolf’s unmoving form lay there in the grass as I thought about what to do with it.
The unpleasant emptiness in my stomach ended up making my decision for me. With no other easy option for food besides cannibalism, I drew my blade again and began hacking at the hind legs of the wolf. To both my delight and discomfort, I found that my claws were well suited for the delicate work of snipping the few tendrils of flesh that connected the leg to the carcass. Dinner begrudgingly sorted, I tucked the leg under my good wing before pushing my way through the brush once again.
It wasn't long after that I heard the sound of water nearby, and heading towards it I emerged into a picturesque clearing with a river. Taking a seat on the river bank, I set down the spoils of my hunt, and set about preparing a fire. Striking sparks from the flint, I soon had a fire going to roast my meat using my sword as a makeshift skewer.
After a not particularly appetizing meal of wolf, the only issue remaining as the sun started to set was where to sleep. Not wanting to take my chances down on the ground, I took to clawing my way up into the branches of a large oak tree near the clearing.
I was soon glad that I decided to climb up that tree, as through a break in the canopy I spotted the sight of uniform fields that could only have been a few miles away from where I was camping. And sitting comfortably on a small rise surrounded by its fields, I could make out the boxy shapes of a village against the darkening skies.
With civilization existing so close to me, I had a choice to make and considered my options thoroughly.
Finding a griffon in the woods with clear signs of intelligent civilization on him assured me that griffons weren’t inherently monsters in this world, and since I had bedecked myself in the trappings of civilization I could reasonably expect that the villagers wouldn’t attack me on sight. My best hope would be that they would think I was the property of some knight-errant, would try and seek out my ‘owner’ to return me, and as a result pass me off to the local lord. That would be my ticket to the wider world, and hopefully someday I would be able to convey my intelligence to others and figure out what had happened to me.
The other option I had was to embrace my new animal self, but the idea of living in the woods like this for the rest of my life didn’t really hold any sway to me. I was a soft sap used to the luxuries of modern society, and I was willing to bet that life as effectively a warhorse would be a lot more comfortable that being out here in the sticks, especially when winter came about. The mountains and pines convinced me that winter was absolutely going to be a real concern where I was, and I had zero interest in sleeping outside in a blizzard.
Besides, this was a whole new magical world to explore! Civilizations and histories to uncover! And I wanted to be a part of it. Being part of a noble knightly charge against the forces of evil held an undeniable romance, even if I was the thing the knight was sitting on to do so.
My mind made up, I resolved first thing in the morning to make my way towards that village and rejoin civilization.
As I made myself as comfortable as possible in the tree, I idly wondered what the population of the village was composed of. Were they humans, elves, dwarves maybe? Who knows, might be that griffons are all actually sapient, and I’m not the exception here. I chuffed to myself as I drifted off to sleep.
A whole village of griffons, now wouldn’t that be something to see.
As I awoke at dawn for my second day in this new world, I was only slightly shocked to see claws instead of hands. Look at that, only two days in and I’m already going native.
In the crisp morning air, I once again made my way to the point where I could look at the village in the distance. I sat there for a few minutes watching as little dots began moving about between the buildings, the signs of a village waking up with the sun.
Locking the general direction that I needed to head into my mind, I made my way back down the tree to the forest floor, trying not to aggravate my injured wing. As I set off once more through the underbrush, it turned out a few miles takes a long time to get through when trudging through completely untracked forest.
My pace was only slowed further by the need to clamber up a tree every now and then to make sure that I was still heading in the right direction. Despite my precautions, I still wound up being turned around twice as I attempted to pick my way in what the sun's path told me was westwards.
It took me the entire morning, but eventually I broke through the treeline onto the boundary of the cleared lands surrounding the village. Now that I was much closer I could take a better look at the place. It must have been only a mile away, and with my improved eyesight I was able to make out the movement of the villagers going about their day. There must have been about three dozen structures in the whole village, and I watched the handful of folk in the village walk or take flight as they moved between the buildings.
Wait just a minute there, take flight?
Sure enough I watched as one figure launched themselves into the air to cross over the village without having to weave through the buildings.
Ok then.
Maybe my joke about a village of griffons wasn't the most far-fetched thing in the world after all.
Since it was in the middle of the working day, the population of the village would mostly be out in the fields, and I was bound to run across someone on my way towards the village. I set off through the fields towards the village, reflecting that it was time to see what this world had in store for me.
As I passed by the fields I could see that the population of the village was in fact composed solely of griffons, as they went about their business tending the fields. It was a bit of a shock to the system seeing what I considered creatures of might and myth a few days ago doing ordinary farmwork, but I was far more ecstatic than I had thought I would be at the revelation that I would not be condemned to being just a smarter-than-average animal in this world.
The village folk were quick to notice the armed stranger staring at them as they worked. I watched as the first one to look up and see me standing there had their beak open a bit, before quickly flitting over to another griffon to urgently speak to them.
This commotion caught the attention of the rest of the workers, and I stood there as they began talking among each other. From the glances they kept throwing my way, I could tell that my presence made them uncomfortable, so I endeavored to keep my claws well away from my sword while I waited to be approached.
As it would turn out, that would not be long at all, as I watched the one who had first noticed me and the one she had spoken to start flying towards me.
On their approach I idly noted that griffons in this world were not confined to being just the traditional mix of the white feathers of the eagle and golden lion fur like mine. Instead these two had light grey fur on their bodies, looking almost like a snow leopard without the spots. The head on the male was covered in brown feathers, while the griffoness’ had darker feathers that reminded me of a raven or a crow.
They landed on the trail in front of me, and after a brief assessment during which I couldn’t help but notice their gaze was drawn to the sword strapped to my side, the older looking male griff spoke first.
“Who exactly might you be stranger, and what are you doing in our village?” the griffon demanded of me in a low, even tone.
“Hello there good sir. My name is Geralt, and I happened to come across your village as I made my way out from the forest.” I tried to put the fellow’s mind at ease. “I’ve been in the woods for a few days now, and I am only looking for a place to rest for a while.”
I couldn’t really blame him for his suspicions. With the apparent presence of bandits in the area he had every reason to be wary of someone strange wandering into town, with a weapon on their hip no less.
“So you say, but you’ll forgive an old griff for not being convinced by a few honeyed words.” The hard eyes didn’t soften, and his grip was still tight on his pitchfork.
“If you are worried that I am part of the local banditry ring, you can put those fears to rest.” I could see his eyes narrow at the mentions of the bandits, so I quickly added. “And if you’re wondering about how I knew about the bandits, I found this bounty posted by one ‘Lord Silas’ about them.”
Pulling the paper from my saddlebag, I moved to hand it over to him but the younger female griffon took it from me instead.
Seeing the confusion on my face, she explained. “My father was never taught to read that well, but I have been taking some lessons from the local healer, and my letters have gotten quite good if I do say so myself.”
She spent a few minutes looking over the bounty posting before returning it to me. “Yep, that's a bounty posting already, seal looks right as well, so it's probably real.”
Once more the middle-aged griff looked at the sword at my side, but his gaze had softened considerably. “So, might you be here to take care of those bandits for us?” his voice sounded hopeful, but sadly I had to disappoint him.
“Unfortunately no, I’m already injured and in no condition to go tracking down a bandit camp on my own. I only found this posting by chance while in the forest.” With all this talk of bandits, I felt it might be best if I kept the fact that I had taken it off of a dead griff to myself.
“I can pay for housing and food as well, if you will let me stay in the village for a while before moving on.”
At the promise of coin, the remaining tension in the air dissipated like mist in the sun. The griff smiled, which I didn’t know was possible with a beak before now.
“I appreciate the extra coin, lord knows we need it, and we could hardly leave you stuck outside to be murdered in the night could we now!” The fellow ended with a barking laugh and gestured for me to follow him with his wing.
Lodgings secured, I obligingly followed the two of them towards the village. The young griffoness immediately fell in beside me to strike up a conversation now that friendly relations had been established.
“Hi there, my name is Cynthia,” the young lady introduced herself. “So… you said you came from the forest, but where did you come from originally then Geralt?”
“Uhh… I’ve travelled pretty far from home, I don’t think you would have heard of it before.” I wasn’t really sure what to say in this situation, since I probably couldn’t say that I was a dimensional traveler that had been dumped into this world on a cosmic whim.
“Really! Are you some kind of adventurer? How’d you end up in the eastern forest then? I didn’t think there was any roads running through those woods.”
“Well, the truth of the matter is that I just woke up yesterday morning in the woods without a clue how I wound up there.” I ran my claws through the feathers on the back of my head. “One moment I was sleeping in my own bed, a storm blowing as I drifted off to sleep, then the storm swept into my house and poof! Here I am.” I waved a claw about in the air to punctuate my point.
Well my efforts to try and act normal lasted about twenty seconds. I hardly think that ‘I randomly woke up around here’ would qualify as a valid excuse, and certainly -
Oblivious to my racing mind Cynthia responded with sympathy evident in her voice. “Oh, you got caught up in a chaos storm, that’s awful! At least you were lucky enough to end up so close to someplace civilized, things could have gone really badly for you otherwise out there.”
“Chaos storm? What on earth are you talking about?” I asked her, confused. At least my story apparently held water in this magical world.
“Did you take a tumble in the woods back there boy? How do you not know about the remnants of chaos?” the older griff turned his head to join in the conversation. “Name’s Gunther, by the way. Village eldergriff.”
The blank look on my face must have been obvious, because Gunther sighed and began an explanation. “Even after the chaos crisis ended a little over a year ago, sudden swells of chaos magic in the world can rear up and sweep folks off, sometimes whole villages.”
“Even though the world is getting back on its feet nowadays, it feels like we are starting from scratch. So much knowledge and so many griffs were lost, the whole world’s been broken down to pretty much just the local lords in control of whatever little parcel of land they rule over, no more of the big kingdoms like in the stories.”
Gunther paused to take a moment to seemingly compose himself before continuing.
“Course things are mostly stable now, no more green ooze instead of water, falling upwards into the sky, or neighboring towns being torn apart by whatever the chaos demon’s conjured up this time. I just hope that this lasts, I've lived my whole life during chaos. Now that it's over, I’d like to be able to live a bit longer in a more orderly world”
He chuckled darkly. “You really didn’t have good odds of becoming old during those times, but maybe I’ll even yet live to see grandchicks in my lifetime.”
At that statement Cynthia turned her head away with her cheeks red. Ah, parental embarrassment, truly a tradition throughout space and time immemorial.
We passed through the fence surrounding the village and I had the various points of interest of the place pointed out to me as we made our way towards the center of the village. There was a blacksmith, a weaver, and a handful of storage silos. There was also the pride of the village, the apothecary that was responsible for teaching Cynthia how to read and write, and contained nearly all of the books that the village owned.
Apparently I would be staying with Cynthia and her father in their house for the duration of my stay. Their home was little different from any other building in the village, being solidly built of logs with a sturdy looking roof of wooden shingles. An earthen staircase led down to a cellar for the building, presumably acting as long-term storage.
Inside the floor was made of smooth planks of wood for the most part, except for the cooking area over on the right side which was made of compacted earth. The hearth glowed a warm orange, providing a surprising amount of light to the building. On the left I could see two doors leading to the other rooms of the building, presumably sleeping quarters.
“We’ll put some pelts down on the floor with blankets and you can sleep out here.” Gunther said as he rummaged through a chest looking for the items in question. “Me and Cynthia got our sleeping spaces in other rooms, and I would appreciate it if you left us our personal space while you’re staying with us.”
I nodded. “Understood. By the way, what’s the name of this village? I haven’t gotten that bit of information yet.”
“Oh! It’s called Blackwood, because of all the pine trees in the woods,” Cynthia explained as she stepped into the house.
“Creative,” I deadpanned.
“Accurate,” She shot back with a smirk. “It tells anyone who wanders out this way what we got. Besides, I bet that you have seen plenty of boring names for places before.” Well she had that part right. Plenty of San Antonios or Springfields to go around back on earth.
“Well, that should keep you comfortable enough overnight. I’m sure you’ve had worse nights than you’ll get on that,” Gunther stated. I turned back towards him.
On the floor against the wall was a handful of animal pelts and a heavy wool blanket. Looked decently comfortable, and would definitely be warm. “Looks lovely to me, and a hell of a lot better than the tree I slept in last night.”
“Right then, now that we’ve got you sorted out, the two of us better get back to work.” Gunther opened the door and beckoned for Cynthia to follow him. “Feel free to wander around for a bit, and if you decide you’d like to help out, that would be great. Be seeing you at sundown for dinner.”
With that the two of them were off, and I followed shortly behind in order to take a closer look around the village.
The most important location for me to stop at was the local apothecary, since I needed to get my wing checked on as soon as possible. The chance of getting an infection from the wolf was significant, and hopefully they could give me some tincture to help ward it off.
Returning to the large building that I was told houses the apothecary, I knocked on the door. “One moment please!” There was the clacking sound of pottery being set aside, and the door opened to reveal a middle aged griff with white feathers. “Haven’t seen you around before, I assume you are new here?” His eyes immediately locked onto my bandaged wing. “I can probably guess why you came though. Come inside, allow me to take a look at that.”
As I entered his shop, I was hit by the pungent scent of herbs. Dried bundles of all sorts dangled from the ceiling, and small planters growing fresh ones decorated the spacious room. Shelves contained pottery jars of poultices, and an array of mortars and pestles were scattered around the work surfaces around the room.
One of the planters drew my eye far more than any other, mostly because of the faint glow it gave off. Taking a closer look, occupying the planter were what looked almost like green onions, if they were blue with yellow tips on the leaves instead. The clearly magical plant was fascinating to look at, and I couldn’t help but stare at its mesmerizing glow.
“Enough looking at the duskroot, come and take a seat on the stool.” The voice of the herbalist cut through my thoughts. Looking back at him, he patted the stool in question.
“Sorry, I’ve just never seen anything like that before,” I admitted as I took my place. I grit my beak as he began peeling off the bandages and splint I had applied in the forest.
“You have never seen duskroot before? It's quite common so far as magical plants go around here. You must have gone on quite the journey then,” He responded with a raised brow.
“Much further than you would think, and entirely unplanned to boot,” I replied with a sigh, to which he nodded understandingly.
“Then you can count yourself fortunate to have ended up here. May I ask what caused this injury?” With the bandage and splint removed, he was free to poke at the torn flesh and bone.
“Wolf attacked me in the woods, I was able to kill it, but not before it took a chunk out of my wing.”
“Hmm… that would do it. All in all, while the bone is broken, it’s not that severe a break. We should have you back in the air in a matter of weeks.” He applied a poultice to the wound that made me yelp at the sudden stinging sensation. The herbalist then wrapped it back up tight with some fresh bandages and a more professional splint.
“Allow it a minute to set in properly and make sure it's comfortable enough, then I’ll let you get on with your day. Oh, and before I forget, the name is Felian.” The middle-aged griff shook my claw before returning back to his work. While I sat in my stool, I looked around at the rest of the space.
To my surprise, around half the building was what was clearly a classroom, with rows of wooden benches and a surprisingly large bookshelf. It was missing a blackboard and some other features of a modern classroom, but it was nevertheless interesting to see. Walking over to the class, I picked one of the books off the shelf to read while I waited.
It was a small compendium of the region's fairy tales, written by someone called ‘Helga Grimwing.’ The one I had opened to was a tale about a griffon who had made a deal with a demon to bring rain to his village to save the crops, only for the demon to make it rain hellfire instead of water. The moral of the story was pretty obvious, be careful what you wish for, though in this world I suppose it could also be taken literally as don’t make a deal with actual demons.
“If I had known you could read, I would have offered a book initially myself.” I looked up at the sound of Felian talking to me.
“Ah, it’s alright. Honestly I forget sometimes that not everyone is able to read, it’s just not something I’ve ever really thought about. I learned how to read very young, and did so alongside learning how to speak, so it just comes as naturally to me as talking does.”
“Sounds like your parents did well to teach you.”
“Yeah they did great at teaching me the basics. Never was the greatest at my language arts classes though, preferred the more empirical ones like math and the sciences.”
“Oh? Would you happen to be a noble by chance, they are the only ones I’ve heard of receiving such a thorough education from their tutors.” The note of surprise in his voice reminded me that this was a world that didn’t have the school system of the modern age.
“No, if only.” I shook my head at his question. “I was very fortunate in my upbringing regardless, and lived quite comfortably.”
I then asked the question that had been on my mind since I saw the classroom. “Cynthia told me that she was learning how to read here, but I didn’t expect to find a whole classroom in a little village.” The fact that there was effectively a schoolhouse even here in a backwater made me pause to rethink my preconceptions about the level of education these griffons might have. “How many other griffons from the village do you teach here?”
“Learning how to read and write is a very useful skill, especially when it comes time to sell our goods in the market up in Griffenheim. Around half of Blackwood is either already capable of basic literary skills or is in my class to learn them,” Felian explained to me, puffing his chest out with pride. “I try to teach as best as I can, but everyone is quite busy with their own duties, including me. Still, I am proud of what I do here to help our Blackwood.”
“Glad to hear it.” As we spoke, a thought occurred to me. “If you would like, I can help to teach the reading lessons. I’m already staying here for a while, and teaching would give me something to help fill the days. I can teach topics other than reading as well, such as math or physics.”
Felian looked surprised by my offer, and hummed to himself for a moment before responding. “The classes are mostly in the evenings after work winds down for the day, but if you want to help me out tomorrow night at the next lesson, we can see how well you do before I commit to having you being a permanent fixture in my class. Math classes might be useful, but I can already tell you that they won't be very popular, since any math beyond the basics they know will not have much value to a farmer.”
“I appreciate it, and I already have a few ideas on how to improve the classroom with a few simple additions.” The biggest difference between the classroom that had been set up here and a more modern classroom was the existence of a frontal blackboard to help with the lectures.
Blackboards were actually a fairly modern invention only dating back to the start of the 19th century for widespread use, but they didn’t really need any special technology to work, just a big chunk of smooth slate stone. Despite this, they were still one of the most important advances in mass education ever made. It allowed for the teacher to show the whole class the ideas they were trying to convey with visual aids at once, and it could be erased and changed out with new information at a moment's notice. It was also near infinitely reusable, and made of cheap and available materials.
If I was able to find a source of slate and some chalk, I could easily make one for the village. Felian seemed receptive to the idea as well once I laid it out to him. Even better, he already had a supply of chalk that he used to mark his pottery while he worked. That just left finding a big enough piece of slate and moving it to the village, but I had hopes that it would be an easy enough obstacle to overcome.
The rest of the afternoon we spent hashing out the details of what I could expect from the class tomorrow. The general reading level of each of the griffons in the class, and what Felian was focusing on teaching them at the moment.
Once the sun began to lower in the sky however, it was time for me to return to my temporary home for some much needed food. I left Felian to resume his own work, and made my way back across the village.
On my way back, I was acutely reminded by my stomach that I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day, and I was famished by the time I pushed open the door. The smell of cooking beans and bacon was a pleasant welcome, with Gunther and Cynthia watching over a pot of well, pottage. They gestured for me to come over and take a serving, and as I sat down we opened the conversation.
“What did you get up to while we worked Geralt?” Cynthia asked cheerily. “You weren’t in the house when we got back.”
“I spent the afternoon in the apothecary, getting my wing looked at.” I gave a little shake of the wing in question, feeling the bandages rub against my feathers. “Also, it looks like I will be helping out with Felian's classes. Besides just the reading and writing, I'm hope that I can provide some basic science and math classes as well.”
At their questioning looks I elaborated. “I have a pretty good education despite not being a noble. My father is a master engineer, and I am being trained to be the same. Growing up it just felt right to me, and I’ve made a lot of friends along the way. I may as well share what I know to those who want to learn during my stay here.” As I said that, it finally clicked in my mind that I wasn’t on earth anymore. Intellectually I understood, but in talking about it I finally grasped the depth of my losses.
My family was gone. My friends were gone. My career was gone. Everything that I had held dear to me was a world away, and I doubted that there was any way for me to get back anytime soon.
I slumped as the sudden realization of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks. "Though I suppose that I should be saying was now, shouldn't I. I doubt that I will see anyone or anything from my old life again. I've just been dropped here without a clue why, with no idea of what to do or where to go.” I closed my eyes as I felt waves of grief wash over me.
There was a sudden softness on my back, and I glanced over to see that Cynthia had scooched closer to drape her wing over me, her eyes full of concern. “It’s alright, I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love. And I know that there is nothing that can be done or said right now that can magically make everything ok, but just know that you’re safe and welcome here.”
“That's right lad, take your time getting to grips with it all, I’ll tell you it took years for me to be able to accept that Teresa was gone.” I could see that Gunther was growing misty eyed at the memories of his departed wife. “I wish I could say that it gets better, but as long as you remember them, that’s a dull wound that’ll stay with you.”
The rest of the evening was spent sharing stories about friends and family gone. I did have to change some details of my stories in order to make them match more with the world that I had found myself in, but it still was a pleasant time.
Eventually though, as the sun dropped far enough below the horizon that we decided to turn in for the night. Pulling the woolen blanket over my head, I closed my eyes and tried to get some rest. Sleep did not come easy to me that night.
The next few weeks I spent in the village of Blackwood were the epitome of a quiet agrarian existence. It was currently early summer, with lovely warm days that gave ample opportunity to settle into my new life. I had passed a pair of silver coins off to Gunther, who said that the payment excused me from needing to do any fieldwork to pay for my stay.
As for what work I was doing, teaching the reading classes in the evenings had gone quite well. I had impressed Felian enough with my understanding for him to accept me as a teacher alongside himself in the evening classes. There were just under a dozen griffons in attendance usually, with the two of us covering material related to the basics of grammar and spelling. And of course we did plenty of guided practice reading from the bookshelf.
Much as Felian had expected, the math classes I offered were not very well attended. Virtually the only griffons who were interested in learning math were those responsible for taking the harvest to the city in the fall. They wanted to be sure that no merchant was trying to cheat them and the village out of some coin with fancy mathematics.
There was another griff interested in learning math though, and that was Cynthia. When I asked her about it, she told me that she wanted to learn as much as she could about the world. Besides, she was likely to end up the eldergriff herself someday, and math would be useful at that point. A commendable set of reasons, and she had ended up being the most gifted student in the math class to boot.
Since my classes were only held in the evenings, that left me with plenty of time during the day to myself even with lesson planning. As a result I spent my days questing in the woods on the search for a place to harvest slate rock. Despite the beauty of the woods, there was a sense of danger that hung in the air.
I figured that I should be able to use my weapon with at least some skill, or at the very least not be more of a danger to myself than my opponent. In the woods I practiced dueling against a birch tree. My control over the blade was slowly but steadily improving, and I felt I was getting a handle on swordplay. While I still would be far, far, behind the skill of any knight or trained soldier, at I least wouldn't be entirely helpless if something attacked me in the woods.
One day, as I was returning back to the village, I ran across Cynthia resting near the farm fields in the shade provided beneath a copse of birch trees. Taking a seat beside her as she lay on the grass, we struck up some idle conversation about village life.
After a while though, a thought occurred to me. “Hey, so how come your father doesn’t come to the reading lessons? I find it to be kind of strange that so many other griffs in the village can read, yet the eldergriff can’t?”
She sighed before responding. “It isn’t like he doesn’t want to learn, but the duties of the eldergriff can take a lot of time out of his day dealing with petty squabbles and the other minutia needed to keep the village running.” I could hear the pride in her voice as she used the new word that I taught them all last night in regular conversation for the first time.
“Excellent use of vocabulary there. I award full marks.” I put on the voice of the wise old mentor figure as I lightly teased her, causing her cheeks to flush red.
She replied, “well, I had a pretty good teacher if I do say so myself.” There was a brief lull in the conversation before she spoke up again. “So how much longer will you have to wait for your wing to heal? I know you must be looking forward to being able to fly ahead instead of being ground-bound.”
“From what I’ve been told by Felian, I can take the splint off in the next couple days. The flesh is already healed up, just waiting on the bone itself.” I stopped for a minute to think of a way to explain that even with two working wings, I wouldn’t be able to fly. Physical therapy to regain my flight was the excuse that came to mind, but before I could voice it a brown blur came barreling towards us.
Our conversation was interrupted by the sudden arrival of one of the other villagers. They came crashing in with squawk, skidding to a halt right in front of the two of us. “There you are! Come quick, back to the village! We’re having an emergency meeting!”
“What? Why, what happened?” Cynthia shot to her feet, wide-eyed as the urgency in their voice pressed into us.
“Cyril was out hunting, and he spotted a giant raiding party headed towards Blackwood! We think they are going to try and raze the village!” After delivering the message he instantly sprung off the ground again towards the fieldworkers nearby.
“What!?” me and Cynthia shouted at his back as he left. That bounty I had found said that there were just a half dozen of them out there in the woods! At most! Where did they suddenly get the numbers from?
We immediately took off towards the village, where it seemed my peaceful vacation was about to come to an end.
Upon our arrival we found that the rest of the community had already gathered in the village square. The crowd murmured uncertainty as they considered the threat that they had been presented with. Gunther was out in front of the crowd, trying to calm their nerves before panic could truly set in.
As Cynthia and I slipped into the back of the crowd, one of the villagers began shouting. “I think we should just grab what we can and run already! If we leave now, we can get to the city before the bandits can catch us!"
“Oi! If we run with all our stuff, we won’t be quick enough to get away in time! What, would ya have us abandon everything we own to the bandits!?” the blacksmith shouted back at him.
“She’s right,” I added, “if we leave while burdened down with our belongings, all that's going to happen is that we are going to be attacked out on the open roads. Only way we can have a good chance running is if we leave everything behind.”
“What are we supposed to do then? Just lay down here and die!?” the villager snapped back at me, but I could hear the waver in his voice. The fact of the matter was that we had been stuck between a rock and a hard place, with no clean way out.
The fear that he felt was echoed by me, but that also came with a certain burning determination. I had only lived in this village for a short while, but I would be damned if I let these people lose everything they had.
“The way I see it, you have only two options.” I stepped towards the front of the crowd to better articulate my points to the griff. As I did so, I caught the attention of the rest of the village and the quiet conversation and arguments died down to listen to what I had to say as I stepped to the fore. I took a deep breath before continuing. There was no turning back now.
“First, abandon everything here, and hope that the bandit horde is distracted long enough with looting your homes to make it to the city in time.” Raised wings and shouts of protest throughout the crowd told me exactly what they thought of that idea.
“Second, you can fortify this village and protect everything that you hold dear. If we can make it clear that attacking us will cost more than it's worth, we can ward off the bandits. They are like rats, slinking around looking for easy pickings. They aren’t soldiers, they won't throw themselves into a fight they aren't sure they will win.”
The mood of the crowd was still hesitant, but the prospect of giving the bandits the boot had lit a fire in the breast of these people. It was Gilda the blacksmith who spoke up first over the quiet crowd.
“Ay, we’ve fought back beasties both magical and mundane before and we are still standing! We didn’t run then, why should we run now!” There was a chorus of cheers from the village as they took heart from her words. Indeed, these people had survived whatever horrors had been visited on them by chaos. With the dawning of a more peaceful age, they wouldn't give in to those seeking to prevent them from enjoying it.
“It’s settled then, we will protect our homes! We will drive this scum from our fields! We will show them what it means to be a true griffon!” Gunther shouted, his wings flaring out as emotions took hold. The roars from the crowd were deafening.
We would stand, and we would fight.
The only matter that remained was how exactly we would fend off the bandits. As everyone in the square broke off into small groups, I grabbed Gunther and went to go talk with Cyril. He was the one who had first spotted the bandits, and we would need any information he could give us in planning the defense.
“Cyril, can we borrow you for a minute? We’d like to talk with you about what you’ve seen out there,” I asked as we pulled him away from his fussing mother for a moment.
“Well, I’d like to be able to say I got a good and proper look, but after I saw them all I ran for my life!” The poor kid was absolutely rattled at what he had come across.
Gunther responded seriously, placing his claw on the young griffon's shoulder. “And it's a good thing you did Cyril, you’ve given us all a chance to prepare for what's coming.” Cyril’s restless actions calmed down a bit with the assurances of the eldergriff.
“Can you tell me what you did see? What was their force composition like?” I asked him. Despite the conviction that I had helped plant in the village, if we were outmatched against a mob of deserted soldiers or some other well-armed folk we might be forced to flee regardless.
“Uhh… what?” The look on his face reminded me that I wasn’t dealing with a trained army scout here, just a teenage hunter. Hopefully his eyes were just as good as promised, and Cyril could give us an idea of what was coming.
“What kind of weapons did they have? How many of them were there? Did any of them have armor? Things of that nature,” I expanded. We needed to know as much about them as we could before we started making plans on how to deal with them.
“There was a lot of ‘em out there, If I were to guess I’d say around three dozen of them, maybe clawful more. Only a couple of them had any real armor, prolly the bosses of the bunch.”
“Were they separated into groups much?” I asked.
Cyril nodded emphatically. “Yeah! They moved in clusters of around a half dozen or so, ‘cept for one larger group with prolly more than a dozen griffs in it. Big scary guy was with those ones as well.”
I nodded as I digested this information. Multiple ‘bosses’ as Cyril put them probably meant that this group was actually composed of several different bandit groups that had banded together for the promise of greater loot.
That could work to our advantage, as I doubted they had any real trust amongst themselves, and none would be willing to break their own power and band to achieve victory if that meant being subsumed by a different bandit leader. Plus, it was hard to enjoy the pillaging if you were busy bleeding out in the dirt.
“As for what they were carrying, they had a bunch of long spears and hooks for monster fighting and the like. Lotsa cudgels, axes, and knives too.” Cyril counted off what he had seen on his claws as he tried to remember.
"Only a couple of them had any bigger swords like what you have there Geralt” He said as he gestured to the longsword hanging by my side. I idly wondered if carrying that blade had gave more credence to my words earlier, as I looked like a proper warrior amongst the village.
“Archers?” I asked.
“Not many bows that I saw, though there were a clawful. I saw maybe a half dozen slung over backs?” The uncertainty in his voice did not inspire confidence in the count, but that was another threat that had to be considered.
Gunther then asked probably the most important question to know. “How long do you think that it will take for them to reach us?”
“Uhh… It took about two full days for me to get back home. But I was flying as fast as I could, and I know all the shortcuts for when I was ground-bound. If I were to guess, it’d take them about three days to get here from now? Maybe four?” Cyril answered.
Gunther and I paused for a minute to think about what we were told.
“Can I go now?” Cyril sheepishly asked. “I’m really tired, and I’d really just like to go to bed for a bit.”
Gunther dismissed the poor boy, and then turned to me with a grunt. “Three days it is, don’t want to be caught unaware.”
I nodded in agreement. “The only thing that left for us to do now is to see what we can get done to survive this.” It was time to make a battleplan.
“What kind of weaponry do we have in the village?” I asked Gunther, who took a moment to mull over it before responding.
“We are probably in a similar state to the bandits, maybe a little worse off,” He eventually said. “Everyone knows how to poke at a monster with a spear when they come knocking, and we’ve got plenty of those around.”
“I think our biggest advantage would have to be the archers though. If Cyril was right about what he saw, we should have plenty more bows than our foes. Hunters and the like, so pretty decent shots as well. Can probably rustle up around a dozen and a half from around Blackwood. Can’t say for sure we will get it all our way at a distance though.”
“Apart from that, the only things we really have that could be useful in a fight would be the knives and hatchets. They aren’t really fighting weapons as such, but can still cut.”
As we spoke, I found that my gaze was drawn towards the pitchfork leaning against the side of the house with its long sharp prongs. As I did so, a lightbulb went off instead of my head.
One of the most valuable weapons throughout history was the javelin, from the ancient Greeks all the way through to medieval knights. They carried far more power than a bow, and could be used as a weapon in melee themselves. As I looked at the pitchfork, all I saw was a number of tips just waiting to be fashioned into crude javelins.
“Gunther, do you think that we could make do without the pitchforks for a while? I bet that we could use them to make javelins for our speargriffs instead.”
“That’s… not a bad idea actually. It would give them something to use against a flying opponent from the ground.” Gunther’s eyes light up at the idea.
“Or to blunt a charge.” I added. “Make it so they lose their momentum and cohesion before they reach us.”
“And then we can tear ‘em to pieces when they reach us!” Gunther exclaimed excitedly, pumping his fist in the air before continuing. "As for the archers, I think that we should have them fly up the roofs. Have them stay on the slants that face into the village, that way they can duck out of sight and move around."
That was far better than sticking them on the ground behind the spears like I was going to propose. I had embarrassingly forgotten about thinking three dimensionally in our planning, everyone having wings changed the possibilities on the battlefield significantly. For our archers, getting up high was the easy part. The problem was what would happen if the bandits flew up as well.
“If the bandits decide to rush in and attack our archers from the air, the archers will be in some serious danger. We can give them first pick of the hatchets and knives, but that will just end up being more of a stopgap measure.” I was worried that if the bandits turned this into an aerial brawl, we would be quickly overrun. I didn’t have a clue how medieval air-to-air combat worked either, and I wouldn’t be much help anyways ground-bound.
“You’re right, we need something that can keep their attention away from our archers. We'll set up some barricades to draw the eye as well to stop them from just sweeping in. Just some simple wooden ones with sharp ends to keep them off us,” Gunther agreed readily.
He bent down to sketch an example down in the dirt. "We used stuff like this all the time to hold off monsters before. There is a small stock of the things somewhere in the village, but I'll see what I can do about getting some more made up. Don’t want to leave any gaps."
“They might not stop them, but it forces them to get airborne if they want to get over them, and they can’t land on them either to gain a height advantage. It also exposes their wings and their guts to us. Mix that in with the spears, and we can control the rate that they get in.”
"That makes sense, though what do you mean by 'control the rate they get in'? I thought it was best to stop them dead at a barricade," I questioned.
At this Gunther raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t it be better to let them over the barricades a bit? You know, and then we can press them up into the spikes. Stop too many of them smashing into us at once, and stop them from getting away.”
“We could, but that would make the battle much harder for us, and even if we win it will be a lot more bloody for both sides. We don’t need to kill them, we just need to drive them away. Best to give them a way out, if we corner them they’ll fight like… well cornered rats.”
“Guess that's the difference from most of what I’ve fought before. Damn demons don’t give up until either you or them are dead, and that costs blood. Believe me when I say that,” Gunther sighed. “Never really had to deal with fighting other griffons like this. Course we’ve had plenty of bandits before, but the lord and his knights always took care of them and the biggest monsters before they attacked us, and the smaller groups were dealt with by the bounty hunters.”
“I can’t say that I have experience with either brigands or demons. I’ve got some ideas on what to do, but I have no idea how effective most of them will end up being in an actual battle. Nothing quite ends up like the book.”
“Yeah, but some of your ideas still seem like good ones. Besides, it’s not like we have much of a choice in the matter. You go talk with the blacksmith about making your javelins, and talk to the archers. I’ll take care of the speargriffs and the barricades.” With a hearty thump on my shoulder, Gunther left.
I made my way over towards the blacksmith to discuss my javelin plan further. Gilda had returned to her shop the moment after the meeting had ended, and I found her repairing one of the pitchforks. How prescient.
She looked up at my approach. “Well well, if it ain’t the master tactician himself. Whaddya need from me then?”
Relaying to her my idea for the javelins, she hummed consideringly for a moment before responding. “Aye, I think I could make that work. I was worried when you came over here that you’d ask me to try and rush out some new blades, but this seems actually doable instead. I’ll need some more griffs to help me with the handles of course, but I can get it done.”
“I'll get you some claws to help with that,” I assured her, “we just need them to be ready by the time the bandits arrive. We can practice with some sticks to get the idea of how to use them down in the meantime. Won't quite be the same, but better than nothing.”
The matter of the javelins sorted, all that remained was to brief the archers on their part of the plan. Heading over to where they were waiting, I was surprised to see that Cynthia had joined them with a bow of her own.
“I didn’t know that you used a bow,” I commented.
“I started learning when I was pretty much a chick. My mother was the one who taught me how to shoot.” She tugged at the bowstring remorsefully before locking eyes with me. “Honestly, I’m pretty scared about what's coming. I’ve only been in one other fight in my life, and it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. And that was only against monsters, I can't imagine what it'll be like to fight people.”
“I would be more worried if you weren’t scared, I know that I sure am,” I replied sincerely. “Everyone is always at least a little bit scared when they fight. If there is the kind of person that can just kill another person and feel nothing out there, I wouldn't want to meet them."
She seemed to take a moment to think about my words before nodding. "Yeah, I guess so. Just got to do what we need to do. Keep our homes safe, no matter what or who comes to destroy them."
"That's right, and remember that your fighting for what's behind you, not against what's in front of you. On that note, time to talk about how that fighting is going to go."
The plan that Gunther and I had come up with was fairly well received, and the gathered griffons seemed confident that they would be able to pull it off. The arrows available to us were simple hunting broadheads, which would be brutal on any unarmored brigands. The bandit leaders might be unaffected by them, and charge down the archers. If the archers were attacked, they should immediately flee down towards the rest of the defenders instead of trying to duke it out with a superior opponent.
After the briefing concluded, most of the archers dispersed to assist the rest of Blackwood in the preparations, and I grabbed a few of them to bring back to Gilda for carving. Sitting on a stump, I shaped a branch into a shaft while watching Gilda work. Despite it being my idea, there was something unpleasant about watching farm tools being broken down into weapons of war.
Was it the right idea to convince everyone here to stay and fight? How many of the faces that I had met in the past weeks would we need to bury afterwards? It’s easy to advocate for a confrontation in the heat of the moment, but the tension that hung in the air around the village was unsettling.
Regardless, we were committed now. This upcoming fight would be a battle of wills almost as much as of blades. I hoped that our preparations and determination would be sufficient for the village of Blackwood to hold the line against the forest bandits.
As the sun rose on the third day since Cyril had brought his portents of doom to Blackwood, the tension in the air was palpable.
I paced around the defensive perimeter, inspecting the works that Gunther had managed to construct over the past few days. Sharpened stakes extruded from the barricades nestled together between the houses, seemingly daring attackers to try and overcome them. Enough of the things had been assembled that we were able to block of all ground entrances to the village between the houses. In the houses themselves, the outwards windows had all been boarded up to prevent any attacker from slipping through our lines.
Combined, they formed a solid wall between us and the bandits.
The tired eyes of the night watch nervously scanned the horizon for the last time before being relieved. It was unfortunate to have some of our forces tied up overnight, but a necessary cost to avoid having our throats slit in the dead of night.
The exhausted griffons shuffled back into the village, where they would join up with a few others to act as our reserve force. I felt a pang of sympathy for their bedraggled state, but with an attack expected at any moment we couldn't afford to send them to rest.
As I and the rest of the relief watch took up position behind our defenses, I rested my weight on my billhook and considered my role for the battle. Gunther and I would be the two principle officers in charge on the militia. It was surprising to me that Gunther and the others would place their trust in me so easily, but he shrugged off my concerns.
"The way I see it, you're the one who set this whole thing into motion. Least you could do is be the one to see it through."
Speaking of the eldergriff, Gunther was currently sitting nearby honing his spear. The simple boar spear already seemed to be in flawless condition, but I suspected the action did much to calm his nerves. And not just his nerves either. Judging from the faces around us, seeing the stoic demeanor of Gunther did much to stiffen the spines of the militia.
The village had been able to assemble a sizable force to repulse the oncoming threat. From the population we had been able to mobilize nearly sixty griffons for battle all told. While not everyone would be fighting on the front lines, the numbers did much for my own confidence.
Those not already stationed at the barricades milled around the village proper, making small talk and doing their own gear checks. From the village's arms collection, we had amassed a sizable and eclectic mix of spears and polearms. Besides the traditional straight spear, it was common to see a griffon carrying either a billhook like myself or a war-scythe.
Archers lounged on the rooftops, bows strung and at the ready. While we did not have a large stock of metal arrowheads in the village, we did have a great number of flint and wooden ones. While the wooden small game arrows would be virtually useless even against an unarmored griffon, the flint broadheads could wreak significant damage.
I watched as Felian moved about between clusters of fighters, distributing basic medical supplies. He would be waiting behind our lines, ready to tend the inevitable wounded that would be dragged back to him. A handful of other griffons followed him, acting as both his assistants and guards for the day.
The sudden blare of a horn drew the sharp attention of everyone in the village, and snapped me out of my musings. I quickly ran over to the source of the noise, and found one of the militia gesturing wildly for our attention.
"Look! Something's in the woods over there!" The militiagriff pointed excitedly towards the forest.
Stepping up to the barricade myself, I was indeed able to make out movement of something large just inside the woods. At first I thought it might be another deer or boar, as had been the case several times over the past day. Jittery nerves sounding the alarm at the slightest provocation.
This time was different. Emerging from the brush, a small contingent of griffons appeared. They stood just at the edge of the treeline and stared at us across the crop fields. Even from this distance, I could make out the spears, axes, and shields they all carried.
Here were our bandits. After a brief survey, they disappeared back into the woods, no doubt to report their findings to the rest. Only a matter of hours now before they would arrive in full, and the extent of the challenge ahead of us could be understood.
It was time for the battle to begin.
As midday approached, the rest of our foes finally appeared from the woods and began to leer at Blackwood. I made a rough count of their numbers, and felt a cold sweat break out on my back. There must have been nearly fifty griffons milling about over there! Whether the spike in their numbers was the result of Cyril miscounting when he first spotted them, or if they had picked up some buddies in the past few days didn't matter much at this point.
The die was cast, as it were. All that was left was to see where it landed.
The mass of raiders paused as they surveyed our defenses, Though their scouts had undoubtedly informed them that we had prepared for their arrival, it didn't seem that they had spent the end of their march coming up with a plan. Instead I watched as the best-equipped among them congregated to decide on a course of action.
After a brief but heated debate, some of the smaller groups were shoved out in front to go prod at our lines. It was shaping up as if they were going to send out a wave of skirmishers against us first.
Maybe skirmishers wasn’t the right word though. Fodder was a good fit. None of the individual bands wanted to be the ones to test the waters against us, so the weakest groups were being forced into that role.
They protested of course, but the bandit leader shut them up with the promise of violence. A single powerful swing of that massive spiked club into the dirt was enough to intimidate the others into line.
That griffon was terrifying. Not only were they bigger than any griff I had seen up until now, they were decked out in more kit than anyone else on the field. I couldn't imagine myself being able to swing that war club so easily, but they moved as if it weighed nothing at all. The armor they wore had a dull gleam to it, but it didn't match the distinct mail armor of the other leaders. And it would be hard not to mention that closed face iron helmet.
It made them appear less than a person. They looked towards our barricades as the skirmishers set off, and I couldn’t help the shiver that ran up my spine at watching that cold faceless foe.
The skirmishers advanced slowly at first, splitting into two groups of around a half dozen griffons each. They picked their way forwards slowly, none willing to be first into the line of fire.
As soon as our archers started loosing arrows against them however, they took to the air to close the distance as fast as possible.
As they approached I noticed that they weren't just carrying their weapons.
Bundles of kindling hung in their claws, each one no doubt containing embers to ignite rooftops once dropped from overhead.
‘Shit, that’s not good. Not good at all.'
We had water buckets at the ready in case of a backhanded strategy like this, but in the dry summer sun there was no guarantee that a fire wouldn’t spread.
One of the bandits was struck down by our archers as they rushed towards us, screeching as they fell to the dirt. It wasn’t a fatal fall, and they scurried back to their lines instead of pressing the advance.
Stopping those fire carriers was priority number one. In order to reliably do so, we needed to get griffs in the air to intercept them.
I could already see a dozen griffons taking wing from Gunther's section, and turned to order the same.
“Alright listen up!” I hollered at my forces.
“We’ve got skirmishers flying in with embers to try and burn our homes to ash. But we aren’t going to give them the chance.” Spines stiffened in anticipation.
I pointed towards a dozen of my fifteen griffs. “I need the group of you to be ones to meet them in the air. Grab the javelins and get up there. Try and knock them out of air, but focus on keeping them out of the village, and away from the archers.”
I paused for a moment before tacking on. "And be careful, you have more than twice the numbers up there, but don't get cocky. That's how you get killed."
Glancing back to the village, the reservists were already spreading out to respond to potential fires. "The reserves will take care of anything that catches fire, so just focus on what's going on in the air. Understand!?" Rapid nods were my answer. “They’ll be on us any second now, go!”
With that the aerial fighters took to the air, and I craned my neck up to watch the skirmish unfold.
"Uh... what about the rest of us then, Geralt?"
Right, I forget to tell the others what we would be doing down here. "Our job is twofold. Finishing off any bandit knocked down before they get back up, and to help out any of ours who suffer the same fate."
And on a less magnanimous note, I didn't want to be stuck alone on the ground during a battle.
The bandit probe was nearly upon us, and every griffon on the ground had their eyes upwards to watch the results.
The numbers were already heavily stacked on our side, twelve against five. The bandits tried to weave through the flying infantry to get through the village, but were intercepted by the javelins.
It was hard for one flyer to hit another with a thrown weapon when both were weaving through the air. Even something as big as a griffon was a tough target when you only had a few days training. Of the seven javelins thrown, only two struck their targets.
One of the bandits thumped down into the dirt behind the barricade after being struck in the wing. The four of us on the ground rushed forwards and stabbed her from all sides before she could get up. The padded armor on her meant that they were probably the leader of this group of fodder.
The other had taken a hit straight to the barrel, and made no move after hitting the ground. A quick stab ensured that would stay the same.
All around me, the others were stamping out dropped kindling. The attackers must have elected to drop their payload as soon as they were attacked to fight back effectively.
Looking back up to the skies, I watched our flyers engage the remaining three bandits.
Either because of a lack of training, or the chaotic nature of air combat, two of the bandits were swarmed by most of the militia. The last backed up, unwilling to attempt a rescue action. I watched as the fighters weaved through the air, spears jabbing outwards to try and knock their foes from the sky.
The ones unlucky enough to be the center of attention fell in short order, unable to defend all directions at once. Once on the ground, it was simple enough matter to ensure that they stayed down after the fall.
The last bandit decided to dive down towards the ground, and was followed by two of the militia. At first I was glad that we were gaining on them, but things quickly turned. The brigand spun onto their back and slashed up using their spear.
The spear cut through the wing of one of the pursuers, and threw off their wingbeat. Carried by the momentum of their dive, they went straight down into the dirt.
We all immediately made a panicked rush to check on them, and the other chasing militiagriff flared their wings out to break the pursuit in a panic. The bandit immediately booked it back across the field towards their own camp, weaving through furious arrows all the way.
Reaching the fallen griffon, I was relieved to hear ragged wheezing coming from them. They were alive.
"Quickly! Get them to Felian! Go!" I shouted. Lifting them as gingerly we could, we rushed back to the village medical station.
Upon reaching Felian's position, we were greeted by the copper smell of blood. Two other griffons were already here, though neither were in as bad a shape as our casualty. To his credit, Felian was quick to recognize the extent of the damage. Broken ribs and probable internal damage was the diagnosis.
Before we could ask about the chances for them to live, Felian was already shooing us away. As we were pushed away to let him work, I caught the faint glow of magical medicine come out. Hopefully Felian could save them, but we had to return to the line before the main attack came.
As we returned to the rest of our group, I could tell that despite our victory, seeing someone they knew for perhaps their whole lives being carried limply away had shaken the villagers. It would take more than that to break us when we knew the costs of failure, but it reminded us of our own mortality.
I myself tried to put the image of the broken griffon to the back of my mind, and focus on the results of the probe.
We had indeed taken out a fifth of the enemy force with only a handful of wounded on our side. At the same time, only the dregs of their number had been sent against us. All the true fighters waited across the field from us, undoubtedly just waiting for the order to advance and wipe us out.
We had tipped our hand a little bit by using the javelins on the first strike, but I felt it was worth it to help minimize losses. Speaking of the javelins, I directed the militia to try and gather up both the javelins and the weapons of the fallen bandits. We would need as full a salvo as could be managed for the main attack.
While that was being done, I looked back towards the bandit army to see what their reaction to the whole affair was.
The few survivors had been absorbed by other bands, while the bandit captains flitted over to coagulate around their leader again. No doubt discussing their next move. We had gained ground in the balance of power certainly, but nothing was guaranteed in a battle, and they were just one reversal of fortune away from wrapping us up.
As they returned to their bands, I knew in my heart they reached the same conclusion I had. There would be no more probes, they would need bring their full weight to bear on us to break us.
The next attack would be the fulcrum of Blackwood's fate.
The bandits apparently weren’t interested in wasting any time today, and immediately began to organize themselves for a general advance on our position. Directly opposing me, the enemy leader stood at the head of his brigands.
As I peered across the fields at him, I felt a sudden shiver went up my spine. It felt like we were staring right at each other. The menace that damn bastard oozed from every pore was overwhelming. Something about the cold callous way that they acted just... screamed danger.
It wasn’t long before they began advance, marching forwards on the ground. The bandit leader had managed to wrangle his disparate forces together into a more consistent formation, and they advanced quickly across the fields.
As soon as our archers started peppering the enemy mass, their archers halted to answer in kind. Broadhead arrows flew back and forth, sending us ducking for cover behind the barricade.
There was a cry of pain from next to me, and I whipped my head around to see that one of the villagers had been struck in the shoulder with an arrow. She fell back from the line to treat the wound, but returned quickly once a bandage was applied. At least we had something to hide behind to minimize the impact.
Arrow fire from the archers dropped a handful of their number, but it was the javelins that left the biggest impact once again. The two dozen projectiles were launched in a haphazard volley from all along our defenses, and just under half of them found their mark in the loose formation. The powerful missiles made their mark with aplomb, wiping ten bandits from the field.
Though the impact slowed the advance as they stumbled over their fallen, I didn't have the time to appreciate the results of my creations. The bellowing of their leaders sent the remaining bandit infantry charging straight into our braced defenses.
The common brigand was not able to make much headway against our positions, but the bandit chiefs proved to be far more capable than their underlings. Armed and armored, they were able to push their way closer in, and with their help the bandits were able to force our line backwards.
In front of me, the bandit leader waded into the fray. They swung their war club like a hammer, batting away spearheads that scraped against scale armor that they were wearing.
“C’mon lads, get in there and kill them already!” The deep voice of the bandit leader boomed out as he pushed forwards towards our barricade. The bandits renewed their pressure on the line, those with shield and axe pushing us back while their spears consolidated gains in distance.
Once they reached the barricade, axes began to chop at the wood between blocking spear thrusts. Once they had deemed it sufficiently weakened, the bandit leader charged forwards to shatter it once and for all with a wild overhead strike.
With the barricade in ruins, they bandits began to push us back ever further. Unless something changed in the next few moments, we would start losing griffs. Once those dominoes began to fall, it wouldn't be long before our whole line collapsed.
The signal for that phase came in the worst way possible for me. The scaled bandit charged forwards and with a swing of their club, shattered the shaft of my billhook. In shock, I retreated backwards a few steps, and the rest of the line followed.
Well, most of the line. One poor griff had their weapon hooked in the retreat. They were yanked forwards, and quickly butchered by the advancing bandits.
The sight of that caused us to back up even further, past the flanking houses into a more open area. Here both sides began to spread out, us out of confusion and fear, and the bandits as they recklessly chased. At least in the more open space, our numerical advantage could show itself more as gaps opened up to attack bandits from the side.
Unfortunately for me, the bandit leader was intent on following up into me after he broke my billhook. But I was fortunate enough to have another weapon with me.
Taking as steady a breath as I could manage, I dropped the broken piece of wood. Sliding my sword from the scabbard, I braced for the oncoming threat.
The bandit commander charged in to end the duel as quickly as possible. They swung their war club at me in an overhead strike. Powerful, but slow, and only targeting a small area.
I jumped to the side to avoid the oncoming death, and tried not to think about the sudden gust of air as his strike passed me by.
Before they could recover, I slashed at his legs. He let out a small grunt of pain, the only indication besides the trickle of blood that I had done anything to him.
As I hopped backwards to make some space, it was made clear that the reach of our two weapons were not too dissimilar. I had the advantage in mobility here though, with the scale armor restricting their movement. At the same time, I had to get in closer to be able to strike downwards at their limbs. They were the only part of their body I could reliably damage with everything important sealed away.
I risked a quick glance around to see how the rest of the fights were going. The forced retreat turned to be what we needed to stabilize. While I had been forced back consistently, the others had held their own or even defeat their foes with the help of their comrades.
Not all of them though, I could recognize the shape of one of the villagers lying motionless in the dirt, the victorious bandit joining one of the other skirmishes going on.
The archers on our side opened up their bombardment again, having fallen back to stay away from the main battle. This added further pressure on the bandits, though with how close the fighting was the amount of arrows incoming was slowed drastically to avoid friendly fire.
Returning my gaze to the matter at hand, the bandit captain started making more conservative strikes with his weapon. The spikes on the head meant that he could rely on shorter side stabs as much as blunt trauma to kill me. These moves left me little potential to respond, and I switched over to the defensive.
Retreating ever backwards, I focused on the rhythm of their strikes. A single hit from that weapon would spell my end. Back and back, and back again. The constant pressure ate at my mind, and I searched for a way to flip the situation around.
Eventually, I saw my opportunity. As the bandit's strike passed by me, I moved forwards to close the distance. My intention was to jam my sword as deep as I could into the opening for their wing in the armor.
I made a mistake. On my strike, they raised their wing and caught my blade in their own flesh. I was shocked that they would let themselves be hacked into like that, and didn't notice their return strike.
Their armored head bashed into mine. Stumbling backwards, it was all I could do to raise my sword to stop their club from killing me right then and there.
'Oh, no no no!'
Sensing imminent victory, they moved to finish me off. The next strike knocked my sword from my claws. This was followed by a wide sweeping strike. Against an unarmed opponent, they had no reason to restrain their moves. Instead they fought with reckless abandon, fueled by bloodlust.
I dived to the side to avoid it. Down in the dirt, I looked up at my death. My mind went blank in terror as they sauntered over to me.
The sudden appearance of a spear saved me from my fate. Rapid jabs forced them backwards, as withdrew to consolidate their posture.
It seemed that I wouldn’t be fighting alone anymore. As I quickly crawled away from danger, I looked to see who my savior was.
It was Gunther! At the same time, cries of "for Blackwood!" announced to the other fighters that reinforcements had arrived.
Nearly a dozen more griffs joined the fray against the bandits. Gunther must have already beaten off the attackers at his section, and led the reserves to mine.
His timing could not have been better. The bandit ignored my wriggling flight, and directed all his attention to the new threat.
While the others moved to push back the common bandits, I retrieved my sword from the dirt and joined back up with Gunther.
Gunther had caught the bandit by surprise, but he was placed in a disadvantage as soon as focus shifted to him. He was quicker, both on his feet and with his spear than the bandit chief, but was hampered by a need to act cautiously. Without a backup weapon, he could not risk having his spear broken, else he would be crushed by the follow up strike much like he had saved me from.
I panted as I felt my muscles burn from the exertion of the day's fighting. Fighting was exhausting work.
It was then that I realized how we could beat this monster. If I was tired, then they must be getting damn near exhausted. They had not only had to run across a field to get here, but that huge weapon and their armor must be weighing them down a ton. Shaking my head, I tried to compare their current movements to the ones at the start of the fight.
Sure enough, their swings were slower, and they were less willing to make major changes in their stance.
Moving around to the side, I readied myself to end this. I doubted that I would be lucky enough to escape death again today, so I had to choose my time well.
Eventually, the bandit leader got sloppy, and overextended. They struck out with a strong forwards thrust against Gunther, and in doing so I caught a glimpse of the white feathers of their neck between the armor.
Sensing that the moment had come, I charged straight into the fight. Caught out of position, they had no chance to respond to my attack. They were far to sluggish this late in the battle.
Rushing in, I swung my sword at their neck in a huge overhead strike. Metal clanged on metal as I missed my goal, and smacked them on the back of the helmet.
The force of my blow carried the day however, as my longsword slid down the back of their outstretched helmet and into the neck.
Blade bit into flesh, and with a rapid sawing motion of my sword, it was over.
Upon seeing their leader's head hit the dirt, the remaining bandits broke and ran. Our winded forces made no immediate moves to pursue. Instead, we all took a moment to compose ourselves as they fled.
The fighting in the village had not come without cost, but we had slain their leaders and forced a retreat. While there was some fighting still to go, for all intents and purposes, we had won.
The surviving bandits had regrouped with their archers just outside of bow range, unsure of their next move. We were just preparing to sally out and finish this when a war horn blared out.
The bandit party immediately broke apart to flee in all directions, and it soon became apparent why. Emerging from the woods the bandits had originally come from, another group of griffons came charging out.
Rather than the motley collection of bandits or our own haphazard levy, these griffs were professionals. They wore chainmail over most of their bodies, with iron cuirasses and helmets, and they carried professional weapons suited to war.
They smashed into the routing bandits, and quickly tore them apart. I watched wide-eyed as the leading soldier swung a blade with a faint blue glow. That blade met the short sword of a bandit archer and cleaved through the metal like butter, taking the life of the bandit in the same stroke.
So magical weapons were a thing in this world. Cool. That blade defied any law of material properties that I could think of, so magic was the only explanation.
Though they tried to flee, the exhausted bandits were unable to escape from the soldiers, and were cut down like wheat in our fields. The whole affair was over in less than five minutes.
My militia and I watched slack-jawed at the professionalism and martial prowess on display in front of us. But before long, the attention of the soldiers turned towards our battered village and those defending it. The lead griffon with the fancy sword and two escorts approached us on foot, coming to a halt a few dozen paces before us.
“Well well well, I can honestly say that I’m surprised to see this place still standing!” The cheery voice of a male griffon broke through the tension in the air, before he removed his helmet to reveal pristine white feathers. This casual action caused his guards to stiffen at their lord’s insistence to expose himself on what was a few moments ago an active battlefield. “I was worried that we would only find a smoldering husk when we arrived, and at best I had hoped to fall upon the knaves while they looted! You, my good griffs, have proven me wrong. I had underestimated the valiant bravery of the people who call this village home!”
The villagers around me puffed out their chests with pride at the praise. “And I hope that tonight, you will allow me and my knights to celebrate this grand victory with you! We have wine that needs to be drunk, and it is always better shared with a comrade! So would you be willing to allow us into the village?”
"That's Lord Silas! He must have been chasing the bandits. No wonder they all grouped up," one of the villagers next to me whispered in awe.
I guess that settled it then, we could hardly refuse our sworn lord from entering part of their own domain. Especially after they just wiped out the surviving bandits with such ease.
I stepped up to the wreck of the barricade and cupped my claws to my beak to answer. “Of course Lord! We welcome you and your noble knights to the village of Blackwood!”
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Lord Silas and his war party joined us inside of Blackwood. Despite them having been too late for the battle proper, there was a sense of relief in the air seeing the soldiers walking among us. We had already done our bleeding for our homes, and could turn things over to the professionals.
Overall, the entirety of our casualties amounted to a mere four dead and nineteen wounded. I knew that we had gotten off very lightly in the grand scheme of things, but that didn’t ease the knowledge that I had led people to their deaths. I just kept repeating to myself that whatever else happened today, it could have been far, far worse for us.
As we began dismantling the defenses around the village, I looked over to where the mass of wounded was laid out in the village square. The more fortunate among them were upright and talking, while others just lay there on their sheets with only the faint rise and fall of their chests telling that they still clung to life.
It was the ones who were awake and crying out in agony that sent a chill down the spine of anyone listening. Felian had reserved the limited supply of sedatives for those in the worst shape, and that left a handful of the wounded awake to suffer.
At least we were fortunate enough to have actually have a real healer to take care of injuries. I had a wretched feeling in my guts that the death toll would be much higher if we didn’t have Felian to bring them back from the brink. Even the one who had fallen onto the barricades had lived, saved by the application of a magical poultice that had managed to knit together his innards. Chances were still slim for some of them, but it was a chance nonetheless.
Far better off than the bandits. Not one of the mob that had come here had survived. Instead, their bodies littered the streets and the surrounding fields, lying wherever they had fallen.
When I had first taken in the sight of the fields of the dead, it sent me retching as the adrenaline from the battle had worn off. I had never seen so much blood in my life. Whether or not I would ever be cut out for the battlefield was something I couldn’t say at this point. Something would have to be done about the bodies before long, before they began to fester.
There were those here who seemed unfazed by the whole ordeal. Most of the villagers wore grim expressions as they surveyed the carnage. The knights on the other hand laughed and joked as they went to retrieve their packs from the woods they had stashed them in, completely indifferent to sights of violence.
As that was being done, Lord Silas approached Gunther and I as we began to organize the battlefield cleanup. He took a seat on nearby stump, chainmail clacking as he listened in.
Gunther gave him a nod of acknowledgement before sitting back up, stretching his claws out in front of him. "Right then, I'll go and round up some folk still in working order. Get out there and deal with all those bodies. See if we can't get 'em all dealt with by nightfall."
“Oh… but can’t such a thing wait until the morn? You’ve fought and won, you’ve earned a rest. Let the bugs and worms feast on them, as we feast ourselves!” Silas complained. This drew raised brows from the both of us. That was a rather... childish opinion to take. Best to fix up a mess before it gets worse, and from what I tell Gunther was in agreement.
“I’m afraid not, Lord,” Gunther replied with a deep bow. “Better deal with it now, rather than risk us all get sick in a couple of days.”
“Ah, very well. I suppose you are right dear eldergriff,” Silas capitulated immediately, waving off his previous complaint with a laugh. “I do tend to get caught up in the moment sometimes. But I worry that there will not be enough time in the day to both deal with the fallen and the celebrations of the victorious. It has been a pleasant distraction to go gallivanting through the countryside to deal with pests, but I must return to the city as soon as time permits.”
There was a sudden gleam in Silas' eyes before he pumped his fist in the air excitedly. "Ah! I see the solution here! My soldiers and me will assist in the cleanup. In doing so we will both complete the duty faster, and be able to compensate for our inability to arrive earlier to assist in battle."
Silas then suddenly lowered his head and thumped a fist to his chest in salute, surprising the two of us. “And I must apologise for the fact that your village was besieged. I had not thought it likely that the scum would try and gather together a force to oppose me. In a way, ‘tis my fault that your village was attacked. And for that, I beg for forgiveness.
To the victor go the spoils however, so not only are you entitled to salvage rights to their equipment, any that can have a bounty tied to them is yours to claim as well. Consider this as some recompense for the suffering you were subjected to. It will not bring back those who perished, but mayhaps it will improve the livelihoods of this noble village.”
Despite the constant left turns Silas kept throwing into the conversation with his wild way of talking, that was some good news coming from the whole ordeal. It looked like a trip north to the city would be in the cards soon for the market and those bounties. More arms and armor would be helpful if any more attacks were to happen, but the resale would give us the chance to replace lost livestock virtually free.
But before we could think about the future, we had to deal with today. We gathered up all those sitting idle, and moved out into the fields to deal with the corpses. One more grim task ahead of us, and then we could put the bloodshed of the day behind us.
Stripping the dead of their belongings was a deeply unpleasant work. Getting up close and personal with the bodies like this meant that you became intimately aware of how exactly they died, and felt the blood seeping from wounds stain your claws as you peeled amour off bodies and searched through pockets.
While most of us trawled the fields, others had been sent to collected material together for a set of pyres. They had built four smaller ones, each holding the remains of one of our fallen villagers lain with care overtop. And a dozen paces away, a larger pyre had the bodies of the bandits piled haphazardly on. Twice it had to be expanded, as more and more corpses were dropped on top of the heap of wood.
After a few hours of grim work the fields had been swept of the dead, and we were all called together to witness the funerals. Forming a loose circle around the five pyres, Gunther then stepped forwards to begin the ceremony. Speaking solemnly, he addressed the crowd of griffons.
"We gather together on the field of battle in order to witness the departure of these souls from the world, and to be the ones to send them on their final journey as they return to the skies." Everyone present bowed their heads respectfully as he proceeded.
"To the fallen warriors of Blackwood, your valiant spirits and determination to defend your homes and families will not soon be forgotten. And to those who came to us with cruelness in your hearts, may you find a new path in whatever awaits you next, free from the sins you have committed on this world."
The knights formed a loose circle around the front and saluted to the pyres, as Gunther stepped forwards with a torch in his claws. With him came four other torchbearers, the kin of the fallen.
“And as we light these fires, may the ashes of the fallen take flight once more, and bring them on a journey to lands beyond.” With that, the torchbearers set the pyres alight, the flames swirling upwards and surrounding the bodies atop them.
Fires cracked and popped, roaring up to the skies as the bodies burnt away. As they did so, the gazes of those watching were drawn upwards. I watched as the ashes twisted and turned in the smoke, lifted by the updraft into the cold northern skies.
So this is what a griffon funeral was, a return to the skies, and an end to the cycle. It really was an incredible sight to behold, a sort of finality and disconnect to the world below.
Once the villagers corpses had been immolated, the crowd began to return back to Blackwood. The bodies of the bandits would burn without witness. We had provided face enough with the pyres, and none were willing to stand vigil for them as they burned.
As I walked, I couldn’t help but keep looking upwards at the sky. I was suddenly acutely aware of the bandages that remained on my wings. Watching those blackened flakes swirl through the breeze, I was once again eager to fly myself.
Tomorrow, it would time to remove that splint, and find someone who would be willing to teach me about a core part of what it means to be a griffon.
The solemn atmosphere remained as we returned to the village, but quickly turned to raucous celebration as soon as the first jugs of wine were brought out. Lord Silas and his war party had brought a treasure trove of wines and meats with them, and the villagers were eager to taste the luxury of the nobles for themselves. One of the last pigs of the village was slaughtered as well, and became the centerpiece of the burgeoning party as it roasted on a spit.
The celebrations had rapidly come to resemble a miniature festival, with various games and music popping up as the evening carried on. I found myself fascinated by the archery contest, watching as Cyril managed to best one of Silas’ knights. The knight accepted her defeat with grace and passed a handful of coins off to the young griffon, much to his delight. Cynthia had participated as well, making into the top five, but there were some good shooters amongst the soldiers who overtook her.
The intensity of the party remained as long as the suns light remained overhead. Joyous griffons chatted excitably and played card games at tables, and everyone ate their fill from the piles of food scattered throughout the village.
As the sun sipped down towards the edge of the horizon, the party began to quiet down. In the fading evening light, griffons made hushed conversation over wine at tables lit by torches and fires.
I was sat at one of those isolated tables nursing a cup of wine, when I found myself approached by Silas emerging from the gloom.
“So, I have heard that you are the mighty warrior responsible for organizing the defense of this village,” Silas said as soon as he sat down opposite me. “A remarkable feat to face off against a superior foe with so few dead. That, well that is something rarely seen.”
“I suppose that’s true. Wouldn’t exactly call myself a warrior though. That was the first battle I’ve ever been a part of.” Being praised for my ability to kill made me uncomfortable.
“Oh, what would you call yourself then?” Silas raised his brows. That clearly wasn’t the answer that he had been expecting.
“I... I’m not sure to be honest. I’ve only been here for a month at most, and my life has changed so drastically it's completely unrecognizable to me.” I took another swig from my wine before continuing.
“I mean if someone had told me a month that I would be fighting off a horde of murderous bandits in a little village of griffons, well I would have thought they were insane," I concluded with a chuckle.
"Oh? Pray tell, what was your life before? You have piqued my curiosity," Lord Silas asked, leaning in towards me.
"I'd just been a junior engineer, set to carry on the family legacy. That was before I woke up in the woods here, without a clue how."
"Ah… a learned griffon then." Silas nodded in understanding. "An education is always a valuable thing to have, though I must confess I am unsure how overtly useful it is for a small village such as Blackwood."
"Yeah, but that's pretty much all I'm good for here in the village. I teach some literary lessons to the villagers, and a few other classes for those who care to attend. Basically just wander about the rest of the day. Got a few coins that I'm slowly burning through paying for food and board." As I spoke I came to a realization.
"Probably will need to find something else soon or move on, eventually that money will run out after all. Never tried farming, might end up being alright at it."
Silas considered my words for a minute before asking another question. "What led to you deciding to stay and defend this place? From what I have gathered, you have no great ties to this place. Yet you, someone unused to the horrors of battle and ignorant of the art of war, stayed and fought for those you have barely known."
I furrowed my brow as I came up with answer. That was a bit of an odd question to ask, but I guess it was a bit strange to risk myself like that.
"Well, they took good care of me when I had nowhere else to go. They're a good bunch of people, and I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if I just left them all to die. I had a few ideas from history that I thought could help out and protect the village, and so I shared them." At least that was the way that I saw things. Apparently Silas thought differently.
"But you didn't just 'help out', as you put it. I have heard from some of your compatriots that you were the one who personally fought and slew the enemy champion. You helped plan the defense certainly, but you also fought on the front as well. Those are hardly the actions of someone just helping out," Silas insisted.
"In fact Geralt, I am convinced that you are a most honorable and humble individual. Your actions may have been the saving grace of this village, along with everyone in it."
I frowned as Lord Silas continued talking. Where was he headed with this?
“And as such, I am led to believe that you would make an excellent knight for this village.”
My mind came to a screeching halt as I processed what just happened. That was pretty much the last thing I expected to hear. At least I didn’t do a spit take, and was able to choke back my drink.
"Wha... what?" I nearly shouted at him in protest. “But… I’m no noble! Why would you make someone like me the knight of the village!?”
Silas waved off my protest dismissively. “Ah, no need to fret over that. While indeed it would be a cause for concern among the rest of the peerage if I were to gift a commoner dominion over a town or other larger fief, especially one with subordinate Lords, it will raise no issue to assign a mere village to an impressive commoner.”
“Wha… are you sure about that?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The idea that someone would simply give dominion over a place like it was a party favor was completely alien to me.
“Yes, Indeed I am! You see, my lovely sister Elaine, well she has told me that I need to find some respectable griffons outside the current political circles to raise up and take ownership of the unclaimed fiefs directly outside my city. Something about the risk of allowing others too close to home. I trust her judgement in the matter, and as such I confess a ulterior motive to my travels the past few days. I have been searching for individuals just like yourself.” Silas began talking excitably now, as he dumped out what were most certainly political secrets to anyone listening in.
"But... what about Gunther though? He has been the village eldergriff for years! He was the one who had saved me when the bandit boss nearly killed me? Why choose me over him if you are going to pick a knight?"
"Gunther is a mighty warrior and a skilled leader in his own right, that much is true." Silas leaned back humming, before sitting straight once again. "But I have been told that he cannot read, and that is a unfortunately a great issue when it come to the peers. You on the other hand, you have an education and have near certainly spent some time in formal circles. I am confident that you will have a far easier time navigating the wyverns nest that is the court, and as such lend your aid to me more easily."
“In summary,” Silas fixed me with a steady smile, "you are educated, honorable, and already have formed a connection with the people of this village. I can think of none better suited to take the prestigious position of Lord of Blackwood." He thumped his fist to his chest in salute before going even further.
“As such, I make this oath to you. I will see you made a peer of the realm, as commendation for your skills and honour.” Lord Silas leaned in pretty much straight across the table, and I could smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. The lord was drunk. That explained a lot. Oh good lord what had I just gotten myself into.
I was in a stupor as he toasted to my achievement once more, before Silas disappeared once again, presumably to find more to drink.
That left just me sitting at the table in the dim evening light.
Alone.
As the sun rose the following morning, my mind felt hazy as I stirred awake. The memories of last night were murky amid the dull throbbing in my skull.
The first of thing that came to mind was my injury. My wing should be well and truly healed by this point, and I was eager to see for myself. Unwrapping the linen bandages, the splint that had been on my wing for almost the entire time I'd been in this world finally came off. Flexing my wing, it was nice to have a full range of motion of all my appendages again. Felt like progress.
As I grabbed a handful of dried fruits and nuts for a light breakfast, I remembered what Silas had told me last night. Right, he had sworn a drunken oath to me to make the Lord of Blackwood. Best to go deal with that first, there was no way that he was actually committed to what he had said, right?
But the moment that I stepped out of the door, I was immediately greeted by Silas' smiling visage. He rose from where he sat nearby. Had he just been waiting outside for me to wake up?
"Ah, Geralt!" Silas immediately approached me and threw his claw over my shoulder. “Are you prepared for the ceremony? We must begin soon. I'd like to spend as much time on the road today as possible.”
“My apologies, Lord Silas.” I bowed in greeting as soon as I recovered from the shock of being ambushed. “I thought that you would have changed your mind in the morning.”
“What, and make myself an oath breaker? I think not!" Silas replied with a little bit of indignation in his voice, but that was quickly smothered as he continued talking. "While my decision was certainly rapid, I am of course still confident in your abilities, young Geralt.”
Silas looked like could be only a few years older than me at most, and he was calling me young? He soon dragged me away towards the center of the village.
Upon our arrival, we found the whole of the village had been assembled once again. Everyone stood gathered in the village square, murmuring quietly amongst themselves. The mood in the crowd this morning could best be described as lukewarm. Everyone was still tired from the late night, and didn’t seem to have a clue why they had to gather again this morning.
The assembled knights and soldiers stood at attention in a neat row behind Silas. From the proud looks that they threw my way, it seemed that they at least had figured out what was about to occur.
As we entered into the square, Silas directed me to kneel before him. Doing so, he then raised his voice to address both me and the assembled griffons.
“Geralt, you have proven yourself to me as an honorable and capable individual. As is my right as Lord over these lands, you shall be rewarded for your actions.”
The crowd took a greater interest in the proceedings at the mention of a reward. The conversations in the crowd began to intensify, but a raised claw from Silas drew attention back to the matter at hand, and silence took hold. All eyes were forwards now.
“As such, I have decided that you shall be conferred the title of Lord of Blackwood, and raised to the status of a knight of my court.” The onlookers began glancing at each other in shock, confused by the sudden appointment.
“But with the giving of this gift, I must demand an oath of fealty from you.” Silas straightened up, and took a moment to mentally review his script before speaking to me again.
“Do you, Geralt, solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the realm, to act as a arbiter and leader to those under your wings? Do you swear to defend your liege and their lands, to be the shield against the horrors of the world? Do you swear to be forever honorable and virtuous, to stand as an exemplar to the world of dignity and grace?”
“I solemnly swear.” With that I brought my fist to my chest in salute, and tried to hide my nerves from the onlookers. No backing out now.
“Then I, Lord Silas of Griffenheim, accept your oath and welcome you as a peer of the realm. Arise now Knight Geralt, Lord of Blackwood!”
As I stood, I realized I had now officially entered the world of medieval politics, the halls of nobles and knights. If I had ever wanted a quiet and unassuming life, I had just lost the chance to do so. I looked to the people I had just been given command over, to see what their faces showed me about their thoughts on the whole matter.
The reactions from the villagers were far more muted than I had expected. They spoke quietly amongst themselves, but seemed generally placid about what had just happened. Their faces betrayed a little concern and wariness, but nothing like what I had initially feared to see. Felian even seemed to be slightly amused by the whole situation.
The only ones who had any stronger reactions were Gunther and Cynthia. Gunther was visibly frustrated, while Cynthia seemed worried. That was unexpected, and honestly a little concerning.
I resolved to try and get to the bottom of their reactions as soon as possible, and to see if I could nip whatever the problems they had with this in the bud. Those two were the ones I would consider myself closest to here in Blackwood, and I wasn’t going to let things all fall apart between us without trying to fix it first.
After the knighting had taken place, I searched around for my housemates. I found Cynthia just off the square, assisting in the cleanup of the victory celebrations. Her head was down to the ground as she worked, and was oblivious to my approach.
“Is there something that you want to talk about? You seemed pretty upset this morning," I asked.
Cynthia damn near jumped out of her feathers when I spoke. “Oh! Uh… It’s nothing Gera-, Lord Geralt.”
“Uh huh. For some reason, I doubt that,” I replied, entirely unconvinced.
There was an awkward pause, as she took a moment to consider her reply. “It’s just that... you’re our sworn Lord now. It’s kind of a lot to think about. It changes things, and I... I don’t know exactly how yet.” Cynthia refused to meet my gaze as she spoke.
Ah, that explained things. And the thing was, Cynthia wasn’t wrong either. At the end of the day, with my ascension to knighthood, Silas had placed an immovable barrier between myself and the rest of the village.
I sighed before responding. “It does change things, I’ll say that. But I don’t think that it will be nearly as much as you seem to think. It’s not like I’ve been crowned king or anything, I’ve just stepped onto the lowest rung of the nobility ladder. There isn’t that big a gap between us.”
I went on to explain, “I’m still the same person I was last night, who I am hasn’t changed. My role and purpose for being here, yeah I had no idea that this was going to happen. I had never intended to become tied down here like this.”
“So what, you planned on just leaving us behind?” Cynthia's tone turned sharp, and suddenly met my eyes for the first time this morning.
“No, nothing like that!” I shook my head vigorously. “I just… I don’t know how to say it properly.”
“Try.” Cynthia fixed me with the same hard stare that Gunther often wore.
“Alright.” I took a deep breath before trying to voice my feelings. “What I meant is, I didn’t think that I would be forced to take on responsibilities here like this.”
“I’ve never seen myself as someone to take on the role of a leader, you know? I’ve always been more of a drifter through life. But now here I am, I’ve somehow become the one who's supposed to be running the whole village. It’s a lot to take in, and I don’t know what is going to happen,” I said with a sigh.
“I guess what I’m trying to say here is that I never came here seeking to become a Lord. Silas didn’t even ask me if it was what I wanted, he pretty much just foisted it on me. But now I am, and I’ll try to do the best that I can for everyone here in Blackwood. But no one rules alone.” I fixed Cynthia with as steady a gaze as I could manage.
“I may be the Lord now, but I will still need the help of you, Gunther, Felian, and the rest of the village.” I waved my claws around as I spoke, trying to make myself as clear as possible. "I don't know how to farm, and I don't have a real clue how you live. I have some ideas for things that might improve things, but it's not like I'm some omnipotent god who can solve everything on my own. Progress takes time, and I need help if I can make whatever I dream up into reality."
“And I will keep teaching of course. I’ve had a great time teaching people here, and I don’t want that to stop now.” I chuckled as a thought occurred to me . "Hell, maybe now that its the Lord teaching the classes, more will show up to try and win me over."
That put a small smile on her face. Cynthia had been loving the classes, and I knew that she was happy that those would continue. Maybe she would like to try and teach someone herself.
“Speaking of teaching, I’m going to need to let you in on a secret.” I leaned in conspiratorially to whisper to her. “I don’t know how to fly.”
“What!” Cynthia recoiled in shock at my statement, and stared at me wide-eyed. I guess to a people who were half bird, someone not being able to fly was inconceivable. “But… wuh? How could you have never learned to fly!?”
I shrugged noncommittally before replying, “I just, never did. I’ve spent most of my life indoors with my books, and flying down a hallway doesn’t seem like the greatest idea in the world.”
Cynthia just stood there and blinked at me.
“Yeah, well that’s my secret revealed.” I said as I ran my claws through the feathers on the back of my head. Well, a part of a bigger one anyways. Better to ease into the life-changing revelations though.
“So what do you say? Would you be willing to teach me to fly? It’d mean a lot.”
Cynthia appeared astounded that I would ask her for something like that, but after a few moments of consideration, she finally gave me an answer. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that. I can teach you how to fly, Lord Geralt.”
“You can drop the ‘Lord’ with me Cynthia, we’re still friends after all. Besides. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it feels strange to hear that coming out of your mouth.”
“I can do that.” Cynthia smiled at me earnestly this time.
“Thank you Cynthia.” At last I had found a solution to one of the first problems I had in this world. And taken the first steps to mending my friendship at the same time.
There was one more thing I could offer while I was here though. “Do you want any help with the cleanup while you got me here?”
“Oh! Umm... yes actually, I could use some help with moving the tables back.”
As we heaved the heavy wooden tables back to the homes they came from, I reflected on the impact this day would undoubtedly have for the rest of my life. Whatever happened next, I had linked myself with the fate of this village, and had lost the chance to disappear quietly back to earth if I ever even found a way to do so. My life had been a constant chaotic ride recently, but it seemed that everything would work out alright in the end anyways.
Now I just had to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do now.
Gunther wiped the sweat from his brow as he worked the fields of his home. The harvest was shaping up to be a good one for Blackwood this year.
As Gunther’s eyes swept across the fields that stretched out around the only home he’d ever known, his heart swelled up with pride at the beautiful sight. Filled with potatoes, rye, and beans, those crops reaching up to the skies as they grew were the lifeblood of his village. Farming was good honest work, and it was the kind of work that was always going to be in high demand.
There was a reason that villages had continued to be founded and rebuilt no matter how many of them were destroyed. While it may have been safer living behind the walls of a city or a town, none of those places could remain standing without their villages providing a constant supply of foodstuffs to keep all the mouths fed. That was the great pride of the countryside, that they were the hardy griffons that kept the world running. He knew that everyone living out here believed that they were a tougher sort to stand and face the monsters of the world head on, with no tall walls or soldiers to hide behind.
Of course, it was a lot easier and a lot safer to be a farmer nowadays. Ever since the age of chaos had come to an end, there was no need to keep a blade on you whenever you stepped outside the village proper. No more watching the horizon while the rest worked the fields, keeping a nervous eye out for the myriad of horrors that lurked just out of sight. The world had gotten a lot quieter recently, that was for sure.
Gunther didn’t know who or what was responsible for the end of all the suffering, but he would be grateful regardless. He had worried that if things had gone on like that for much longer, the world itself might have come to an end. There could only have been so long they all could keep managing to scrape by.
With things having ended though, he was willing to bet that tons of griffons from the city would be packing up their saddlebags and getting out. Whenever Gunther had gone up as an escort of the harvest, he couldn’t stand the horribly cramped and dirty streets of the city. There was a lot of empty space out here in the wilds, and no reason to hide away anymore.
That wasn’t to say that things were all nice and peaceful now. The bandit attack recently was proof enough of that. But the monsters and demons that had been so common to see stalking along the treeline had begun to disappear, much to the joy of the village. Everyone here could remember someone they had lost, and there were only a couple of villages that Gunther could name whose eldergriff placed emphasis on the ‘elder’ part of the title. You just didn’t tend to live long enough for that out here.
Gunther looked up to the skies, and saw the sun was perched near directly overhead. About midday then, a good enough time to take a little break. As Gunther shuffled over to the shade underneath the lovely patch of birch trees that had been left from the land clearing for just this purpose, he spotted his daughter nearby talking to Lord Geralt.
Lord, now there was another one of those big changes that kept happening recently. As far as Gunther knew, there had never been a Lord of Blackwood before. They had always been part of Griffenheim, and weren’t considered important enough for them to have their own noble sat living among them. Settling himself down on the soft grass with a grunt, he couldn’t help but wonder about that.
With the monster threat going away, why did they need to have a knight now of all times? Probably some political games going around up in the court. Maybe that damned spider of a sister that good Lord Silas had was the one responsible.
Letting out a discontent sigh, Gunther supposed that it didn’t really matter. The lord had the right to appoint vassals as they wished. So long as they were a decent enough sort, life would end up going on pretty much as it always had. The problem that Gunther had with the whole ordeal, was that he hadn’t even been consideredonce to take the title of his own damn home.
He had been the eldergriff here for years dammit, and he had been the one to see them through all the problems that the world had thrown against them as it tried to wipe them off its face. He could fight, and he could lead. Wasn’t that what a knight was supposed to do?
And while being the eldergriff wasn’t nothing, it just wasn’t something official. Sure griffons respected the eldergriff, they were the ones that villagers came to smooth over ruffled feathers, or to act as the village spokesperson. But at the end of the day, he was just another peasant. It would have been nice to have been rewarded for his years of work and care, for everything he had done.
Apparently all his efforts weren't enough for Lord Silas, and he had been passed right over for the young griffon who had wound up on their doorstep. Just one night of drinking with the biggest lord around, and Geralt had become a noble just like that.
It wasn’t like Geralt was a bad kid. He had some decent ideas kicking around inside of his head, so at least their young lord had some brains in him. Geralt had also fought for them, and that meant something. Gunther wouldn’t forget that anytime soon, and Geralt’s work had probably ended up saving several lives along the way.
Gunther just wished that someone would have approached him about the knighthood. That someone had thought a little bit more about what would happen if they shook up the order of things around here, instead of following whatever feather brained whim entered their mind. That they had treated the post like it mattered, and not some idle afterthought.
As a result, he couldn’t help but grit his beak in frustration at the new Lord. Oh Gunther knew that Geralt probably hadn’t gone out to try and anger him, but Gunther couldn’t help the way that he felt. To make matters worse, Geralt seemed oblivious to Gunther’s concerns, and they hadn't spoken much to each other since the knighting last week.
It looked like that was about to change though, as Gunther noticed that the Lord himself was heading over to speak to him. Guess it was time to face down the source of his frustration.
As Lord Geralt approached, Gunther rose off of the comfortable ground in order to properly bow in greetings to his new lord.
"What can I do for you today, Lord Geralt?" Gunther asked as respectfully as he could muster.
Lord Geralt shifted uncomfortably at the use of his new title, but answered steadily. "It’s nothing about you doing something for me, but I wanted to ask you a question, Gunther. Something that I think can benefit us both.”
Geralt paused for a moment before delivering his question. “What do you think about learning how to read, Gunther?”
Learning to read? That was a surprising question to ask him out of the blue. Gunther gestured for Geralt to continue speaking. Where was he going with this?
“You know, you’re still the eldergriff of the village, even if I’m the lord now,” Geralt began. “And I’ve said this before but it's worth repeating. No one rules alone. As the eldergriff, I see you as the one who I can rely on as my second, to do the running of the village while I lead it. Basically my… I think steward is the right word? Guess that’s not the important part right now.”
Lord Geralt took a seat beside Gunther and gestured for him to sit back down as well. “Anyways, as my steward, I was hoping that you would be willing to learn some literary skills. I believe that it would be something you could get a lot of benefit from, and would be a major boon for the rest of the village too.
You have a lot of experience in running the village, and I would be an idiot not to use it. But also, talking with Cynthia has given me a good guess as to why you have been so cold to me lately.”
Gunther stiffened at the last statement. What had Cynthia gone and told him? He hoped it was nothing that would anger their new lord.
“You’ve been the eldergriff here for, I believe she said you were going on eight years in the role? I get it, you don’t like having someone coming into your home and taking it for themselves.” Geralt turned to look back at Gunther with a bit of a sheepish smile.
“And to be honest, I had thought you were a good choice myself. Silas apparently disagreed, or at least told me that he wouldn’t make you lord since you can’t read. Also he was apparently worried that you would end up floundering a bit once you found yourself in the court.”
That was the issue!? Gunther could suppose that it was important for the nobility to be able to read. But he could have learned dammit! It wasn’t like he was opposed to reading, he just didn’t have the chance to pick it up. As for the rest, he knew how to keep his mouth shut and bow his head. He would have lived dealing with a couple of pompous assholes.
Gunther’s train of thought softened as he considered Geralt’s offer though. Wasn’t that what Geralt was offering him now, the chance to learn? Geralt seemed to genuinely want to help Gunther out. With a lord now in place, he had to admit he had a little more free time on his claws, so why not attend those lessons?
“Alright, you’ve convinced me. It would be good to finally learn to read.” Gunther stretched his back as he rose to his feet. Geralt’s face immediately brightened, and he started gushing about the virtues of reading.
“That’s great to hear Gunther! I’m sure that you’ll love it, reading is the key to opening a lot of doors for you. The bounds of knowledge awaits you, you can understand the mysteries of the past and prepare for the future. Writing is the greatest invention of all time, and everyone should try to take advantage of it as soon as they can!”
Gunther walked off, trying to hide the smile that had blossomed on his face despite his best efforts to remain stoic. When Geralt got going like that, he sounded a lot like his daughter back when she was just a chick telling him about all the cool new stuff she saw that day. Geralt acted as someone without any clue of the cruelty of the world, completely ignorant of hardship.
Must have been nice not having to worry about the worries of the world, or whether you would have enough to get through the winter. Raised in some manor house somewhere, with others standing guard. Free to do what you wish, and to dream constantly of tomorrow. That kind of attitude would have been crushed with the hardships of village life.
Times had changed though, and maybe that hope for tomorrow would be a blessing on their little village. For all his naivety, he at least could stand his ground when it counted. Maybe they would be able to get some good out of this Lord of theirs yet. And steward, well that sure sounded like a step up from eldergriff to Gunther. Once he had put some distance between himself and the others, Gunther finally let his smile spread across his beak as he returned to work.
It had been a sour morning at first, but the day was looking up. The bad times never lasted after all, something good always came around eventually.
Lady Elaine of Griffenheim was not having a good morning. It had started out well enough, but nothing good ever seemed to last for her.
She had finally, finally, finagled the court into agreeing to reduce the toll fees across their holdings for all travelers, letting traders and settlers come and go as they pleased. That was something that needed to happen, they needed to open themselves up to being connected again now that the dangers had passed them by.
The countryside was vastly depopulated, and Elaine was certain that the major settling out period that had just begun would continue for some time. The drop in revenue from the tolls would be offset soon anyways by the taxes raised out of new villages that popped up. Having griffons that felt loyalty toward the city of Griffenheim spreading through the realm into the other houses was an added benefit. Indeed it was major step forwards for them all, and Elaine was immensely proud of her accomplishments
Things had started to go downhill for her once Elaine learned that her brother Silas had returned to the city.
Silas liked to stylize himself as the grand knight of the realm, the protector of the innocents, and saviour of the downtrodden. In a way it was true, he really did seem to have a heart of gold beating inside of him. Even if he was incredibly shortsighted in Elaine’s opinion.
He would often choose to do something just because he believed that it was the right thing to do. He would go charging straight into the fray while damning the consequences just because he believed he had a duty to help.
From the first moment that he took power, he had begun instituting various programs to help the common griffons of the realm. From bread doles to find work programs, Silas had done everything he could to improve the lives of those under his ward.
And Elaine was the one who was left to pick up the political price. A little bit for every griff ending up costing an awful lot for the whole, and increasing taxes was never going to be a popular move. Elaine had spent a lot of the political capital that their parents had built up on stabilizing those radical reforms, and dealing with the fallout of Silas’ whimsy.
Silas may want to be the knight and savior of the realm, but he was also supposed to rule it. And therein lay the issue.
A knock on the wooden door of her study indicated that her brother had come to chat. Opening it up, sure enough Silas was waiting outside, standing there with that ever present smile on his face.
Inviting him in, Elaine began to update her brother on the affairs of the realm during his absence. Hopefully he had done much to clear out the vermin from the countryside.
“It is good to see you have returned safely. Do you remember what we had discussed before you departed?” Elaine made sure that he still had a grasp on the issues they were facing. A nod of confirmation satisfied her enough to continue.
“Very well. I have spent a great deal of effort in order to find those who are both capable and loyal within the city for us to appoint to the villages. I am confident that they will be grateful enough for the elevation to the peerage that they will support us for years in the court. And it is best that we move on this quickly, before the other houses begin their own maneuvers to place members of their families just outside of our city.” Elaine grabbed a piece of parchment with a list of names off of her heavy oaken desk and began to read.
“As an example, for the village of Blackwood I would recommend that we-” She was cut off by her brother’s boisterous voice.
“Ah, no need to worry about that one. I have already found and appointed a capable knight for that village on my travels,” Silas told her with casual confidence.
Elaine couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the dismissal. She set her paper down and stared her brother dead in the eyes. “Oh really, you did. Would you mind telling me who exactly you have found for Blackwood?”
Silas then regaled her with a tale about chasing a horde of bandits across the countryside, only finally catching up to them at the village of Blackwood. There he apparently found them crushed by the village militia, led by someone by the name of Geralt. It was this Geralt that her brother had given the status of knight, bestowing him the title the following morning after a night drinking.
Elaine sighed as she took in the information. “I wish you would have spoken to me about this, or at least taken some time to consider what you were doing before you did it. Rescinding promises is never a good look for me to take, and now you have forced my hand. You need to spend more time thinking about your castle and realm. Every move you make ripples, Silas.”
Elaine’s voice finally snapped as she spoke, and let the anger that had begun bubbling inside out into the conversation. “You can’t just play at being a knight anymore. Ever since mother and father died, you are the one who is supposed to be ruling this city! So you need to act like it, stop playing the hero and start thinking about what your actions cost us!”
“And you need to get out of the castle more often, Elaine,” Silas growled back at her. “I know that you have heard what they call you out there. The spider in the web they call, that you go about trapping and devouring all in your path. The common people have no love lost for you, not least helped by your complete and utter disregard for their plights.”
Silas approached her desk and thumped his claws down on the expensive lacquered wood. “You call me a child, someone with no thought to my actions, but I believe that the commons are the keys to the kingdom. If I am loved by their people, what can the lords and ladies of the realm do to oppose me so overtly when their people sign my praises in the streets? I would rather be loved than feared, and to lead by example.
And another matter, sometimes you need to take action. If you spend forever waiting for the perfect moment you will never do anything at all. You let the ghosts of the past haunt you too much, dearest sister. You must be able to seize opportunity when it comes if you want to move forwards. You have been stuck in this castle and city your whole life, you need to see what our realm is beyond these walls. I have a feeling that the world will grow faster than we can imagine, and you cannot shut it out forever.” Silas spread his claws wide as he finished his speech.
Elaine puffed up her chest in indignation. “I am the one who ensures that this city remains standing, for all that you go gallivanting through the countryside. You seem to forget, the common people aren’t part of the court, the nobles are. They are the ones we need to work with if you want any of your creations and ideas to spread, for even within this city we need others to follow us in order to exert control. I don’t care what the commoners think of me, I will make sure that this city thrives regardless of what their opinions are.”
She pointed a finger accusingly at Silas. “You are the one who sits on the throne, not me. It doesn’t matter if I am loved, only that you are. Let them hate me if that allows me to make the hard choices that you cannot. I can suffer to be the villain in their stories so long as these walls remain standing as a result.
You may have the common griffon’s love, but you need to spend some more time caring for the opinions of the nobles. They see you as impulsive and childish, and as if being told off by a child they would rather ignore your commands and do as they please. You speak of the world outside the walls, yet you disregard those who rule it. The world is cruel, and you cannot solve all its problems.”
Silas shook his head sadly as Elaine finished. “I worry that you disregard yourself too much dear sister. You spend all this effort on the numbers and the running of the realm, but you need to consider that we rule people, not stones. It has been so long since I’ve seen you smile, and I worry that you have forgotten how.”
With that Silas turned and departed the study, casting one last glance back towards Elaine as he did. “I trust in the rest of your appointments, see to it that we have new friends in the court as soon as possible. I will see you later then, dear sister.”
With that he disappeared through the door, leaving Elaine alone in the room once more as it shut behind him.
Elaine let out a tired sigh as her brother departed. She had laid such careful plans to secure their immediate hinterlands, and now she would have to revise her timetables once again.
It was only a single village true, but she had spent time signaling to notable families of merchants and craftsgriffs that they would receive a fief soon as thanks for their support of the ruling family. Now she would be made into a liar, and to make matters worse any coin that had been saved to move out and construct their manor would most likely be spent spreading that word throughout the circles of power out of spite. A rise in complaints against her was almost guaranteed, and Elaine must be prepared to counteract them.
Whether they knew it or not, this Geralt figure had just made poor Elaine’s life that much more difficult. Elaine would have to take the measure of this griffon at the first opportunity, and see if they would be any great danger to her plans moving forwards. Elaine looked towards the corner of the room, where an ornate chess board sat on a small table.
She stood from her chair, and began to practice the game against herself. While not one to play the game recreationally, she loved the cold calculus of it all. To maneuver your foe into a corner, sacrificing the needed pawns for a chance of a greater victory.
Plans and plans, as she took on the role of the spider in the web of the court while her brother enraptured and rallied the people behind him. If all played out according to her schemes, pieces moved about to strike at unexpected angles, victory was assured. People appeared to be chaotic and alien on the surface, but deep down they all wanted the same thing. Their blind arrogance and self-service would doom them all if they couldn’t be chained and directed by someone.
Elaine soon tipped over one of the kings. Silas's parting words remained in her mind. Had she really stopped smiling over the years? Elaine made her way back towards her desk, and plopped back down on the soft fabric of her chair. Maybe she had become a little… dispassionate, about her life. But it was all for a cause, couldn’t he see that?
Elaine would see her home secured no matter what it cost her. She would never let these walls be breached so long as she still stood. Let them hate her, let them view her as the monster up in the castle on high. She would endeavor to protect them all the same, even if they couldn’t see the results of her constant toiling.
Sighing, Elaine opened the top drawer of her desk. One of the city’s apothecaries had just introduced a new way to distill alcohol from potatoes. While the potency of the alcohol was intended for use in remedies, something about cleansing the wounds, it was not long before the idea was copied by a brewhouse.
The result of those efforts was a slightly less powerful concoction, but one that could at least be forced down with some effort. Elaine had managed to acquire a bottle of this so-called ‘vodka’ for herself. The drink was utterly devoid of flavour besides burning, but sometimes you just needed something to make things a little easier.
Elaine grimaced as she took a drink of the transparent liquid. She could see why some of the castle guards had become so infatuated with the powerful drink, but as it stood it wasn't for her. Maybe mixed with something to give an actual taste to it. Something sugary would help. Like fruit juice.
The days since the knighting had passed by quietly as both the village and myself adjusted to the new dynamic between us.
For me, the largest developments were that the relationships with my housemates had begun to knit back together. Gunther began defrosting towards me after I spoke with him yesterday about becoming my official steward, and had once again greeted me warmly come morning. It was always nice to see more faces appear in my classes as well.
Today though the focus was on the flying lessons with Cynthia, with the two of us disappearing into the woods to practice. This had been the pattern over the past few days, and so far the lessons hadn’t gone all that well for me. I wasn’t sure if it was the fact that I had spent most of my life as a decidedly ground based race, but I had proven myself to be an extremely slow learner to the mechanisms of wing-powered flight.
There was far more than I had initially expected to how you were supposed to move your wings around to generate the upwards lift needed. Cynthia spoke of angles and directions incessantly, and trying to implement her lectures while also manually moving my wings was rather difficult. Instead I flapped around haphazardly, trying and failing to right myself in the air.
At least Cynthia didn’t seem to be discouraged all that much by the sorry sight, and was willing to put up with my struggles. She hovered easily in circles overhead, shouting encouragement down at me as I tried to hover over the forest floor.
“Come on Geralt, try and keep those strokes even! You keep knocking yourself off balance down there!”
I bit down on the frustration that was building inside of me. It was harder than Cynthia made it out to be. Focusing on what you were doing and how you were doing it simultaneously was no easy feat. Especially for flying, it wasn't possible to take time to stop and think. You had to always be in motion. Otherwise you would wind up smacking into the dirt like I had already so many times this morning.
There was something to flying that I was missing, something that went beyond the technical theory of flight.
After a few more minutes of clumsy flight, Cynthia apparently had enough of watching me flounder about and directed me to land. As I touched back down with a heavy thump onto the dirt, She landed much more gracefully before coming to speak with me.
“You know Geralt, when we started I still wasn’t fully convinced that there could possibly be a fully grown griffon in existence that didn’t know how their own wings worked. You’ve convinced me though, I don't think anyone could fake being that poor a flyer.” Cynthia shook her head sadly before continuing.
“There is some good news though, I think I’ve got an idea of what the problem here is, or at least the biggest one anyways.” Cynthia pointed towards me accusingly.
“You seem to have absolutely no connection with your own wings. You treat them almost as if they are something separate to yourself, like if you put on a cloak. And like if you were pulling up the hood on your cloak in the rain, you have to think about doing it. You can’t just do it by instinct alone.
And that right there is your problem, Geralt! You’re thinking too much about what you are doing. You need to rely on your instincts more, and just let them guide you. You're a griffon! Flying is in your blood! I can stand here and point out everything you are doing wrong, but I don't think that will help at all."
At this point Cynthia flared her wings and shot into the air. “At some point, you just need to empty your mind, and let your soul take control. Just spread your wings and fly like you know deep down you can, and until you feel it, you can’t know it. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can help much until you get there on your own.”
That might very well have been the most esoteric instruction that I had ever received in my life. But that didn’t mean it was wrong. I absently brushed against the feathers on my chest.
I wasn’t human anymore. I had known that I wasn’t on earth anymore, but I wasn’t even in my own body anymore. But that wasn’t true was it? It might not be a human body, but it was still my body. I moved the limbs, I felt the rise and fall of my chest. I wasn't possessing the body of a griffon, I really was one.
Looking up, I watched as a robin darted between the green summer leaves. If a bird could manage to navigate the difficulties of flight with understanding born purely of instinct, then it shouldn’t be something so out of reach to me.
In my heart, I still considered myself to have a human soul. But there had to be parts there that went beyond that, that were part of my new griffon nature. When I walked, when I left my mind behind and just moved, I could do so even on four strange limbs on my first day.
That had been easier to wrap my head around. Walking was not some foreign concept to either race I’ve lived as. If I was going to fly though, I would need to reconcile these two parts of me. Let them mesh together, and become part of a whole. I would never get off the ground until that happened.
While I knew that this was not going to be easy, it was a road that I needed to walk. Stretching my wings once more, I leapt up into the air for what must have been the umpteenth time that day. This time though, things would be different.
Instead of thinking about the movement of my wings, I focused on the open expanse of sky. The open air, the wind that blew through the leaves. This was something that persisted in whatever world I found myself in, the blue of the sky above was the same regardless of the differences in the world below.
I wanted to reach into that sky, to pull myself off the ground and beyond the trees. To see the world from new heights. And before I knew it, I looked around and saw the southern mountains clear as day over the top of the trees swaying beneath me.
I had done it! I was flying, actually flying. I took in the sensation of my wings that keep my aloft, feeling the muscles move subconsciously like the beating of my heart.
The movement I made that realization I immediately stumbled. Panicking, at lest I was able to beat my wings well enough break my fall. Cynthia was ecstatic about my progress though once I was back on the ground.
“You did it Geralt! That was the best I've seen you do since we started.” She let out a light giggle. “I think you’ve almost reached the same flying skill as any chick just hopping around for the first time. You’ve seemed to start to figure out that those wings on your back are actually part of your body.”
“Careful with the sass there Cynthia, that's your liege you're speaking to like that,” I replied with mirth in my voice.
Cynthia’s eyes shot open in terror, before she noticed the smile on my beak and pouted at me. “That was mean. Don’t go scaring me like that!”
She recovered quickly though, and resumed the role of a teacher. "Anyways, now I can actually begin to teach you to fly properly. You still have progress to make in embracing your own sense of flight, but for now let's just focus on keeping your strokes consistent.”
Cynthia soared into the air, and called up for me to follow. Trying to replicate my earlier success, I followed up off the ground into the air.
Soon we had progressed to directional flying instead of just hovering. The two of us skimmed over the summer forest, and I couldn’t help the dumb grin that covered my face. Cynthia only permitted me to fly just above the treetops, fearing me crippling myself whenever I suddenly dropped out of the air. This didn't damper my mood in the slightest though. The sensation of flight was amazing.
It felt like everything I had hoped it would be. The sense of freedom, the sense of adventure. Taking flight for the first time made the worries of the world below fade into the background, feeling as though the weight of the world had fallen from your shoulders.
That wasn’t to say that I was the most graceful flyer to ever take to the air. Cynthia deftly cut through the sky, watching me carefully as I flew. My own wingstrokes were far less elegant than the practiced grace on display. Instead my wings pumped furiously to keep me airborne, as I tried just to stay as balanced as possible and not veer off into the treetops.
It was not long before I began to tire, and Cynthia directed the two of us to set down on a barren expanse of smooth rock cladding the side of a hill. The break in the vegetation created almost a natural runway, and I was given the chance to practice gliding down into a more refined landing rather than drop like a rock.
As we sat there resting our wings, I felt a headache growing from the two halves of my mind warring with each other. To distract myself from the dull ache, I took to observing this neat little geological formation that we had stumbled across.
The smooth dark stone was arranged in countless layers stacked on top of each other, creating something that looked akin to a gigantic natural staircase which climbed up the side of the hill. A jolt of recognition shot through my mind as I gazed at the beauty of nature. This... this might be slate! Or shale, both were usable for my needs.
Excitedly I scrambled to my feet to make a closer inspection of the stone, and confirm that my judgement had been correct.
The stone appeared completely uniform to my eyes. The grains within were so small I couldn’t see any, almost as if it had been cast. I scooted over where a single brave weed was growing out from a crack in the stone. Picking up some of the broken chips around it, I brought them up to take a closer look. Those chips were small plates of rock, with smooth breaks along the planes.
That all but confirmed it. This here, was a slate deposit. By pure happenstance, we had come across the stone that eluded my searches on foot for weeks after a single day of flying. I felt almost like dancing across the wondrous rock.
Cynthia noticed my brimming excitement, and raised her brows questioningly. I enthusiastically shared my findings with her, and she gave me a small smile.
“I’ve never seen you so excited before Geralt. I guess this blackboard idea is a really a big deal to you huh,” Cynthia said.
“Yes!” I nearly shouted as I spun to face her with a manic grin. “The blackboard is the founding element of a modern education, a key to knowledge for the masses. You know how in class we have to practice our writing in dirt and how hard it is for everyone to really see and understand what is going on? Well, with a huge blackboard at the front everyone will be able to see what's happening.
Besides, you can also make smaller tablets for each of the students to work on themselves. I don’t know if Felian has enough chalk to make that practical right now, but I’m sure that we can find something similar to write with eventually.”
Cynthia cut through my dreaming with an intrusion of unfortunate reality. “The real issue I think would be how do you expect us to actually mine this stuff? I don't think that we have any tools for it around Blackwood. And Gilda is already so busy trying to rebuild all the pitchforks we tore apart for the farms, I don’t think she would be very happy if you asked her to make some picks just for your little project.”
She quickly added on, “Unless you think that this is more important of course, you’re the lord after all.”
I shook my head at that. I had been the lord for not even a month, I hoped that I could last a little longer than that before letting the power go to my head. The harvest was infinitely more important to Blackwood than my side project. There were a few hurdles I saw that would need to be overcome to get my precious slate it seems.
Initially I had hoped to do it all myself, slowly mining out my board and carefully dragging it back through the woods. I had nothing else to fill my days with at the time, and so I couldn't foresee any complaints with that. Unfortunately now I couldn't just disappear every single day, and my life would only continue to get more complicated as time went on.
Besides, as isolated as the source was out in the woods it was almost guaranteed that any mined pieces would have to be flown back to the village. Without any proper trails out there, a piece big enough to satisfy my requirements would be unlikely to survive the journey over rough and hilly ground. Not to mention the lack of equipment Cynthia already pointed out.
In the future, it may be possible for us to start a proper slate mine out there in the woods, but that would require the addition of trails and a proper logistics chain to make the whole idea feasible.
Maybe we would be able to solve all of this during our trip to the city. Speaking of the trip to Griffenheim, it was about time that we returned to the village to so I could check on the preparations being made.
The trip north to the city was shaping up to be a major event around the village. Such a journey was a rare thing, and only reliably happened each year after the harvest. The whole ordeal would take us several days just to travel, making it simply not worth the effort for mundane needs.
Apparently there used to be a smaller market town in the area that Blackwood sold to, but that place was no more. Only a few years back, it had been the unlucky victim of a massive demon attack, and had crumbled under the onslaught before help could arrive. The ashen remains of the town still sat in the area, and we would be forced to pass by it in our travels.
The few who survived had fled seeking sanctuary in Griffenheim, whose defenses had managed to withstand the horde that pursued them. Not without cost, so the rumors went. Apparently you could still see the gouges clawed into the stone walls around the gates. The gate itself looked new though.
As the plans were being drawn up, the most pressing issue on my mind was one of logistics. How were we supposed to transport everything? I knew that back in the day cargo was reliant on having oxen or mules to pull carts around, but we didn’t have anything like that around Blackwood.
My concerns earned me a tired sigh from Gunther. Apparently I had once again shown my complete ignorance.
“We’ll pull our own carts. ‘Course cows can pull them too, but we don’t have any of those here in Blackwood. Fortunately for you, I don’t think that nobles find themselves hitched up much. Besides, we probably only need one cart to move what we’re selling. Getting back though, we can most likely hire on a talbar boat to take us back down the river. All depends on how much you end up buying there.”
A small smile emerged on Gunther’s face. “After all, it’s not like we checked how much money we are going to be getting from the bounties.”
As he said that my mind went to the token that Lord Silas had left us after the clean up operation. That wooden emblem was proof of our deeds, and a tiny scrap of paper covered in names that we could collect coins for killing.
At some point I would need to come up with my own noble crest for signing off on documents? That was something that I’d never considered needing. Usually it was just a signature, but a stamp or symbol carried more value in an illiterate society. I'd ask about that once I reached the court to pay my respects.
Oh the court. The single most dreaded thing that I would have to face on this journey. While being a recluse of a lord hiding out in my village might let me avoid that impending disaster, that probably wasn't the wisest course of action.
Lord Silas had already made it clear to me that night drinking that he expected me to come to his aid in politics, and I couldn't betray my lord at the first opportunity. Especially not when they were essentially standing on top of me proximity-wise. In essence my political objectives on this trip were to make my official debut, then sit back to try and figure out what was going on in politics before I embarrassed whatever faction I was supposed to be a part of.
My worrying was broken by Gunther speaking up again. “Something that I wanted to ask before you leave, what're you planning for the miners? You’ve talked about how you want to hire some griffs to dig up your slate, but how long are you planning on having them sticking around here?”
“I was hoping to actually convince them to move here permanently. And we don’t need griffons who are used to digging properly down into the ground, just some average laborers can work well enough in the open mine. Hell even I would have been able to. Besides, they need to help cut a trail out there for the stone to move over.
But besides that all, I want to see if I can bring more folks to come and live here anyways. To try and build this place up into a proper town.”
Gunther replied without much enthusiasm to my ideas. “Yeah, I can understand that much I guess. I don’t have much love for town life, but if you want to try and build your own, well I guess that's your right. Besides, a market is needed around here anyways for all the villages, so someone has to take that job.”
I glanced to the side to judge the frown on his face. Maybe he was used to the stereotypical medieval city, but hopefully we could avoid as much of that as possible as we grew. I vaguely recalled that not all dark age cities were all as bad as believed, so maybe we could make it work. Wide open streets, and neatly arranged blocks could do much I felt.
That was hardly my specialty though. My focus would be on the river. A large river passed by Blackwood only a short distance to the west. I had wondered why it wasn’t built directly on the shore, and instead on the crest of a hill. Apparently unnaturally caused floods were not unheard of, and risked the village being swept away.
Rivers were too valuable to pass up on though, and the cities and towns that stood on them apparently had complicated gates and sluices built to try and control the raging waters whenever they occurred. Those sounded like impressive works, and something to pay a visit as a tourist.
My goal with the river in Blackwood though, was to turn the waters into the industrial lifeline. While I may know nothing about the design of a city or town, what I did understand was the world of math and physics. I was certain that the laws of nature would remain true in this world much the same.
The waters of the river were an easily accessible source of energy, one that could be drawn upon with a literal wheel stuck into it. That wheel could then power all sorts of repetitive motion, from milling grain to cutting wood to even a massive hammer.
That river would be the source of every industry I felt that was within reach. The only question was what to build first. That ended up being a fairly obvious choice to me.
“A mill? We already have a milling stone in the village.” Gunther informed me with a raised brow.
“Yes, but isn’t it far too tiring to work the millstone with just your own power? I want to go and build one fueled by the river. That will let us grind our grains far better, and as our fields grow in scale alongside the village we need the extra production capacity for later. Best to prepare early.” I gestured about excitedly as I spoke, images of bevel gears already swirling in my mind.
Recognition sparked in Gunther’s eyes as he pieced together what I was talking about. “Oh! I get what you’re talking about now. I’ve seen one of those places before. And you say that you can build one of those for us here? Now that's something I can properly get behind. I’ve worked the stone before, and it’s not easy work I can say that for sure.”
The project would give me something to occupy my mind on the trip. I just wished paper and parchment wasn’t so expensive, and I could make as many sketches as I wanted. Another reason to get my reusable writing surfaces as soon as possible.
The following morning, the small caravan began to set out on the trail leading us northwards. Progress was undoubtedly going to be slow and tiring, with only our own legs to rely on. Despite it being close to the peak of summer, there was still a slight chill that hung in the northern air just past dawn.
As we left the village, I watched as Gunther waved at us before he set off to work. He would be leading the village in my absence, just like he had before I arrived in this world. In a way, it was almost a return to form for him.
Cynthia walked besides me at the front of the little convoy. She would be the one dealing with the actual trading, since I had no frame of reference for the value of anything we were looking for. We brought the looted pouch of coins with us as well, something for her to work with while I collected the rest of the funds.
As we walked I was eager to see what the rest of the world was like. So far I had spent my time in this world within the confines of a single village. Blackwood was a lovely place and I hoped that I could lead them to prosperity, but the hope for adventure still stuck with me.
There was a wider world out there, and I had been dragged into the affairs of those who shaped it. From political banquets to mountain fortresses, I wondered just what awaited me in the future. I had been tossed into the struggles of the wider world, and it was time to sink and swim. My wings shifted on my back anxiously.
Traveling north along the earthen road, we passed through woods and hills on our way towards Griffenheim.
To the south far behind us, the mountains remained an ever-present fixture on the horizon. Those peaks gave us something to orient by. So long as those white-capped spires rising high into the sky were at our backs, we were northward bound.
I had never seriously considered the challenges of traveling in the pre-industrial age before. Having to walk all the way to a different city was no easy feat. Without easy access to detailed maps and intricate roadway networks, we were reliant on our own ability to orient ourselves and the experience of those who had made the journey before. But give a griffon a desire to get somewhere, and eventually they’ll find a way.
We at least had a trail worn into the landscape to travel along. The grass and topsoil had been scraped away by the weight of all the travelers and wagons that had passed by previously. The wheel ruts cut into the dirt were evidence of all the harvest wagons that had taken this particular path in the past. It was fascinating to think that we were essentially part of the maintenance of the road, crushing fledgling green shoots to keep it clear as we moved.
The first day of our journey passed without anything of note occurring. It was noon approached on the second day that we reached the ruins of the old market town.
The mood was dour as we gazed upon the silent stones and broken homes.
The curtain walls that had once stood around the town had been battered down in many places, leaving gaping windows into the town inside. Most of the towers had been felled, with only one left standing defiantly over the town.
The settlement itself was a desolate wasteland inside, with swaths blackened by fires that had long since burnt themselves out. Near the center of the town, the keep that once was the keystone of the defenses had been absolutely ravaged. It was barely recognizable as having been a castle at all.
It was a haunting sight to behold.
“Well, there it is.” I turned to look at Cynthia as she quietly spoke. “There’s what’s left of the market town I knew. That’s the ruins of Eyrinholm.”
There was a brief pause as we all assessed the ruins, before Cynthia spoke up again. “The river up ahead gets pretty shallow just past the town. We should be able to cross there easily enough.”
“Shouldn’t there be a bridge somewhere down in Eyrinholm there? Why don’t we try crossing there, take the easier road?” I asked.
The others were quick to voice their complaints at that plan.
“No way I’m risking walking through that place! Who knows what’s living in those ruins now?” Cynthia practically shouted at me. “Leave the delving to bounty hunters and that sort of folk. Dead places like this always end up attracting huge numbers of monsters to live in them. Something draws them there, and I don't want to know what it is.”
Another one of the villagers who had been to the city chipped in next. “I’ve heard that it’s got to do with the fact that there’s loads of big dark spaces for them to crawl into. End of the day though, Cynthia’s right. I’d rather stay far away from places like that, especially when I’m stuck to a cart. We’ll find a way across the water at some other point.”
“Let’s just go now. I don’t want to be sitting up here in the open more than I have to,” Cynthia said.
As we slipped back from the crest of the hill, I spotted the sudden shift of movement within the city. A massive lithe shape was slinking just in the shadow of the wall. Maybe the long road was the best call after all.
I wondered why none of the other cities or towns had come to reclaim this place. Leaving something like this to sit and fester seemed a poor choice for the safety of everyone living in the area.
Maybe it was too much of an investment to clear it out? Or there were just better things to spend your armies on. There was no way that it would be cheap or easy to clear out a place like that. Better to just pay the groups of mercenaries to keep the place contained instead of paying the massive costs to purge it.
We skirted around the ruins with as wide a berth as we could while still on the flat farmlands that let us keep a decent pace. Every griffon in the party threw the ruins nervous glances every now and then, making sure that nothing inside was looking out at us.
There was something deeply unsettling about that place. It was nothing like the ruined castles you saw dotting the countryside back home. Those fortresses and monasteries sitting overgrown and silent, a beautiful sight despite their disrepair. Eyrinholm was a place of ruin and despair. An ominous stain on the land, one that would persist until it either withered away or it was torn out.
Fording the river was a simple enough matter, even if it was exhausting work to try and keep the cart stable and secure while pushing it over the riverbed. For all that flight made traveling light a breeze, any sizable cargo was far too heavy to fly. The result in this case was a bunch of wet feathers and fur slogging across the river.
The rest of the travels were easy now that we were on the right side of the waters. It was a few more days of walking before we finally reached the coast, and the city that sat on it.
As we approached, I watched the walls of the city rise up to greet us. Those walls were an impressive sight indeed. They rose high into the air, nearly forty feet if I were to guess. And that didn’t even include the numerous gatehouses and towers that dotted the perimeter.
In front of the walls, there was a plethora of new construction popping up. Timber frames of future buildings rose as the city expanded outwards for what might have been the first time in a century.
Out of all the sights the city offered us as we came into view though, the castle dominated them all in scale and grandeur.
Sitting atop the peak of the tallest hill in the city, easily overlooked the entire city, and the walls themselves.
We soon joined the main roads of the city that led towards the gatehouse. Unlike the dirt trails that we had traveled on so far, here the road was a proper construction. Paving stones and drainage ditches, the cart passed far easier overtop it. It was a nice change of pace, and a sign that Griffenheim had a vested interest in the affairs outside of its walls.
Surroundings like us. There was much to do in the city to prepare for the future of Blackwood and our future growth.
At the gate we joined a queue of griffons waiting to get through the walls. Even without the harvest rush, there still was a significant number of griffs moving in and out of the city though the gateway. Most likely a number of laborers and craftsgriffs working on the new districts, who passed through the gate easily before flying to their destination. The majority of the carts in the line waiting to enter belonged to merchants though.
Or at least I thought that they were merchants. The amount of weaponry and guards that they possessed left me second-guessing that assessment though. Those caravanners looked to be even better equipped than the guards at the gate. But despite their fearsome armaments, their wagons were filled with decidedly mundane goods. Furs, cloths, and salt. Those couldn’t have been particularly profitable routes to run with such pricey security. Not unless the prices they were demanding for them were absolutely exorbitant.
Eventually our turn arrived, and the guards at the gate raised their brows at what we had brought to market today. That reaction had been expected though. A cart chock-full of weapons was a strange offering to come from a farming village.
They let us through without much fuss regardless, and a brief inquiry with the guards informed me that the castle was the place to go to receive the payout from the bounties.
The gate opened up onto a wide but still crowded street. And looking down the streets that branched off of it, it seemed that it was the only wide street in the city.
Griffenheim was filled with the signs of a city overgrown and bursting at the seams.
Taking a look down the side streets we passed by, the roads there changed construction technique often as they zigzagged haphazardly through the mess of multi-story buildings.
It didn’t take long for the reason for the different roads to click in my mind. The nicer cobbles were the remains of the old streets, the original lanes that existed when the city was built. But over time they had been paved over, streets narrowed and redrawn. All in order to cram more and more buildings to house the excessive population. Shanties and other small buildings sprouted like weeds in any space they could.
Whatever neat urban planning and tidy city had once sat here, it had long since been pushed to the side as the city grew in size without being able to escape from its shell. At least griffons had a couple things going for them in such a cramped space.
One of the most interesting to see was how most of the buildings around us had a balcony that essentially acted as the front door of the residence. Flying was definitely an advantage to life in a disorganized city. Most pedestrians chose to navigate by flight, leaving the street below to be dominated by the carts and commerce of the city.
Shopfronts and workshops dominated the streets around us, as we walked below with our cart. Signs showed the specialty of the shop in finely painted images. Carpenters, bakeries, and one with a sign with a dragon on it. That one turned out to be a leatherworker who was proud that they had access to wyvern leather. Sort of like a crocodile handbag shop, and just as expensive as one could be expect from any of these main street shops.
We followed the main flow of carts towards the main market square. There it was a hum of activity as could always be expected. We brought our cart towards the section catering to those who looked to expand their capabilities for violence. Once we found an open enough space we prepared our stall, and I took the chance to wander around a while and investigate the other offerings.
Besides the mundane equipment, there were a series of heavily guarded storefronts on the periphery, advertising the sale of enchanted armaments and armors. While those hawking ordinary weapons had stalls or carts like ours, these shops were ornate and heavily guarded. Fancy barred windows displayed as sorts of glowing swords, axes, and helmets.
I paused in front of one of them to take a closer look. The guard standing next to the door watched me carefully as I looked at an exquisitely crafted dagger sitting on a pillow, sitting just behind a mesh of iron. It glowed a pale blue, emanating from a series of runes carved into the blade.
“How do these enchantments work anyways?” I wondered quietly. I wasn’t really expecting to receive an answer, but the guard must have heard me and seen a potential customer. He gave me a response to the rhetorical question I posed.
“I can’t tell you the details sir. I’m no runesmith, and even if I was I would spill trade secrets,” The guard stated. “But the master of this shop is skilled at their craft. He uses only the highest quality magical materials to ignite the runic array. And the runes themselves are high quality.
Take that dagger you seem so fond of. Its blade has been given an edge unmatchable for ordinary iron thanks to both the careful construction of the runes, and the use of razorworm scales to ignite them only enhances the effectiveness. The hunters that supply us do well in their work.”
The sales pitch was interrupted by a heavily scarred griff butting into the conversation with a cackle. “Yeah, but you bastards are always looking to short-change us when we get back here. Look at you Kaspar, sitting all pretty guarding some fat griffs shop after everything that’s happened. Left the rest of us to go fighting and dying in the same old hunts.”
“Hello there, Oskar,” The guard replied tersely, voice switching from attempting eloquence to rougher speech. “I’m talking with this good griff right now. If you’ve brought us something to sell, well dump it inside then fuck off.”
The bitterness in the exchange took me by surprise, and I found myself turning my head to try and give some face. As I did so, I couldn’t help but notice the tension that seemed to be present between a lot of the ones browsing the weapon market and the merchant guards protecting it.
“What was that about?” I asked the guard as the bounty hunter disappeared inside.
He let out an irritated sigh before responding. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with sir. Just some old blood between us. The usual troubles between the hunters who settle down and the ones who don’t.”
Kasper then turned the focus back to the sale. Maybe he got commission on sales after pushing the merchandise. I had to leave him disappointed though. The price he gave was far beyond what I could reasonably afford. Shiny toys would have to wait until I had gotten significantly deeper pockets.
Returning to the villagers, I was pleased to see the enterprise up and running. Selling off most of the bandit equipment would net us some decent funds, but it was only one of the sources of capital we were here to collect though.
I was about to head off to the castle to collect the bounties, and to make my formal introduction to the court. As such I bid the rest of the villagers goodbye, and began my fumbling flight towards the castle.
Upon cresting the hill, I was faced with my second set of gates for the day. These ones were a little more exclusive to pass through though.
Approaching the soldiers standing guard, they fixed me with the same steady glare that every other griffon seeking entry received. There was a difference between me and the various porters supplying the castle though. I was part of the peerage now.
“Greetings, I am Knight Geralt, lord of the village of Blackwood. I have come to collect the bounties on a number of bandits that attacked the village.” I dug out both the piece of paper with the names on it as well as the seal that Silas had left us. I passed both of them over to the guards.
They skipped right over the paper, and instead grabbed the seal. After a few long moments of careful inspection, the one holding it in nodded in approval before handing it back over to me.
“Very well, you may enter lord. The treasury can pay out your bounties for you. Most of the court is currently assembled in the grand hall at the moment as well, should you wish to attend.” With that they stepped aside to allow me to pass into the castle courtyard.
The keep stood high on the other end of the yard, with another open gate and ramp leading up to it. The courtyard I was in was dotted with a number of other buildings around it. Quarters for the guards, storage and the other castle necessities I presumed.
The treasury was likely to be closer to the keep and the more secure part of the castle. That would have to come afterwards though. With the court apparently being held at this very moment, it was a prime chance to introduce myself and pay respects.
I approached the keep, and the guards at the door offered a salute before cracking open one of the heavy wooden doors to allow me entrance.
Entering the room, I was struck by the fact that the grand hall was a very fitting description. The ceiling was far higher than I expected for a medieval castle, maybe a dozen feet high. Two rows of columns supported the roof, leading down towards the raised throne at the other end. Sitting on that throne looking thoroughly bored was Silas himself.
My entrance to the room went unannounced, but the opening of the doors had drawn the attention of a number of the griffons throughout the room. They paid a few moments of mind as I walked in, before turning back to their own conversations.
Silas raised his head from the claw and rested to look at the new appearance. His eyes brightened in recognition, and he gestured for me to approach.
I let out a small sigh of relief. At least I wouldn’t be left wondering about whether I was the one who was supposed to be approaching him for this.
As I stepped up to the throne he sat on, the courtiers that were gathered in front stepped to the side to allow the ceremony without paying me any mind.
“Welcome, Geralt!” Silas greeted me warmly. “I am pleased to see you have arrived so soon. It is nice to have another friendly face around.”
Silas looked towards one side of the room, where a large group of griffons were gathered in conversation. His eyes hardened a bit while looking at them, but his attention soon returned to me.
“Please, take some time finding your footing here. I am certain that you will find success for both your village and the realm soon. As well, I would be a poor host if I did not offer you a room for your stay.”
“Thank you for your words, Lord Silas. I would love to accept the offer of lodging.” I answered with a bow.
With that the other griffons who had initially stepped to the side closed back in to continue their conversation. Taking the hint, I gave Silas another bow and left him to consider his conversation.
I faded into the background of the court, and tried to focus on what all the other griffons in the room were doing before I stepped into the fray myself. The hall was large, and was not close to being filled. Instead there were clusters of griffon nobles scattered around the room.
Something that I noticed as I looked around was that most of the courtiers were actually wearing fancy clothes. I had never really thought about it before, but griffons didn’t really seem to wear clothes.
All the clothing that I had seen up until this point were purely functional. Cloaks, hats, and I supposed I could group gambesons and armor in there as well.
These griffons were wearing fancy coats and dresses in the room. Everyone was armed as well, primarily with swords. Swords were clearly the weapons of choice for the nobility, and the blades sported were often much more ornate than the plain iron and plain leather that I had around my waist.
The center of the hall was left relatively clear with most gathered around the pillars holding up the room. If someone was needed for the conversation taking place around the throne, they were sought out by one of the guards and invited. None turned down the opportunity to speak with the highest lord of the land.
Standing alone was making me conspicuous, and I felt the occasional glance sent my way as I stood there looking like a nervous child. I felt very exposed standing there, so I moved to join in the conversation of the nearest group of griffs. The discussion was about the recently implemented travel reforms that had just passed through the court.
Apparently they had been a hotly contested issue, and had dragged through the court for ages. It had gotten to the point that some of the most powerful lords of the towns in Griffenheim’s hinterlands had actually taken the trip to the city themselves to get involved. That was allegedly a rarity, with those lords usually leaving their presence in the court in the form of a representative.
Maybe the journey was too far for them to make often, or maybe those ruling here in Griffenheim didn’t have much influence outside of the city, even within their own alleged territory. I hoped it was the former rather than the latter.
“But with the speed that couriers can fly letters now, there is no reason for them to leave their holds to come in person,” One of the nobles said.
“Your point is empty. If they can communicate with the city with a delay in messages of only a few days, why would they still refuse to contribute to many of the discussions?” Another disagreed.
“Perhaps another perspective would be valuable here. What do you think of the whole affair then, good sir? I haven’t seen your face around before.” The first griffon turned to speak with me.
I was snapped out of my blind observations by the sudden address. All of a sudden, I was aware that all the eyes of the group that I was effectively eavesdropping on were on me instead.
“I’m sorry, I was lost in my own thoughts there for a moment. Could someone repeat the question?” I stammered out.
“I was asking you if you think that the coalition of western townships will be able to succeed.”
“Succeed in what?”
The rest of the peers looked between themselves. “In getting the laws repealed in their territories. Or at least getting some special privileges out of the whole affair.”
“I… I’m afraid I don’t know what you're talking about. This is the first time I've heard of this.”
“Really, you have no clue?” They eyed me up. “Are you sure you are in the right place? I thought that the recent power struggle was the talk of every silver-winged griffon in the realm.”
“I’m afraid that I‘m new to my title. And before that, I had just been dumped in the woods outside a village. I fought off a band of bandits, impressed Silas, and here I am.” I confessed.
“What? He placed some complete foreigner in charge of a village just like that?” There were ripples of shock through the assembled griffs.
“Hey! I’m no idiot. I have an education, and I have plans. I just don’t have any political experience, and I have no idea what’s going on. I just got here!” I replied, mildly offended by their reactions.
“Calm down, good sir! I meant no offense by it. I had heard that an upstart had usurped the village of Blackwood from underneath the beaks of a merchant family, but I would have thought it had gone to a griffon with at least some leverage in the realm. To hear Lord Silas stands by such decisions made over drink, it is disquieting. And it is Lord Silas to you sir, do not forget his title when you address him,” the leading griffon replied.
The contents of my revelation had not gone over well with my audience, and I watched as some griffons slunk out of the circle to join up with other groups in the hall. The rumors started spreading quickly after that point.
The conversations that used to be warm and soft, suddenly turned sharper as low chatting became hissing whispers. The new knight was proving to be a very unpopular choice among the court. I was no valiant warrior of a hundred battles or notable merchant that was recognized for my talents. I was a complete outsider, chosen virtually on a whim.
As I watched the rest of the griffons I had spoken to distance themselves from me, Silas looked up from his affairs at the change in atmosphere of the room. One of the courtiers whispered in his ear and he looked at me, confused and irritated.
It was horribly embarrassing, and I didn’t know how I could go about fixing it. Not even a full hour into my first appearance and I had already burned my own reputation and thrown embers on Silas’s. Lord Silas, I reminded myself.
I slipped out of the hall, and asked one of the staff to bring me to my guest quarters. Things could have gone a little bit better back there.
The guest quarters that I was shown to might not have been the most luxurious suite in the castle, but it was still beyond what I had access to since arriving in the world. I had a bed with warm and well woven blankets sitting atop it. Taking a closer look, the bed was made of proper wool instead of the straw mattresses that we slept on back in Blackwood. I had even gotten once since I became lord there.
The rest of the room’s small furnishings were hooks for the cloaks and coats that I didn’t own. At least I could hook my saddlebags on them.
I had a small table in the room as well. It even had a true candle sitting atop it, instead of the rushlights that every griffon in Blackwood used. There was an inkpot and a quill on it, so it was intended to be a desk. Only a few sections of paper though, along with a short little blade for cutting that paper. Likely intended for letters, though I would see if I could squirrel away a sheet or two for my own use when I left.
With nothing left to do. I sat down at the desk and started to work on my mill. Focusing on the material was a fine distraction from the political. Or at least that was what I had hoped.
It was very difficult to make a sketch with ink and quill. Especially since I had no idea how to work a pen and quill properly. I wondered if the quill was a griffon feather. That would be a pretty cheap way of making them I supposed. But I needed some charcoal if I was going to get any work done here.
I was just about to open the door to go find some, where someone started to knock on it. I sighed as I got up to answer it. What did they want now? As I opened it though, I was faced with one of the city's soldiers.
“Are you Knight Geralt?” The guard inquired.
“I am,” I replied hesitantly. “And may I ask why you are searching for me?”
“I apologize for disturbing you lord. But I brought a message from Lady Elaine of Griffenheim,” The guard responded with a salute. “She requests that you meet with her tonight before you retire. If you follow me, I will lead you to her study.”
They then waved for me to follow, and then began walking down the halls.
I followed close behind, wondering what had prompted this meeting. I knew that I had made a mess of things just now, but she wouldn't try and dispose of me right away, would she? I had already been well acquainted with the reputation Lady Elaine had swirling around her, and I was more than a little reluctant to step into the spider's lair.
It was only a short walk before we reached the Lady Elaine's study. All that remained between me and her was a heavy oaken door. My escort rapped on the dark wood, before swinging the door open. Through the open frame I could see a griffon waiting patiently behind a massive wooden desk. She sat there with her claws folded in front of her, with a face carefully neutral.
Shuffling through the gateway, the guard shut the door behind me. It was only after escape was sealed that Elaine spoke.
“Greeting, Knight Geralt,” She opened with a cold, calculating tone. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to meet with you ever since my brother regaled me with your talents. So far though, I must say you haven't left a strong first impression today."
Lady Elaine was a terrifying griffoness to be in the presence of.
The fear that I felt standing in front of her wasn’t the same sort that I felt facing down the hulking warrior that attacked Blackwood. No, in fact the Lady was a far more diminutive griffoness than most I had seen, her frame seeming even smaller when sat behind the gigantic ornate desk that dominated the study.
Instead, the cold dread that I felt came from the way that Elaine held herself. She had the aura of a blade barely veiled. Her eyes were sharp and searching, seeking out any weaknesses while sitting prim and proper at the desk. Lady Elaine was the type of griff to promise you the world, and yet at the same time be sliding a knife into your guts.
I had the sense that I had just stepped into the lair of a predator, that my fate was sealed as soon as the door shut behind me. Terror slowly crept up my spine, as though a massive spider was crawling all over me. But that was impossible of course. The only spider in the room was sitting behind the desk.
The rays of the setting sun behind Lady Elaine served to frame the white feathers of her face in shadows, only adding to the sinister presence that Elaine seemed to delight in.
The opening statement she greeted me with hung in the air. Elaine sat judging me with a veiled expression, waiting to see what my next move would be. My response was caught in my throat as the proverbial sword dangled over my head. I stood there like a statue in the room, silent and awkward.
Seeing my lack of response, Lady Elaine spoke sharply. “I see that you have lost your tongue there, Geralt. A shame it was so loose earlier, else we might have been able to be introduced on better terms.”
Elaine flipped a pen knife into her claws and pointed the small blade towards me as she continued. Despite being almost on the opposite end of the room from her, I found myself taking an involuntary step backwards.
“All you had to do upon your arrival was to politely introduce yourself, then ingratiate yourself to some of the court and find your footing. At the very least, I expected you to quietly slip away after performing the bare necessities of courtly etiquette.”
The knife was slammed down into the expensive wood, the rush of air displacing the neat stacks of paper and ruining the perfect organization of her desk. With a scowl, Elaine tapped them back into their proper place as she spoke.
“But that is not what you did now, was it? I distinctly recall being informed that the very first thing you did after speaking with my brother, was to go around spreading the most damaging truths that you knew. And only then, after you had poisoned the air in the court with your words did you leave. All in the span of a few minutes.”
Elaine leaned forwards expectantly. “And that leaves me with a single burning question, Geralt. Why?”
“I’m sorry, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” I ran my claws through my feathers in embarrassment. “I felt like I was drawing too much attention to myself standing there alone, so I joined in with the nearest conversation. I thought it was going well at first, just listening in to everything that they were saying. It only started to go downhill once they asked me a question instead. I had no idea what to say, so I just told them about who I am. What else was I supposed to do?”
That answer seemed to anger Elaine significantly, and her tone became more aggressive. “Deflect! Dodge! Those are fundamental skills that I would expect from any silver-winged griffon I come across. You are not the first noble to be asked a question you had no answer to and will not be the last! There are ways to evade questions when desired, or to spin any statement back upon the one who spoke it! Do not make such weak excuses and whine that someone challenged you and you lost.”
Elaine leaned across the desk, and her wings flared out to the side in fury. “Silas told me that you were educated. I had expected that you would have learned at least the minimum of court strategies from your tutor, and when to keep your mouth shut. I had expected at least a modicum of social competence and wit from you.”
Elaine pressed her claws together and took a breath to regain her cold composure. “I know my brother can act rather childish, but I have seen genuine chicks navigate the court with greater grace than you have. What kind of education did you receive that grace and etiquette were so ignored? Did you even have one, or was that just a ploy to gain favor from him?”
I resented that insinuation. I had no idea about medieval politics, but I felt that Elaine was making this a far greater issue than it was. Sure, I had damaged her and Silas’ standing, but I had crippled my own. And I was willing to be that I knew more about technology than most of the court put together. I knew that I was no fool, and I had a good head on my shoulders. I just needed to find a way to prove it to her.
Looking around the room, I saw a chessboard sitting on a side table. The pieces were well polished, but the nicks and scratches on it indicated that it was something Elaine often used. Target identified. I was more than passingly familiar with chess. There was something I could use to prove myself with, since Elaine obviously had an appreciation for the game.
“My education was more about the physical world and its laws than the messy battlefield of politics. I may be a novice at most of the games you play there, but I do know how to play one of them. Chess specifically. Perhaps we can continue this conversation over a match?”
That seemed to surprise the spider. She paused for a moment, and I could practically see the abacus running the calculation in her head. Elaine came to a conclusion though, and gave her guarded answer.
“Very well then, Geralt. Perhaps I have chastised you for your ignorance and incompetence enough, and a game would lead to a more productive conversation as we continue.”
I nodded in satisfaction. A small victory for me there, now I just needed to play like my life depended on it. And unless I could impress her, it just might.
The two of us sat down at the chessboard. It had been a while since I’d played, but I was confident that I would be able to give a good show. At the very least, I hoped that I would at least be able to hold my own against her.
Elaine laid claim to the black pieces, leaving me to assume the seat behind the white king. I hadn’t thought that she would be willing to surrender the initiative of the match, but when I asked her about it she waved me off and ordered me to begin. As I made my opening, Elaine resumed the conversation.
“From everything that I have seen so far, you certainly weren’t born into any noble family. And you are no warrior either. Your face is far too soft for that, and you do not carry yourself the same way that a skilled combatant would. That leaves you a bit of a mystery griffon, and me with questions.”
“What sort of questions?” I asked worriedly. There was little chance that I would be able to avoid giving away my otherworldly origins if Elaine discovered that line of inquiry.
“Questions about your political ability. Most griffons, when they make their introduction try to disappear entirely until they can find a place to leverage their own knowledge and skills to ingratiate themselves and build allies. That is virtually the opposite of what you have done.”
One of my knights perished as Elaine countered my advance. “When you make it appear that you are incompetent, and yet a sudden appointment, you make it appear that the decision to hurriedly place you in the seat of the fief makes it look as though we are deliberately trying to slight the original recipient. You can see how that reflects on us, and makes the lives of my brother and I that much more challenging. You are not the issue here, it is the responses of the rest that matter.”
That was an unfortunate truth. Looking back, I could see where Elaine was coming from. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, I was a griffon that had appeared from nowhere and been suddenly lifted into a significant role. Every move that I made would be judged not on my own merit, but rather would be judged to see the quality of decisions that the rulers of the city state would make.
“I’m sorry, Lady Elaine. I wasn’t trying to damage you or your brother in court. I just didn’t think through what I was saying,” I offered an apology as I tried to shield my queen from the bishops hiding in the back. Elaine seemed to love hiding her attacks as far away from the focus as possible.
Elaine nodded in acknowledgement before she continued on, “At least you were a nobody before you arrived, and as such I suspect you will only be a topic of conversation for a few days before something else occupies the interest of the rest of the nobles. Fortunately for you, the south of the realm is more… distant from Griffenheim at the moment, and I don’t see the impact of your blunder reaching down there into the mountain foothills. On the other claw, if you wish to return to wider politics, you would either need a set of allies at your back or a more potent position to wipe the stain on your reputation away easily. Preferably both.”
I looked up from killing off Elaine's knights to take in what she was saying. It seemed that Elaine was actually interested in helping me out here. The advice was sound as far as I could tell, and I committed it to memory. I wasn’t sure about how I was going to go about gathering allies, but I had already set myself on track to elevating myself. I shared my proposal with Elaine.
“You want to build Blackwood up into a new market town? I see. There may be a need for it, but doing so will come with a number of difficulties for you. Managing a town is a far more complex affair than a village, and I wonder if you will succeed at it.” Elaine commented as she moved a rook all the way from the other side of the board to seize my queen. The rook perished as a result, but it was a heavy blow to me to take.
“Maybe, but doing so gives me access to a much larger resource base that will allow me to work on all the projects I have in mind. The age of chaos has just ended, and I believe that now is the time to kickstart a new age beyond anything the world has seen so far. A rebirth, if you will.”
That piqued her interest, and we discussed for a while the various potential industries that I aimed to establish in Blackwood. While I might not know the details of all the thousands of inventions that lead to the modern age, I was armed with the value of hindsight to know the general concepts that progressed society. And I knew I had the skills to try and recreate a number of the technical ones myself. It was easier to lead into the future when you had actually been able to live in it.
The chessboard was starting to become rather empty. Even at this stage of the game, I was still clinging to a chance of victory. The conversation returned to politics though, and the nature of my appointment.
“My brother is foolish and a child at times, but he can be a strong judge of character. I don’t believe he would take to you as he did if you were a poor excuse for a griffon. There is also the fact that your appointment was not the worst choice out of the other options vying for the village. Indeed it was a challenge for me to find one who would be both loyal and competent.”
Returning to her earlier attitude, Elaine issued a harsh warning. “I would not even be speaking about these details to you, if I was not convinced that your actions were fueled by pure incompetence instead of spite. While we were not enthusiastic about the competitors for Blackwood, spreading that information is inadvisable. At the very least, your lack of connections with the rest of the realm holds water, as I could find no member of any house both missing and matching your description. Make no mistake though, you are not yet trusted here.”
Elaine tipped over my king. “Checkmate. Apparently you were not as good as you thought. Nevertheless, you played a decent enough game there, Knight Geralt.”
Dammit. I supposed that I should have expected this outcome, Elaine was a clever and skilled opponent, as she had to be to manipulate court as well as she had. You didn't earn names like 'The Spider of Griffenheim' without a sharp mind.
“I believe that is a good point to end our friendly chat here. Do try and refrain from attacking the reputation of your benefactors in the future now, Geralt.”
Hadn’t we already gone over this? Elaine didn't need to keep harping on about my one political mistake so far.
“I made an honest mistake, I’m only a man-” I stopped myself. “Griffon after all. I've apologized already, and I promise to try and do better.”
I watched to see if Elaine had noticed my slip, but I couldn’t read anything on her face. Damn she would have been an excellent poker player. The only reaction to my statement was her rearranging the pieces neatly on the board.
With that clear dismissal I stood and moved towards the door. As I opened it up to depart, Elaine gave me a final parting message.
“One last point. I have very good eyes, so watch your back. If I feel that you will continue to damage us further, you may find a knife in it. This is not a threat, but a word of caution. I hope that you can prove your worth to our cause with your future actions, and remain loyal to this city. Good day, Knight Geralt.”
Once outside of the study, I took a deep breath. That was the most stressful thing I’d ever gone through. At least I felt that I had established enough value that I wouldn’t be deposed at the moment. Lord Silas might have been impulsive and childish, but at least he was pleasant enough to talk to.
His sister was not. There was no doubt in my mind that the threat she offered at the end was very real. She had expressed interest in my endeavors, but that couldn’t be the end of it. I had no doubt that Elaine had another angle at play here, and I felt that I was just a pawn that had proven it was worth enough to keep around at the moment. Or maybe to be sacrificed for a bigger prize.
In any case, I had survived another day. I couldn’t wait to get out of this damned city. Best to try and take care of the rest of my goals as soon as possible then. My mind decided, I headed towards the treasury to finally collect my money.
Silas would prove to be quite generous when it came to his coin, or at least valued security enough to make the payments appetizing. The treasurer was the oldest griffon I had ever seen up until this point, but they moved surprisingly quickly for their age, stacking silver on their scales as they weighed out the prize.
After the coins had all been measured out, I had a lovely little stimulus package prepared to pay some of the starting costs of construction. No more would my purse be dominated by boring coppers, I now had a pouch full to bursting with glimmering silver. The newfound wealth did much to put a spring in my step as I returned to my quarters.
“So, you are the new knight of Blackwood.”
I looked up at the new voice that interrupted my thoughts in the otherwise empty hall. Looking around, I realized that for the first time in a while there was no one else nearby. No guards, no staff, no wandering nobility.
Stepping out of the shadows, a coal-feathered griffon emerged. "I've been wondering where you have been the past few hours. I paid a visit to your room, but you were absent."
“I'm sorry, I was occupied elsewhere. Are you here to see the latest fool occupying court gossip?” I asked hesitantly. Despite the menacing introduction, he seemed interested in conversation at least. This was a proper warrior in front of me, tension held like a coiled spring in every movement.
This seemed to amuse him for some reason, and he cracked a grim smile that stretched the scars on his face. “Ha! I’d not worry about them so much. I certainly don’t bother with what they have to say. Most of the griffons who reside in this city and prance around the court are more concerned with their own appearance and pointless gossip than facing anything of real consequence.”
To emphasize his point, he drew his blade. A long shimmering sword, its blade coated in runes of all colors. Unlike the more ornate weapons that the other nobles sported, this weapon did away with any trims or decorations for a more spartan design. The only goal its maker had worked towards was whether it would kill.
“Now this, this is what matters out there. No expensive dress or cloak will stop a demon, it will not grow crops. All it does is let the one wearing it tell the world they know nothing of hardship. Soft and weak, I wonder if things would have gotten as bad as they are if we stood stronger against the world and its hardships.”
He peeled his admiring eyes away from the weapon and returned it to its proper place. “I don’t like taking advice from those sniveling sycophants. Much better to take a griff’s measure myself.”
The warrior blocked the hall in front of me. “So tell me Geralt, what kind of griffon are you then? What was so impressive about this nobody that Silas felt the need to make you a knight.”
I relayed him the abridged version of my exploits so far as I seemed to be doing so often recently. I then told him of my plans to build my little village into a town, and all projects and expansions that I had in mind. The mystery griff seemed quite interested in what I had to say.
“I tell you what,” They said thoughtfully, “I have a few griffons who would be willing to move out there, if you can promise them their safety. The south could use a strong guiding claw, in my opinion.”
That was great news for me. The hardest part I could see with my scheme was in figuring out how to encourage folks to move out to my village out of all the myriad hamlets that were out there. Having someone spreading the word would do wonders to that end.
“I can also offer you a loan, if you feel that you need some gold.”
“I think that I will be fine at the moment,” I said, jingling the coin purse I had just filled. “I was just paid out for a slew of bounties, and I expect more coming from the market after selling off all the excess kit stripped from the bandits.”
His face soured a bit at that, before recovering his usual smirk. “A prudent leader then, skilled in finance and battle. I hope to see a great town constructed down there soon. Perhaps I will even come and pay you a visit.”
“I don’t think that I know who you are. I can’t really prepare for a guest if I don’t know their name, can I?” I asked the mystery noble.
“Ah, how rude of me.” The mystery griffon bent into a stiff bow. “The name is Lord Leon. Master of the town of Vasterberg. The Warden of the West.”
“Knight Geralt, of Blackwood. But I guess that you already knew that one.”
Leon let out a short laugh. “I suppose I did. Very well Geralt, I am sure that we will speak again. I’ll let you be on your way now, this has been an interesting conversation.”
Elaine watched the door to her study shut, and let out a tired sigh.
The encounter had gone better than Elaine had predicted. He wasn’t actively attempting to sabotage her and Silas at least. Unless Geralt was the best actor she had ever come across, he was far too foolish to be able to disguise something like that. Intelligent, but unskilled.
But there was something suspicious about Geralt. His body language had a few strange elements to it, and he had referred to himself as a man once there. Whatever that was. He corrected himself, but that only made the slip all the more obvious.
That was deeply concerning. Elaine had heard stories of creatures that could wear the skin of another. Two kinds, in fact. The body-snatching demons that hollowed out the flesh of their victim and went puppeteering them around searching for another victim. The other came from a far older source. One of the books that survived from ages past spoke of an encounter with an insect creature capable of twisting its flesh with magic to appear as a friend. Was Geralt one of them? They had been deposited from afar with by winds of chaos, that much she knew. But quite how far were they thrown?
That could wait until later though. Geralt wanted to build a town, he would get a town. Elaine was certain she could find some willing griffins to settle down in the woods from the flow of Griffins leaving the overcrowded city.
Elaine would of course be sending some of her agents to tag along and settle into the population. Done right, Geralt wouldn’t even notice the strings being wound about him, binding him closer to Griffenheim.
Ever since the loss of Eyrinholm, they had been slowly losing influence down the Ruhor river. With no market, every village had to go further afield with their harvest, and not all of the harvests were flowing towards Griffenheim and feeding its large populace anymore.
Even worse, the past year Lord Leon had been building up a huge stone fortress near the junction of the Ruhor and the Griffen rivers. It was technically within his right, as it was his land. But the power projection that gave him over the two largest rivers in the realm was deeply unsettling.
Leon had been once been a stalwart supporter of their parents, but had been drifting away ever since the end of chaos. Elaine watched as he gathered his own set of allies around him, and essentially established a second high court in the realm within his own seat of power. Her agents told her that he was within the city at the moment, but he was a rare sight in court.
Elaine was convinced that he was aiming to foster a split in the realm. Whether he was aiming for the throne Griffenheim himself or wanted independence to push westwards alone was not yet clear to her. But Elaine and Silas needed to counter him. Whatever relation they had in the past, they were directly opposed now.
Geralt could be a useful pawn for her in this. The complete lack of political skills would be far less of an issue when placed down the river, near the very edge of known lands and utterly isolated. Perhaps he would be able to come into his own later, but for now he would serve best far away from her city.
The new town of Blackwood would be the demarcation line for Elaine. A point to cut off the bleed of power to the west, and a staging ground for her to regain the initiative and attack Leon’s power base instead.
The south of Griffenheim was far more undecided than the other two areas. The lower population and lack of any major towns made the small-time nobles far more concerned with their own survival than any political games. They remained in line for now thanks to the promise of powerful aid from the city in times of need, but at the moment Elaine and her brother had ever waning influence in the region without loyal locals to lean on.
While the east and the west were firm in their support of their respective sides, the south would be the key to achieving dominance in any future conflict. Leon had already been trying to push down there, and in the relatively untamed regions his skilled soldiers garnered a lot of support. He had even tried to install his niece in Blackwood, but that partridge had been shot down already thanks to Silas. Even if Elaine still wished she could have her merchant knight there instead. They probably could have built a market town better than Geralt would as well.
A tug of war was about to begin, and Elaine was going to prove that Griffenheim had remained strong despite it all.
But for now, she needed to practice her chess. Elaine might have won that match, but Geralt played in a way far different from what she had seen before. It nearly led to her defeat, and that was utterly unacceptable to her. This was her game, and she would not be bested at it by some upstart country knight.
The sudden jostling of the cart I was atop sent my charcoal pencil flying from my claws and it tumbled down to the dirt road below. I muttered a curse under my breath, and hopped off the cart after it so I could continue my sketches.
The paper that I had requisitioned from my room back in the castle was already seeing good use. Chalk and slate were excellent for anything temporary that needed to be written down, but paper was lighter and easier to store compared to the other options available to me. Perfect for something more permanent, like the design of the gear system that would be at the heart of my mill.
The creation of the first piece of powered machinery in the village would not come cheaply. Besides the materials needed to construct the actual building, the components inside would need to be made very carefully if they were to properly fit together. Without access to precision machining, that would be a slow and delicate process by the best woodworkers in the village. The gears would have to be made out of wood, similar to the Roman designs, since we didn’t have the manufacturing capability to work large metal pieces at the present. The millstone at least should be taken care of, as we could simply reuse the one from the old manual mill.
The big innovation that I was bringing apparently was that I was going for an overshot wheel design. Bringing extra energy to the contraption with the power of gravity, this wheel would be able to handle even the toughest grains and create nice and fine flour. While not unique to the overshot design, a powered mill would grind more evenly as well, with the consistent water passing across the wheel and driving the stone.
Speaking with the others, it seemed that the overshot design was a bit of a rarity in the region. The more common variant used was the undershot wheel. A good design, easy and simple to create without having to consider how to move the water above the wheel to drive it. If Blackwood was located in a flatter land, I might have gone with it myself. But when I was surveying the river banks the morning before we left, I found a point where the river split into two thanks to a massive granite boulder, and one side dropped down a sharp little waterfall before rejoining the main river. The height of the drop was enough that I felt I could slot the mill into the landscape there quite easily. There was a bit of digging that would be needed to create the pentrough, but nothing that seemed too challenging.
In any case, I now had access to the needed labor force to begin construction in earnest. While we had only taken a half dozen griffons on the trip north, we had been joined by just about twenty other griffons. That was already going to be a substantial increase to the population of Blackwood just from the first group of settlers. If that was any indication, then Blackwood would be shooting up like a weed in mere months.
The day before we left the city, we had managed to double our numbers already with a few laborers willing to give it a shot out in the country working the slate quarry. With the amount of new construction taking place just outside the city walls, there weren't many griffons with a good back who were out of work. But the chance to get out of the city and into somewhere you could fly free was a tempting choice for the group we had spoken to, and with a clawful of silver, we convinced them to give Blackwood a chance. Apparently we needed have bothered with the fairly sizable payout, as we were soon approached by another group looking to leave the city behind.
They had heard word from one of the city's criers that Blackwood was looking for good hardworking griffons to expand our village. A few young families had decided that the countryside was worth a chance instead of waiting around the packed city, and give the life of a farmer a shot.
The fact word was being spread by a crier, who were normally part of the civic administration was something to take note of. Some griffon high up within the city was taking the time to ensure that Blackwood would grow. I had pretty decent guess as to who that might be, but that was something I could ruminant on later. I wasn't going to go and look a gift horse in the mouth at the moment. Though I supposed that was a strange turn of phrase to use in this world. I hadn’t seen a single horse yet.
As I was reflecting on the presence, or lack thereof of equines, we finally caught sight of home. The faint trails of smoke that rose from the top of the hill Blackwood rested upon were a welcome sight to see after the long days on the road. The village was relatively quiet in the evening light, and sat cozy and welcoming in front of us.
Soon that collection of wooden buildings would become a hub of activity as a new town emerged for the south.
One of the pieces of paper that I had liberated from my guest quarters was going to become the new map of Blackwood. I could make it quite a bit more accurate than most maps of the medieval age as well. Being able to get a bird's eye view was immensely helpful in that regard. Sketching out the outline of the current village and fields, we moved to settle the new arrivals.
The new villagers could live out of tents and with families willing to shelter them for a while, but we need begin construction of proper housing for everyone sooner rather than later. It was already getting close to the middle of summer, and the coming winter would be harsh. Every single griffon would need a proper roof over their heads by the first snowfall, and that meant an awful lot of building had to be done.
Having us all cramped in the same few houses would be immensely uncomfortable, if even possible at all depending on how many griffons arrived in the coming months. And then there was the risk of disease with so many packed in like rats. Felian could do quite a lot with his skill, but I doubted that even he would be able to take on a hundred patients at the same time.
That just left us with choosing a place for the new houses to go. There was little room on the hilltop to build outwards at the moment. Blackwood was built tightly together, and the fields practically began right outside the door. We couldn't exactly tear up our agricultural lifeline on a whim.
Instead, the new houses would have to be built past the edge of fields. Eventually it was decided to place them on the edge of the fields between the old village and the river. The land was relatively flat out there, and the woods even had a few natural clearings to make it easier for us to cut away the rest of it. As we went about deciding the location of the construction, it was also a good time to be planning out the general layout of the new town.
The dangers that saw griffon villages being built as defensive rings had passed for the most part, and we could work with a more grid-like layout. The lots were made with enough space to fit both the house and whatever else would be built on them. Most likely being either expansions taken up by the residents themselves, or any supplementary gardens or coops for their food intake. Lots could be mapped out in the dirt, with lengths of rope pulled taught to ensure we had straight lines and everyone got the same amount of space. A few lines of stones to mark the lots more distinctly, and we could see the village expansion take shape from the air.
Housing construction would be mostly standardized, at least in the principle of the design. Without precision measurements, I could hardly expect that we could make something truly modular, but if we were just building the exact same house over and over again, we could speed things up and have a new neighborhood in just a few months. Split into two rooms down the middle, the design was a simple one that we could build easily, just two squares stuck together. Quick to build and quick to learn.
I took up the lead on organizing the construction of the new homes, aided immensely by those with experience in construction in creating a basic structure that would stand sturdy for years to come. While that was being done, the mine crew began cutting a trail towards the slate deposit under the guidance of Cynthia.
Wooden tiles were good enough for the roofs, but slate would not only not rot away like thatch or wood, it was far more waterproof. The weight might have wound up being an issue, but some strong bearing trusses in the wooden frame would keep the construction stable enough.
It ended up being a bit of challenge to find enough tools for all the griffons. The arrivals brought much of the basics with them, but there was a difference between a hatchet used for trimming firewood and a proper axe to fell a tree. The tools we did have were in use all hours of the day, and Gilda was completely swamped in her forge working non-stop to try and fix whatever broke. When she had any spare time, it went straight into forging new axes to feed the demands of the construction industry. At least she had fixed up all the pitchforks during the duration of our trip, so we didn’t have to worry about struggling through the harvest.
Most of the new arrivals were out in the woods day in and day out. The amount of trees we would need to fell to build everything was astounding. As more and more of the heavy pines and oaks were taken from the woods, I watched as the forest thinned. Every rope that we could get our claws on was being used to drag the plethora of logs back to the construction site. Arranged by species, thickness and height, the carpenters began selected the future location that each of them would appear in the finished houses and beginning in their work.
I wished that we had a few more carpenters to aid in that, but most of the immigrants that joined us were unskilled young laborers. They saw farming out here in the countryside as their best chance for a better life instead of competing for scraps in the city, and at the moment had relatively little to offer besides their dedicated work ethic. A fine trait to see certainly, and I hoped that they would learn to be excellent farmers in the years to come.
The actual land we needed to clear was being carved away at as well, and by the end of the first week the first lot was ready to start construction of the house itself. The wooden frame was raised high into the air, and held steady as it was pounded into the ground, anchoring it to the earth.
I had never been to a barn raising ceremony before, but I imagined that the sense of pride that I felt watching the foundations of our futures being built in from of my eyes would be echoed by any farming family.
A few weeks of steady work after that first frame was raised, another group of griffons were sighted coming down to Blackwood. A few dozen more immigrants here ready to experience life down in the southern countryside.
I spoke briefly with their elected speaker, upon which I learned that these griffons were the first of our arrivals from the western townships. They had made the long journey once they had heard word about that there was safe and fulfilling work to be had down here.
Lord Leon had allegedly been kind to them, but the town of Vasterpeak was nearly as cramped as Griffenheim was, and had far less surrounding flatlands to grow out onto now. The complete lack of space was what had driven them out to find a place where their chicks had space enough to breath. They had originally intended to settle somewhere in his territory, but they had heard Leon's call for western griffons to move south, and so they came at their Lord's request.
Indeed they had nothing but kind words for their sworn lord and his constant efforts to eradicate the monsters from his lands. I raised a bit of an eyebrow at how they waxed poetic about him. In moving out here, wasn't I supposed to be their sworn lord now? I supposed it didn't really matter. The ones from Griffenheim also referred to Silas as their lord and praised him often, so perhaps that was something that would just change with time. I certainly wasn't going to try and press the issue over a few snippets of conversation.
The western newcomers settled into the rhythm that had been established the past few weeks easily enough, and proved to extremely dedicated workers just like the others. I was glad to see that so far I was attracting good honest folks to the village. That wasn't to say that there weren't any points of friction that had begun to emerge.
Initially I had been a little worried about what it meant that we were essentially building a second village, and that there would be a divide between the old villagers and the new settlers. But at the moment that didn’t seem like it was going to be an issue. The new arrivals were more concerned with each other than with us.
The divide between the two groups wasn’t some great gulf, they were still both griffons cut from the same culture of course, but it was present. Little things, small differences in how they behaved and the strong loyalty to their home cities were rubbing coarse against each other. Apparently the rivalries of the nobility had dripped down a little bit into the insular townages throughout the realm, and the dispute that I had first heard when I embarrassed myself in court ran deeper than I thought.
Efforts from the old villagers were doing much to keep the peace, and at the end of the day they got along well enough I hoped that any troubles would be limited to a few insults or petty grievances. Privately I just hoped that we would have enough houses for everyone by the time winter came. Construction was going well at the moment, and it looked very possible to achieve. But that came with the cost of nogriff having any free time in the evening to relax. Our housing demands had just doubled, and despite having yet more labor, we would need to work near double-time to match it.
There were a few complaints about the workload, but most understood the situation that we were in. The village was already starting to look more like a construction camp than a village. The amount of tents and griffons we had living out of their carts was substantial, and it was not the most comfortable living conditions. I had a feeling that was leading to a lot of the complaints, more of a expression of discomfort rather than any real complaints in how I was running the construction. The benefits of a soft bed and sturdy roof were something that anyone would miss dearly, and it would have to be at least another month yet before we could hope to see the first house completed.
As we toiled, I wondered just what I could reasonably ask of my villagers as the lord. What exactly were the limits on the powers that I had over them? There wasn't the usual taxation system of the modern age to rely upon, with most value coming from the provision of basic goods. Based on the relative technology level, I had thought that a corvée system would have been in place in the cities.
I had inquired as discreetly as I could into the subject with them, and learned that apparently the answer was a mix of yes and no. They were expected to contribute their time to any major project or repairs that the city was undertaking under orders from their liege, but such events were not consistent enough to be a yearly tax. Instead it was more so whatever the city needed done as soon as possible to remain safe. Otherwise, they were simply expected to pay a certain amount at the end of every harvest season in coin or goods based on their profession.
The construction of the housing wasn't going to draw any complaints, as while it was not something akin to repairing the city walls, it was a critical project for the safety of the village. And apparently, there was some allure to building a house in the warm weather of the country to start your new life in. For future endeavors though, those working any most construction projects would expect that they would receive compensation in some way for their efforts.
Finances would probably wind up as a constant bottleneck for me going forwards. While provisions were often included as part of the salary of any worker, they also expected to receive a few coppers to pay for the rest of the items that they needed.
Maybe in the immediate future, we could organize some market days for the village. Beside the potential taxes that we could raise from stall fees, encouraging commerce would give the villagers something to spend their coin on. As it stood, Blackwood operated very heavily on the barter system.
The kind of close knit community that made such an arrangement possible was going to deteriorate as the population swelled. When it came down to it, currency was a efficient way to organize the exchange of goods. Something that everyone could agree on it's collective value made arranging large scale economies possible at all. Bartering was fine for a village that most mostly subsistence farming, but would need to change as the town grew.
As the skeletons of more and more uniform rows of houses appeared across the fields, it appeared that the village economy that most of my griffons were used to would fade away sooner rather than later. The world was waking up, and we were rising on the coattails of it.
While our efforts to solve the housing issue were marching along, there was another problem Gunther approached me with which raised a much greater concern for us all. For all that we could house everyone who arrived if we kept up the demanding pace, food might become our undoing.
"I wasn't expecting so damn many to show up so quickly." Gunther threw a withering gaze over the tent city that had popped up around the work site. "We grow a good crop here, certainly. We're good farmers, and we sell the extra grain off to pay for everything else we need. But our fields will barely make enough to feed this new group as it is over the winter. And that's with the usual gathering and hunting to keep bellies full. But if this many showed up so fast, we're going to need to figure something else out to feed us when the rest of them show up."
Gunther raised a good point. For despite everything, most of medieval life revolved around the production of food to feed everyone. The huge increase in population this summer did not come with the same increase in output. More mouths, more problems.
"And there is no way that we can get them to work the fields?" I inquired, to which Gunther shook his head.
"They don't know the first thing about farming, and would just get in the way or even kill some plants. And even if we did, won't go put any more seeds in the fields. It's nearly the middle of summer anyways, and any new farmland we clear won't do us any good either. Too late in the year to plant it."
That was unfortunate to say the least. Food wasn't something that could be put off until later like so many other things could. Food production was not something that could be started and stopped on a whim. Measures would need to be taken now if we hoped to make it through the winter unscathed. At least there were ways to bring more food in besides what we could produce here in Blackwood though.
The other villages in the area were likely completely unaware of our changing status, and the fact that we were changing into a food importer now. The trails connecting us were already less of a trail and more of a guideline of the general direction you were supposed to head in. There had never been extensive contact between us, but they were our best bet now to secure our future food stores.
First though, we would need to figure out what we could offer them in exchange for their excess harvest. The best ideas that we could come up with were the mill and the militia. The problem was that with everything else being built, the mill would likely end up being built over the winter. Not something that we would be able to offer out this this year.
Security arrangements by contrast were something that would be far easier for us to arrange. While we had sold off much of the more expensive pieces of gear, we still had a good stock remaining of armaments surpassing what the other villages likely had stored. A few patrols send out to secure the immediate woodlands, and we would at least have a decent safety net around us and the villages we reached an arrangement with.
Besides, security concerns were already starting to nip at my mind. I was willing to bet that whatever had killed the griffon whose sword I had on my waist was still out there somewhere. And with us heading out into the woods in all directions in greater numbers I was worried about someone getting attacked, especially with folks who weren’t used to the dangers and without the survival skills the old villagers had.
If something could take care of a skilled fighter, I wasn’t willing to bet on a few griffons who had lived their life behind city walls and had never seen a monster in the flesh in their life. Well most, of them. One of the immigrants from Griffenheim had apparently worked as a caravan guard for while and they were great help in explaining the difference between a demon and a monster to me.
A monster was just an exceptionally violent and magical animal when it came down to it. They were nothing like a mundane creature, for a given value of mundane. They were a great danger to any griffon they came across, but were still part on the natural world despite it all.
Demons were different. Whereas monsters were part of the world, demons were the antithesis of it. They fed on villages, and hunted for those living in civilization. They were the ones who massed into great hordes and destroyed cities. Monsters didn’t have that kind of coordination, only working in small packs when they worked together at all. If one of those was around in the woods, it either hadn't noticed us yet or didn't think it could kill us all yet. One was far more disquieting than the other.
We would need to keep an eye out for whatever was lurking out there, and perhaps use it as a bit of marketing when dealing with the over villages. Naturally Gunther volunteered for the expedition. He was one of our best fighters, and as the eldergriff he was the one most likely to be respected by the villages he spoke to.
Gunther assembled a solid group of griffons under him, and headed out on their first rounds as the rest of us waved goodbye. Hopefully they would all return home safe, and with good news for us all.
The future quarry foregriff and I stood over a map of Blackwood as I sketched the new trail on the paper. It had taken a little while, but the quarry site was now connected properly to the main body of Blackwood. We were just about ready to open the quarry and start slate production in earnest.
The first few houses of the new town were nearing completion, and were only waiting on the roof tiles to be supplied to cap them off. Now that the quarry laborers have built up the necessary infrastructure, we should have more than enough slate tiles for any construction projects we undertake very soon.
Slate tiles were probably one of the easiest things to quarry as well. The layers that slate formed in made it exceptionally easier to split plates of the main mass with only a basic hammer and chisel. Crack the plates into squares of roughly equal size, and that was virtually all there was to creating slate roof tiles.
The quarry site itself was a very simple construction. There was no need for any buildings or machinery to be constructed at the moment. Indeed we were very lucky to have so much of the stone we sought after exposed by the weathering of the hill's face. There was no elevator, no barracks for the workers to live in. In fact, the only thing that marked the hill as being used in any capacity was a simple lean-to the workers had built to keep their tools out of the rain whenever they were left at the quarry.
That and the actual trail leading to the quarry. An addition to the trail I was considering was using the chips from left over from the quarrying to add a gravel cover to the trail. Such a trail would have slightly better drainage when compared to simple dirt, and could withstand heavier loads running overtop of it. Something like a cart loaded high with stone tiles, for example, would put a lot more strain on the road than one filled with grain.
It didn’t seem like a bad idea on my end, as all it would take was brushing the gravel aside for another griffon to shovel across the trail later. I raised the concept with the foregriff to gather their input on the matter.
“I guess that would help out a bit. I honestly don’t know why you’ve given me this role, sire. I’ve never been in charge of something like this in my life.” The poor sap looked at me with uncertainty.
“You were the one to speak for those who we hired to work the quarry. I’m sure that you will do fine, and you’ve already got the confidence of your workers if they trusted you to negotiate for them.” I gave them a reassuring pat on the shoulder. In truth there was really no truly qualified griffon for the job at the moment. It was not likely a demanding job at such a small scale, and they would hopefully grow into their role.
I rolled my map back up and tucked it into my bag, and the two of us walked back over to where the rest of the workers were clustered around the smoothest of the slate outcroppings.
The tiles could be cut very crudely, but for a more specialty piece we would give a little more effort to ensuring that the lines were cut carefully and with precision. Specialty pieces such as the blackboard. Wide and thin, it would be a very fragile piece to move, and just as delicate to cut.
Moving the piece back to the village would require special precautions to be made. While moving bulk material was best done by the carts thanks to the extra capacity, that was too risky an option for something more valuable.
The slate board would have to be flown if we wanted to ensure its safety and a timely arrival. Moving goods by flying was usually something that was left to the valuable and the small. Letters, and the trade of valuables between griffons of note.
Something as large as the board would require more than one griffon to hold it aloft. It was far too heavy for any one of us to fly on our own. By nesting the board in a stock of straw, and wrapped in a blanket it would be safe to lower down to the ground on our arrival. Four griffons would be holding the apparatus up with ropes during transit, both to balance the load and ensure that the whole thing wouldn’t drop to the ground if someone’s talons were to slip.
The workers were silent, and from the glances that they threw my way I was nearly certain that it was because they had their new lord leering over their shoulder as they worked. I still wasn't truly used to the constant deference I was shown.
The only noise on the hillside was the tapping of the hammer on chisels. Soon there was a sharp cracking sound, as the stone split along its plane. I would have my board this day. The first creation of the Blackwood slate quarry.
This quarry represented the first of the new industries that would soon arise in Blackwood, and the first to expand the value of this place beyond just being a very prosperous farming village. Stone might not be fanciest or the grandest of projects, but its applications were vast.
The quarry would be a valuable asset for years as well. We had no way of knowing just how deep the slate ran, or what stones lay beneath it that might be of use as well. Looking at the giant steps running up the hill though, there was certain to be enough within to sustain the site for years, perhaps even decades.
It wasn't only the direct products of the quarry itself that I saw value in either. The experience that we gained here with a relatively simple operation would be useful going forwards, and opened many doors for us to access other resources.
Huge amounts of the resources needed to advance civilization were locked away beneath the earth. Iron and coal, gold and silver. Money and metal, the cornerstones of a medieval army and a source of power for those that controlled them. That was dependent on prospecting finding any sources, but mountain hills such as ours were a good place to start a search.
For the meantime, the quarry was going to be perhaps the most valuable asset that I held. Apart from the village proper and the agriculture industry that came with it of course.
The quarry was not without detriment however. Isolated as it was, there was an element of risk for the workers. We had discussed the potential of building a watchtower at the site, but with only a half dozen miners that seemed a hefty investment. Besides, the only threat in the area we knew of was deep in the woods at the moment. Maybe we could install a lookout at the top of the elevator when we inevitably had to build one after digging deep. The current defense protocol if something nasty appeared was just to fly back to the village as quickly as possible, where we could gather a force together to sally out and squash the problem.
The production would also not be enough to supply enough stone to be worth trading to others without a large increase of the workforce. And that was assuming that any of the villages would be at all interested in paying whatever price we needed to ask in order for shipping something so basic to be worth it.
I was shaken from my thoughts by the workers informing me that they were ready to depart. After watching them set off in the air, I took to the wing myself to follow them and their cargo back to the village.
Formal education was a useful thing, but at the moment I needed craftsgriffs, not scholars. It was hard to teach that sort of work in a classroom, but that was why there was more than one way to teach.
After my arrival back at the village I went to review the effectiveness of the recently instituted apprenticeship program. We had assigned some of the younger griffons from within the immigrants to apprentice under our skilled craftsgriffs. Gilda in the forge, and the new carpenters got a few teenagers to teach each. With the youths assisting the professionals, and learning from them as they did so, we would hopefully be able to resolve our deficiencies in skilled labor in due time.
The move also generated a lot of goodwill among the immigrants. The families that had joined us out here were mostly unskilled workers, and for me to give them the chance for their children to learn a trade was a welcome gift. In the cities, those positions were typically gatekept by their respective guilds, and it was a challenge for those not already involved in some way with their work to be given the opportunity to move into the artisan class. Indeed when I asked to see who might be interested in such an arrangement, I believe that every single family put forward a candidate.
I was under no illusions that I would have a whole new slew of skilled craftsgriffs overnight, but at least they would be able to assist the real experts in being able to accomplish more. Those craftsgriff were being pushed to limit even more than the rest of us were.
At least with the houses, precise woodworking was only really needed at the joints and for the doors. The rest of the house was made from rough hewn planks that could be cut easily. While not quite as warm or as study as the log cabins the rest of Blackwood was built from, the planks let us get more walls from the same tree. Plaster could perhaps be added later, to thicken them up and insulate the houses better.
Today I was not looking to speak to the carpenters though. As I entered into the smithy, the heat of the forge that had been burning near constantly for the past month blew into my face.
Gilda was hard at work as usual, bent over a glowing piece of metal that would eventually be shaped into an axe head. While she did not look up from her work at my approach, her two apprentices did. They had been looking decidedly dour as they worked, and their bitter faces slackened when they saw me enter. I assumed that they weren’t sure if they were supposed to bow or whatnot. With a wave of my claw, I signaled for them to return to their work before they made a decision.
The griffons that Gilda had picked from the mob of willing volunteers represented both camps of immigrants between them. They had been working on forging the vast supply of nails that we would need for the construction.
Nails were probably one of the easiest pieces to create. They were quite large when compared to the modern nails I was used to seeing. These were about the length of your average griffon’s talon, and made much thicker put of long bars of iron.
As the two of them stared at me, I couldn’t help but notice that they had been separated on either end of the smithy.
When Gilda reached a point that she was satisfied that nothing would wither away without her attention, she left the sweltering heat of the forge fires to come and see what I had to say.
“Y’know, I hadn’t thought that I would be stuck teaching my replacements for a few years more. Now I’ve got two of ‘em!’’ Gilda barked out a laugh.
“Are things going well with them then, any issues that need addressing? I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve got the two of them on opposite ends of the room,” I asked her. She hummed for a little bit before responding.
“Just another one o’ them spats the new folk keep having. I dunno who keeps egging them on like that, but these two featherbrains got into a little tussle just after we ate over the so called 'merits' o' their old lords. As if any of the silver-winged spats would change their lot much.” Gilda gave both of her apprentices a withering gaze.
“If the both of you keep acting like fucking children, then maybe I should toss the two of you out and get some of the other kids who wanna give smithing a try. They might not swing a hammer as well, but maybe they’ll actually behave themselves!” Her scolding sent the two apprentices ducking away and refusing to meet either of our gazes.
I watched the scene unfold with concern before speaking up myself. “If things aren’t going well here, I can arrange for you to change them out if you wish.”
“Ah, it’ll be fine. They’re just hot headed kids, repeating back whatever they’ve been told. Don’t hold it against them.” Gilda waved off my concerns. “Anyways, what’s it you wanna talk with me about then, lord?”
“I was mostly here to review how the apprentices were getting along, but I suppose since I’m here I can ask you if there is anything else you need to make sure that you can keep up the demanding pace that has been set here,” I answered. We spoke for a next while about production estimates and how long the stockpiles of metal were expected to last under the current strain.
Leaving the forge, I would be lying if I didn’t say that Gilda’s apprentices conflicting with each other didn't bother me. Tensions between the two groups were continuing to grow, not diminish like I had hoped. I now suspected that there was someone here that was trying to stoke the flames between the two groups. If even someone like Gilda was thinking that there was an agitator from her comments, then they had gotten bold. To what end they were working towards I wasn’t yet certain.
My suspicion was that they were trying to see me favoring on the two groups of immigrants, and consequently one side of the realm, over another. Likely some griffon with too much passion for the their hometown to let their past go. Yet that same passionate griffon was willing to move out in the woods away from it? It was a stretch, but it was a the best I could come up with at the moment.
Felian was a smart griffon, and hadn’t originally been from the village like many of the others I would confide in. Maybe he would have some additional insight into the whole affair.
Opening the door to the combined apothecary and schoolhouse, I saw that Felian was currently mounting the blackboard on the back wall. Once satisfied that the stone wouldn’t fall off and crush whoever was unfortunate enough to be standing in front of it, the middle aged griffon stepped back to admire his work.
I stepped in besides him, and Felian spoke first.
“Looking at it here in front of me, it is certainly quite a fine idea, this ‘blackboard’ of yours.” Felian smiled wistfully. “I wish I had something like that back in Eyrinholm.”
That last statement caught my attention. “You used to live in Eyrinholm? What happened there? All I know of the place was that it was destroyed by demons.”
Felian nodded solemnly. “Yes indeed, I once called that empty husk home. I was part of the lord’s court there for a while. My service there was as both healer and as tutor. Quite similar to what I do here now, though in a much more quaint home and in a much quieter life.”
He gestured to the bookshelf at the end of the room. “And that’s why I was able to get all those books as well. When I ran, I was a fool and an idealist. Instead of grabbing something to aid me in my flight, I grabbed as much literature as I could. I suppose I should be immensely grateful that nothing beset me as I made my way here. Especially as I would end up traveling alone in the opposite direction of rest.”
Felian would go on to tell me the story of the fall of Eyrinholm. His flight from the city was a fascinating cascade of lucky breaks and facing down fresh horrors. I took mental notes of his descriptions of the various fiends that he had encountered during the tragedy. Information that could be of great use later.
The conversation soon turned to the impact that the fall of the town had on the surrounding region.
“Eyrinholm used to hold command over a good chunk of this area. When it fell, the villages that followed its lead mostly retreated inwards and insulated themselves. The rough terrain and sparse population down here makes it far more challenging to exert domination over the region, even for the grand city of Griffenheim.”
Felian went on to explain, “a number of the villages down here do not have local knights or lords, and are sworn to the city directly. That means little in practice though, as they only interact with the city for the harvest and the trade on that occasion. The griffons take pride in their ability to stand on their own. The eldergriffs or knights that command them tend to act in whatever pragmatic interest serves them at the moment, and at the moment Griffenheim offers greatest benefits.”
I listened with rapt attention as Felian went about his lecture. “If you intend to achieve, if not the subjugation, but the alignment of the surrounding villages to Blackwood then I would recommend you aim to be a reliable ally.
If we wish to act as the sword defending them, then we are in an excellent position as compared to the city. We are closer, and thus able to respond more rapidly to an approaching threat. Griffenheim may have more to bring to bear, but they lack the timely manner we can offer instead. I believe that may prove a tempting choice for many a village,” Felian concluded thoughtfully.
“This has all been very valuable to me, and I appreciate your political insights Felian. But this wasn't the reason I came here. Instead, I wanted to ask your opinion about the bubbling tension between the immigrants. Do you think we have someone stoking the flames as it were? I’m worried that we have someone who is trying to cause trouble for whoever they disagree with.” I explained to him what I had seen in the forge and my own conclusions on the matter.
Felian seemed surprised by my question. He paced the room for a short while, before giving his hesitant answer.
“I find myself disagreeing with your assessment that if a griffon was intentionally trying to instigate conflict, they would be acting under their own motivation. Someone who has such pride for their home and is so certain of their opposition to others that ostensibly are part of the same realm would not relocate to the southern foothills. Instead, and I fear that this is the case, someone up north is trying to instigate a conflict to win influence over us.”
Felian stopped his pacing and looked at me with concern. “And perhaps, it is not a single one we need worry about. Both sides have had their own string of issues and embarrassments. That is not something that an agent acting for one side would do. I believe that is more representative of two opposing actors trying to move against the other. And with all such shadow conflicts, escalation is almost inevitable.”
My wings shifted around on my back in discomfort. “If that’s true, then what should we do? We can go turning the new village upside down searching for spies. There is already tension there, and that will just make things worse I feel.”
Felian nodded in agreement. “What we need to do is try and go about binding them to us instead. They need to see that there are many benefits for them living down here. Guide them into focusing on their new homes, not their old ones. I doubt that we have received those with radical loyalty to their lords, else they would not have left. They just want to live a comfortable and stable life. Take actions to convince them to let go of the past. Try and appeal to the virtues of a fresh start in the countryside. The apprenticeship program has done much for that I feel, and provide a strong sense of progress for the new families.”
Felian gave a small smile. "If you place your pieces well, the agitators will soon reveal themselves as the ones who refuse adapt to Blackwood."
“Thank you Felian. You’ve certainly offered me much insight in this matter,” I told Felian sincerely. Indeed his advice had given me much direction in how to try and resolve the situation.
“Think nothing of it, milord. I simply wish to help as much as I can." Felian replied with a bow.
With the new revelations, I decided to leave and ponder future courses of action. The doorway to the apothecary opened once more though, and I was intercepted by Cynthia as I tried to leave.
“Hi Geralt, how’s the class preparation going? I’m excited to see what you've got for us next!” Cynthia beamed as she walked over to the bookshelf, oblivious to the heavy atmosphere in the building.
“Actually Cynthia, with all the new work for me to deal with, I can’t teach the extra classes as regularly as I used to. I’ll mostly be focusing on the reading lessons alone for the meanwhile. I will try to teach you and the others math when I can, but fortunately I have a solution to.”
Cynthia was an eager learner, and I was convinced was probably the brightest griffon in the village. I didn’t want to leave her without anything to practice on when I was otherwise occupied.
I passed her a small slate tablet with a set of algebra questions on it. As Cynthia looked over the problems, I couldn’t help but crack a smile.
“What’s this?” Cynthia asked me, as she already began tracing out solutions on the stone.
The hammers beat like small drums on the nails as I watched the cluster of workers on the roof fix the last few tiles into their proper place. With the recent opening of the slate quarry, and the steady flow of slate tiles coming out, it did not take long for the laborers to finish off the first of the new houses in Blackwood.
The home might have been rather simple, but it was certain to be far more comfortable than the tents and carts the immigrants had been stuck living in since they arrived here. Having a home was an important thing for anyone, and now they would truly be able to start calling Blackwood their home. It was something solid that would anchor them here in the hinterlands of the realm. The family that owned the plot I was watching were eager to settle into their new house. Indeed, they made up most of the half dozen griffons perched up on the roof of the building.
As they worked, I looked down the future street at the other homes that were nearly complete themselves. Griffons were hard at work on their roofs as well, and from the looks of things by the end of the day the house in front of me was not going to be the only one in use tonight. Construction had progressed rapidly thanks to the simple design, and there had only been a few bumps in the road due to disagreements between the workers.
Those disagreements were the main reason that I had been running myself ragged the past few days in my quest to unify my village. I was trying my absolute best to smooth over feathers as much as possible, while simultaneously working to set the foundations for future developments.
It was a rather tall order without the experienced aid from Gunther beside me, and I missed the company of the older griff dearly. I was already rather used to having my steward handle the running of the village for the most part, leaving me free to work on whatever project was the forefront of my mind that moment.
That was the most satisfying part of being a ruler to me. I was still fresh to my role, but here in my little corner of the realm, I was free to practice and learn at my own pace for the most part. I was still enamored with the ideal vision of what a leader was. Someone creating grand plans, and guiding my people towards new horizons. I hoped that someday I will be able to reach that ideal.
The responsibilities that came with command were far less glamorous though, and would take up the majority of my time without loyal griffons to delegate them to. As the lord of the village, I had not thought that I would be the one called upon to mediate something as petty as whether or not the roof shingles should be attached from front to back or the other way around.
With the need to appear impartial and approachable a primary concern at the moment, I was forced to sit there and solemnly listen to the arguments put forward by both sides before making a decision. With such a small thing, my proclamation was simply that whoever owned the property would be able to choose for themselves, which went down well enough with the onlookers.
Tensions had cooled a little bit recently with little input from me, as the first row of houses was nearing completion. Seeing the buildings come together provided a bit of a shot in the arm for village morale. Being able to watch progress occur right before your eyes gave the immigrants a sense of pride in their work. Being able to sleep under a roof was a welcome relief to those whose homes were finished first as well.
The lots the finished homes were sat on would not be fully cleared out anytime soon. Large stones, tree stumps, and sections of underbrush and shrubbery still dotted the properties in question. The resulting spaces looked rather messy, but the basic structure of the homes would suffice for now.
Once the villagers moved into their homes, they were free to develop their lot as they wished for the most part. I left it to them to engage in some good old fashioned homesteading in what little free time they had. After all, wasn't that one of the great appeals of moving into the countryside?
The small house in the lot left plenty of extra space around it for them to work with. Perhaps later on the house would be expanded outwards to hold shops, craft spaces or other profitable ventures, but at the moment I expected the land to hold the typical gardens and chicken coops of the age. There was little reason to add another room to the house at the moment.
The family that was moving into the first house that we were finishing off today were the carpenters, some of the few skilled workers that I had access to in the village. They were fine folks, and I was hoping that once the houses were finished and everyone working on it were released to work more as they pleased, they would open a carpentry workshop soon. Some of the other laborers though, I wondered about what they would be working on next.
Completing the houses would be a magnificent accomplishment, but it was a bit of a ticking clock for me as well. Once freed from their obligations to work on the housing project, the tradition of the land stipulated that I was not allowed to simply command them to continue to labor for me without pay.
While I certainly had more than enough projects and ideas lined up for them to work on, placing myself as a demanding lord driving them onwards without reward would not do much to endear myself to the populace at all. It would do me no good to agitate a large chunk of my new workforce, especially when I was trying to attract more similar to them towards my future town.
If they were farmers, integrating them into the workforce would've been much easier. Fields could be cleared away, and then they could be left to tend to them and I could take my taxes from the harvest. But farmers had to be taught, and a city laborer knew very little of how to properly grow crops. Good farmers were raised on the farm, and had an intuitive understanding of their work from years of learning.
Some certainly would be trained how to grow crops or care for livestock, but I was hesitant to attempt to incorporate all of them into the typical village profession and risk the overall harvest falling as efforts were made to support their struggling fields. I also wished to have some workers that would be able to work on construction projects during the agricultural season. The problem I faced was in paying them.
Money was a rather difficult thing for me to acquire at the moment. Blackwood wasn’t fortunate enough to be sat atop a gold or silver mine as far as I knew, and without new coinage being introduced to the economy, the amount of wealth in practical circulation was distinctly finite. And with little to spend on, the money I paid them would be locked away for perhaps years.
If I was able to establish a regular market, the stall fees could provide a steady stream of income outside of the yearly tax collection to finance, which was still several months away at this point. Besides linking Blackwood more heavily with the wider trade network and adding a source of coin into the village hopefully, the market was also an excellent chance to draw in ever more griffons to keep Blackwood growing at a healthy rate.
Creating a market space would be relatively easy compared to other projects I had on my docket. The key things that a market space needed to function were simple; a clear open space to host it, vendors, and of course customers.
The square in the old village on the hill was a bit small to be able to host a market in, and thanks to the defensive construction the tight entrances to the village were challenging for a cart to pass through. Fortunately, thanks to the forestry taking place around the new village houses, plenty of the larger obstruction had been cleared away. Much of the smaller trees and shrubbery were slowly being consumed for firewood and kindling as well.
It would be rather trivial to clear the remaining obstacles away from any area for the market, and that meant that the only thing that we lacked was the griffons to attend it. That element would have to be contingent on the results of Gunther’s trip however, and it would be best to wait until my steward returned.
With a round of applause as the last tile was fitted, the first house of the new village was complete. After exchanging pleasantries, I left the new neighborhood behind and flew off towards the southern field to turn my attention towards other matters.
As the sun reached its highest point in the sky, I lay on my back in the cool shade offered by the birch trees staring up at the open sky. The soft breeze blew through the leaves and my feathers, and I sighed in contentment. Out here near the outskirts of the crops fields, away from everyone clamoring for my attention and the problems of the village, I had the chance to relax and think.
Taking advantage of the calm, I closed my eyes and turned my attention towards the grander issue. I sat and wracked my brain in a search for a way to act upon Felian’s advice. If I wished to nip the growing problem in the bud, a plan of action would be needed as soon as possible.
Otherwise, I worried that the mysterious subversive elements among us would soon see their efforts bear fruit. Likely forcing me to take action against one group of arrivals against the other, or risk both turning against me. There was only so long before the starry eyed ideals of living in the countryside would wear off them.
The central issue that I was grappling with in creating such a plan was that changing minds wasn’t some equation with a single clear and objective answer. Griffons were far more complex than the cold calculus of mechanical design, as with sapience came ideas and desires not easily controlled. Convincing people was an art form all its own, and was one art that I would need to achieve proficiency in rather quickly if I were to succeed.
Another one of the challenges ahead of me in my quest to unify the divided groups in my village was the time delay for any scheme to see tangible results. It took time for people to change their opinions, especially without something major that resonated with them. Something with impact that made the participants feel greater than themselves.
If I could find such a grand event though, with it acting as an amplifier I could likely win over a great many griffons. At the very least, plant the seeds of the ideas I wished to sow among them so that they would bloom later.
The more time that I spent thinking about it, the more it seemed that such an occasion was the best chance I had to decisively put a stop to the rising tensions at home.
The glare of the summer sun on my face suddenly disappeared, and I opened my eyes to find Cynthia peering at me from above, her dark feathers blocking my sunshine.
“Hi there, Geralt! Are you having a nice nap out here?” She asked me cheerfully.
“I wish that I could have been sleeping,” I replied with a groan. “That would have been much more pleasant than what I was actually fretting over. Politics are rarely an enjoyable experience, unless it is the moment all your plans come together in victory. Do you remember what I had talked about with you over dinner last night?”
Cynthia nodded, and settled down in the shade next to me. “About what you and Felian talked about yesterday? Yeah, I remember. Is that what you’ve been thinking about out here for the past few hours?”
“Essentially. So far though, I haven’t been able to create a complete plan. I have an empty frame of sorts for an idea that I think offers the best chance of success. I just don’t have whatever the core event of the whole affair is going to be sorted out yet,” I confessed.
“Maybe I can help you out then. What have you got so far? And Isn’t the apprenticeship plan already helping you out in this?” Cynthia asked.
“It is, and I hope to find a way to expand that program later on,” I replied. “The political benefits there were mostly a lovely side benefit, and not my main intention. I had just wanted to start the training pipeline for the trades quickly so that later on I’d have the pool of skilled labor I would need.
So far, I think it fair to say that I’ve got the support of those who are benefitting directly from it. For the others though, I’ve been trying to come up with something larger, to really make an impression with the community as a whole.”
Cynthia took a moment to consider my words before putting forward her thoughts. “What about doing something special for the midsummer festival? That’s coming up pretty soon, and with it as a backdrop I’m sure that we can create something that everyone would really love. And I bet they would really start to consider this place their home once we show them what we can do!”
“That’s a great idea Cynthia!” I sat up quickly. “I didn’t even think of asking about any upcoming festivals for that.”
“What, you forgot about the midsummer festival?” Cynthia teased me. “Honestly Geralt, sometimes that way you act makes me think you aren’t a griffon at all. I mean, you’ve completely forgotten one of the biggest celebrations around. You really should have gotten outside more before being tossed down here.”
She stood up and recited a few lines from a play on Felian’s shelf. “Oh, great woe to those trapped within walls of stone, never to know open air beyond their home. Closed are the skies to them, by their own kin stand condemned.”
“Oh, are you going to try and turn into that griffoness from the play there Cynthia, delivering sorrowful monologues nearly each scene? Best you try and avoid meeting her end though, I don’t think Gunther would appreciate it if you died in some far-flung town.” I grinned at her.
She giggled. “Hardly, I’m just a farm girl. Not some silver-winged maiden waiting in my manor for a dashing adventurer to whisk me away into the clouds, away from my controlling family. I don’t think I could be the subject of some grand romance. And I certainly would rather live.”
“Oh? Have you not heard the stories where the noble knight ventures to some secluded village, and falls in love with the lovely village farmgirl?” I countered, striking what I thought to be a suave pose.
That one seemed to hit home, and Cynthia turned bright red underneath her dark feathers before stammering out. “Well… I… I’ve never heard of that one before. Maybe you can teach it to me sometime?”
“Ha, I don’t have any exact story in mind for that, I hate to disappoint. I know that such a thing has been written about many times though, so I can relay to you the common story beats all of them would share.” I chuckled at how flustered she was getting, before steering the conversation back onto topic.
“But we can talk of such tales later on. For the moment, let’s get back to the present matter. How long do you think we have until the height of summer?”
Cynthia nodded. “From what the older villagers have been saying, we probably have maybe a week and a bit until the height of summer. Usually the preparations would be starting any day now, but I guess with my father gone and everyone so busy there hasn’t been time to begin.”
“I’m sure that Gunther will be back any day now. He’s got a lot of ground to cover with his party, but he’s had ample time. In the meanwhile though, we can start preparations for the celebrations. I’m sure that a week of reduced construction duties would be a welcome change of pace for everyone anyways,” I responded.
“You’re right. Let’s go and make the best midsummer festival that Blackwood has ever seen!” Cynthia stood back up and the two of us made our way back towards the old village.
As we flew, we spotted a group of griffons marching towards the village from the south. Moving to take a look, we soon flew down to greet the tired returnees. Cynthia rushed forwards to wrap the lead griffon in a hug that was soon returned.
Gunther and the soldiers had returned home.
Gunther and the rest of his expedition trudged back into the village proper, exhausted from their recent journey. After their arrival, I dismissed most of them to return home for some much needed rest, for which they were immensely grateful.
Making a quick count of the griffons that had returned, I was relieved to see that Gunther had not taken a single casualty that wasn’t able to keep walking while visiting the other villages. There were some visible injuries though, which made me equally concerned and curious.
With everything else that had been happening in the village, I was glad to see that my steward had returned home safe and sound, and that I would have his experience to turn plans into production for the festival. I was also glad to know that I wouldn’t have to worry about any missing faces in the crowd, or the damper that a funeral would put on the village mood leading up to midsummers.
I wondered how it might feel to rule a larger town, where it was impossible to recognize most of the people you were sworn to lead. Maybe it helped in making objective choices, or maybe it left you feeling distant.
Such ethical musings were beyond my worries at the moment though, and I moved to speak with Gunther. Once he had been freed of his armor and had placed his spear back on the wall where it belonged, he sat down with me for his debriefing.
“How did it go out there for you, Gunther? Were the other villages willing to provide us with a portion of their harvests for us this winter in exchange for coordinating a market and mutual defense?” I asked as Gunther sunk into his chair.
The middle aged griffon gave a short grunt before replying. “For most of them, no. Actually, that’s not quite right. That makes it sound like I didn’t get anything done. Better way to put things would be that they would rather meet with you themselves before signing up together.”
I nodded. That seemed to be a reasonable enough demand from them, and I was more than willing to accommodate it. Their food was needed desperately for the winter after all, and I willing to listen to nearly anything they asked for.
“I’d suppose that the reasons behind those requests were that they would prefer to take my measure then. After all, while they might know and trust you Gunther, once you told them that you didn’t have the final say over matters in Blackwood anymore they would be a little more hesitant to an agreement.”
“That’s probably the root of it,” Gunther agreed. “Folks here are used to doing things their own way. As far as any of the other eldergriffs know, you’re just a random outsider who came down here and now is looking for a chance to set himself on the top without ever looking down.”
He went on to add, “I figured that it might be a good idea to try and get them all down here at the same time, so I asked them all to make their way here for the summer festival. That way they can meet you when we’ve got plenty of stuff going to impress and distract them all. Might make more friends that way.”
That was a bit of a surprise, but the reasoning behind it was sound. I could only hope that I would be able to balance everything that was being piled onto this festival. Such celebrations were typically major events for the village, but this one was going to have much of the typical merrymaking overshadowed by the realities of politics.
“That should work out well. Though we do have a few other problems that have arisen. After speaking with some of the griffons that I trust, we are hoping to take some actions against them during the festival as well.”
Gunther raised an eyebrow at that. “From the looks of things, I’d say that things are going pretty well here. After all, looking over there I can see a few new houses that certainly weren’t there when we left. What are the problems that you are talking about?”
Indeed on the surface, the progress that our village has made was rather impressive. The amount of new houses being built so quickly was astoundingly impressive when all you had to work with was basic hand tools and determination. It made me puff my chest out with pride when I looked down at the new village. It was a shame some others didn’t seem to have our best interests in mind.
I shook my head. “They aren’t exactly the kind of problems that you’d notice upon arrival, but I can bring you up to speed on the village’s latest news in the morning. At the moment, I’d like to hear a little bit more about your trip. Your party was looking a little bit worse for wear on your return there, and I’m curious as to why.”
Gunther held his face in his claws, letting out a heavy sigh. “You wouldn't believe some of the things we had to deal with out there. They'd asked us to do some real strange stuff, and we ended up bouncing around between the villages trying to figure it out."
The sun started to slink beneath the horizon for the night, and Gunther told me the tale of his adventures out in the woods.
Gunther trudged through the woods, doing his best to not stumble over each and every rock or root poking out of the ground on the rough path. The rest of the griffons in his patrol followed close behind as they slowly pushed forwards.
They would be making their way towards all the villages within a few days of Blackwood to ask them for aid. If they failed, then there was a very good chance that they wouldn't have enough food to get through the winter. That would doom them all to slow starvation.
As he crested the top of the hill, Gunther paused for a minute to catch his breath before they headed back down the other side. One of the more annoying things about wearing armor was the weight of the stuff.
Of course, the simple mail hauberk that Gunther was wearing was not nearly as hefty as the cuirasses worn by the wealthy knights Silas had traveled with. That still didn’t mean it was anything Gunther would be willing to fly with for a long haul. Everything always seemed to weigh more flying than walking on the ground, going on a long flight loaded down was not easy at all. It was nice to be able to flit across streams or other obstacles though. Gunther couldn’t imagine how much harder travelling would be if griffons weren’t born with wings.
After a brief break on the hilltop, it was time to get back to hiking. Gunther called for his soldiers to start following him again as he stood back up. His soldiers. That was a strange thing to be thinking now, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t as though he was wrong to say it. The villagers certainly looked like they were soldiers, with equipment at the top end of what a militia might have.
Every griffon here was wearing some sort of armor to protect them. It was a bit of a mishmash of types, whether they were wearing a thick gambeson, hardened leather, or in one other case aside from Gunther a bit of mail. They all had proper weapons of war with them as well, not any sickles or repurposed farming equipment. Some of the longer polearms were a pain to deal with on the march though, being tied across the back to let them walk on all fours and getting caught on plenty of branches as a result.
They were a good lot to have by your side in a fight as well. While only one of them had any proper training, that didn’t mean that they were all green in a scrap. The villagers of Blackwood had fought off plenty of monsters before, and they had just gotten a harsh refresher on fighting recently. Most of the city griffons could barely hold a spear straight, but there were a few among them that had ventured outside the walls before and had some idea of how to protect themselves.
It was the most impressive fighting force Blackwood could muster in terms of quality. It was the most that they could realistically send beyond the village to help out as well. Gunther was sure that they would be able to give a solid impression of what they were putting on up for offer. And having plenty of fighters around helped to put Gunther’s mind at ease traveling through the woods like this.
At least they were coming up on their first stop right away. In the valley below, the treeline came to an end at the bottom of the hill, being replaced with the familiar sight of fields of crops. And at the top of the next ridgeline, the first village of their tour was waiting patiently for their arrival.
It was a welcome sight to see, and it didn’t look like that much had changed in the many years since Gunther had last laid eyes on this place. As they approached the village, their armed band was the gossip of the day for the villagers working the fields under the blazing sun.
They weren’t going to wander into the village without being invited in of course, that would just be plain rude. Instead, they came to a stop a good distance away from the outer ring of houses, and Gunther waited for someone to come speak with him.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes before a small group of griffons flew out to meet them. As they approached, the tension in the air Gunther had previously been oblivious to faded away the moment recognition dawned on the face of the leading griffon.
“Well, if it isn’t Gunther! I haven’t seen you come out this way in years, what are you doing all the way out here!” The other eldergriff greeted Gunther warmly before looking him over. “How are things back at Blackwood? Usually, we only get to talk when we bump into each other at harvest time. Must be going well though, since you’ve started wearing nice mail like that now.”
“You’ve got that right, Jonas. We’ve had a good year so far. Even the bandits couldn’t do much to us when they turned up, and we gave them a fight. They had plenty of gear for us to take afterwards as well,” Gunther replied proudly while tugging at his hauberk for emphasis.
“Glad to hear that you lot are still going strong then, Gunther. Blackwood is lucky to have you leading them.” The other eldergriff clapped him on the shoulder.
“Well, I technically ain’t the one leading the place anymore. Since the battle, we’ve got a new lord living among us now. Blackwood is officially his fief, and I watched Lord Silas knight him myself.”
Jonas nodded seriously after hearing the news, and his jovial attitude quickly became much more reserved. “I see. I’ll bet that you’ve got a long story to tell then, and I’d like to hear it. Come on in, let's get you settled.”
Gunther dutifully followed his old friend back to his home. While the two of them entered the building, the rest of the militia settled themselves outside to give the two eldergriffs time to talk with each other in private.
As they settled down into two wooden chairs, Jonas resumed their earlier conversation. “So, there’s a new lord here in the south now. One whose settled into Blackwood, and the first that I’m hearing about it is when they send a band of soldiers out to my village. I hope you haven’t gone and stuck yourself with an arrogant little lordling there Gunther.”
Gunther shook his head. “Our new lord is a good kid in my eyes, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s earned his place in Blackwood. I don't worry about how he'll act. As for the soldiers? Trust me, we’ve got no interest in sticking our talons where they don’t belong. We've got a good reason for coming out here like this.”
“We?” Jonas questioned.
“You’re looking at the official steward of Blackwood now. I can still speak for the village,” Gunther answered proudly. “Our goal right now is to try and build up Blackwood into a proper town for ourselves, not go and squirm into your home.”
The other eldergriff grunted in acknowledgement. "That still doesn't answer the question of what you're doing out here away from home. If you're working on yourselves at the moment as you say, then I don't see what we have to do with it."
“Well, as part of growing Blackwood, our new lord wanted to get some more griffons to move to the village. Worked out a little too well for us, and with all the griffons that have started to flock to Blackwood we’re short on houses and food for them all. Lord Geralt is working on the houses right now, and that leaves solving the food to me.” Gunther shifted in his chaise as he thought about how he was going to word the next bit.
“We’ve done some thinking, and we won’t be able to grow enough ourselves to get through the winter this year. And that's even if we hunt and forage as much as we can. Next year we can clear some more fields to help offset that, but we need to survive this winter first. So we need to ask around to see if we can trade for some of your harvest to keep us from starving. That’s why I’m here,” Gunther admitted.
Jonas slumped back in the chair as he digested Gunther’s words. “That’s not good to hear, old friend. I can understand where you’re coming from, but at the same time that doesn’t sound much like leaving us alone. A lord coming and demanding our harvest? That sounds to me more like vassalage.”
Gunther quickly interrupted before Jonas had a chance to settle into the idea. “No, it’s nothing like that. I said that we were going to trade for your crops, not just show up and beg. We’re not asking for something in exchange for nothing.”
“Then what is it you’ve got to offer for us, Gunther? I want to help you, but you and I both know what the food’s worth, especially in a big city like Griffenheim. I need to think of what's best for my village first.” Jonas sat back up straight and looked at Gunther expectantly.
“Well, we haven’t turned up looking fierce for no good reason. Besides keeping us safe on the trip, that’s something that I can promise you right away. We both know how long it can take for help to arrive in force now that Eyrinholm is gone, and we have to wait on Griffenheim, for all Silas tries. If something dangerous turns up that is more than your village could take, wouldn’t you prefer it if you knew that help was only a few days away? Faster even, if we flew light without any packs. And that’s just the start of it,” Gunther began.
The next bit was a little more of a promise, but Gunther knew a farmer would see value in it. "Lord Geralt, well he’s a clever young lad. Right now he’s got a set of drawings for a new watermill that’s going to be in our river soon. If you can help us through the winter, we can give you milling rights there once it's built.”
Jonas nodded along with Gunther pitch before raising some questions. “It’s nice to hear that you’re getting a mill in Blackwood, but I don’t why we would bother to haul our grains over to Blackwood for milling it when we’ve got a millstone here? It might not be as fancy as the new water mill but taking a few days out of our way to mill the grain before heading up north to sell it in the city doesn’t seem worth the extra trouble for all it'd save our backs from the hard work.”
Gunther had an answer ready and waiting for that one though. “Well, maybe for the grain you’re keeping home for yourself it wouldn’t be worth it. At least not without a proper road connecting us. But as Blackwood starts shooting up like a weed, we’re going to have a decent market of our own right in Blackwood. No need to go all the way to Griffenheim anymore to sell. Just like how it used to be with Eyrinholm, Griffenheim is quite a way away after all by cart.”
“I suppose that’s true enough,” the eldergriff conceded. “Of course, that all depends on whether your new lord can pull through with this plan of theirs in the coming while. And I hate to say it, but I’m not particularly excited to promise away a year of profits to some upstart I’ve never met myself.”
Gunther sighed, “I can understand that. We can organize a meeting between Geralt and you along with whoever else I talk into attending later, but is there anything that I can do right to get you to sign on?”
Out of all the village heads, Jonas was the one that Gunther knew best. He knew that some hesitancy was guaranteed, but Gunther had hoped that Jonas would have signed on already as a favor to a friend. The fact that he had not done so was a bitter tonic to swallow, and a bad sign for the rest of the villages he would speak to.
“There is one thing you could help with if you really wanted to,” Jonas said slowly, causing Gunther to snap back to attention. “It’s something that’s beyond what I’m willing to risk dealing with my griffons. But your group should have no troubles dealing with it as long as you think it through and keep your head on a swivel.”
“And that is?” Gunther pressed.
“A few days ago, one of the griffons from my village was out fishing in the woods. It was all going well for them, but that was until a wyvern showed up. The beast came in and swooped down at him. They scrambled away, and the wyvern went after the bucket full of trout instead. It flew off back to its nest after that and took the bucket with it.” The eldergriff sighed loudly in annoyance before continuing.
“Having a dangerous monster like that come down near the village is trouble enough on its own, but the griffon this happened to? Well, they’re probably top of the list of most annoying griffons in the village. Ever since the attack, all they have done is complain endlessly about losing their bucket, and we are all getting properly sick of it,” Jonas explained.
“And that’s where you come in. If you can deal with the wyvern and get that bucket back, well that’d be a big favor to me and would give us all some peace of mind. And some silence too.”
Gunther blinked as he tried to understand what he’d just heard. “You… want us to go kill a wyvern, in order to get back a bucket it stole?”
Jonas nodded sheepishly. “Basically, yes. You do this though, and I’ll agree to give you a portion of this year’s harvest.”
“I can understand the need to deal with the wyvern, that’s for sure, But the bucket? No promises there.” Just how annoying was this griffon that Jonas stuck the bucket on as a stipulation to shut them up? And why had they not already dumped them in the woods if that was the case?
Gunther was in no place to turn down a chance to secure some grain though, and he wound up agreeing to Jonas’ request. And that was after Jonas insisted that the bucket be returned after the wyvern was dead as well.
It was an odd arrangement, but if it could end up with them getting the grain they desperately needed Gunther felt that they had to give it a try.
“So let me get this straight. We're going into the woods to go fight a wyvern. A lizard that can grow bigger than a wagon. It’s got claws and fangs, and it’s an angry mass of muscle and arrogance that can kill a griffon with ease. And the grand prize that we are after it for? A bucket. I got all that right?” The skeptical griffon asked Gunther after he informed the rest of the soldiers what they were about to do.
“That’s the idea alright,” Gunther answered tiredly. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine out there. I’ve already asked around, and we know where the monster’s got its nest set up. We’ll get the drop on it and make it a quick and easy fight. Besides, we’ve fought plenty of smaller monsters before and are still here. This won’t be that much different, just be smart and be careful and we'll make it through alright.”
“I still don’t like the sound of this,” the other griffon grunted out. They dutifully pushed themselves off their rest and grabbed their billhook though.
The army of Blackwood marched out of the village, passed the crop fields, and disappeared into the forest once more. Following the directions passed on to Gunther by the one who had initially tracked the wyvern down, they advanced through the forest. As the afternoon dragged on, they eventually spotted the cliff face that the monster was supposed to have its nest on. With any luck, they would be able to ambush there tonight once the sun set.
As they moved through the woods towards the cliff face, the idle chatter of the griffons died off as they crept closer to the reported nest. Moving through unknown terrain while something deadly could show up unannounced any moment was fraying at Gunther’s nerves and he found himself constantly checking the sky for movement. As if a wyvern was going to somehow sneak up on them. He wondered how Cyril and the other hunters back at the village were able to deal with the stress of being alone in the woods for days on end.
They were soon able to spot the nest of the target near the top of sharp crags that covered the hill. The mess of branches and sticks piled on the stone looked mighty uncomfortable to Gunther, but he supposed that when you were covered head to tail in thick scales you didn’t mind the rough bark rubbing against you as much.
“Get down!” One of the other griffons suddenly hissed, and the whole party threw themselves to the ground.
There was the sound of heavy wingbeats overhead, and a massive shadow passed over where they were trying to hide in the undergrowth. Daring to raise his head back up to judge the situation, Gunther watched the wyvern slowly descend towards its nest before landing with a loud thud.
The beast was a brilliant blue color, and its body was nearly free of the scars and battle damage that he knew older monsters always bore after a life of fighting. A younger one then, a good sign to see. That meant that hopefully they wouldn’t have to deal with a mate or hatchlings in the nest complicating things.
The hidden griffons watched in tense silence as the beast paced in circles around its nest, adjusting branches as it saw fit. After it was satisfied with the integrity of its home, the wyvern stuck its snout down into the middle of the nest, re-emerging a few moments later with something dangling from its jaws. It was the bucket!
Gunther and the rest of the militia watched from their position as the wyvern pranced playfully around its nest with their objective between its teeth, tossing the wooden container about happily. From where he was sitting, the wyvern was almost like a gigantic murderous cat to him.
The endearing activity did not last for long though, and the wyvern stopped frolicking with a sudden freeze. It let the bucket clatter back down into the nest as the monster reared up to its full height, wings flared out to the side in a display of dominance.
The brush exploded in a flurry of movement as every griffon there realized that they had been spotted and there was nothing to be gained staying still any longer. The wyvern for its part let out an ear-splitting shriek as it dove from its perch towards them. All hope of an ambush had disappeared, and now they had to confront the beast head on.
Everyone leapt to the sides as the wyvern came screaming into the woods. In open air, the monster certainly would have been faster than them, but as it entered the dense woods, the griffons were able to exercise their advantage in agility over the brute.
The trees prevented the monster from flying about as it wished, and there were showers of pine needles and twigs as its wings crashed through the woods in unstable flight after the griffons who weaved out of the way. This lasted only for a few moments before the wyvern realized that it would be better off running on the ground to chase the irritating small things that had tried to sneak up on it.
The battlefield quickly devolved into chaos. There was no point in trying to fight in a tight formation here, and each griffon acted on their own to strike or flee when they could. Gunther for his part flew around towards the back of the creature to search for an opening.
While the massive lashing tail was a danger in its own right, as far as Gunther was concerned it was better than being in the beast’s sight and in front of the daggerlike fangs. Speaking of being in the wyvern’s line of sight, Gunther felt obliged to shout towards the rest of the griffons.
“If it starts coming after you, just run for it! Only attack it when it doesn't know your coming, it’s too risky to fight it head on!” Gunther bellowed, as he closed in to try and land a blow himself.
Gunther was barely able to duck under the tail on his approach. He felt the gust of wind blow through his feathers caused by the force of the swinging scaled appendage. Trying to shake off how that rattled him, Gunther jabbed his spear into a joint in the wyvern’s leg.
This caused the monster’s leg to buckle momentarily as it howled in pain. Before Gunther could back away, the wyvern kicked backwards blindly at him. Gunther raised his forelegs just in time to block the claws from tearing open his head. Instead the blow sent Gunther flying backwards out from under the monster.
Gunther scrambled upright the moment he could. After a quick check to see that there was no blue mass bearing down on him in the next few seconds, he gave himself a quick once-over. Despite the pain that he felt, it didn’t seem that he had any bad wounds. The armor had done its job. Mail stopped the talons, and the gambeson cushioned the blow.
Unfortunately, his spear had disappeared somewhere between him stabbing the wyvern and standing up over here. Gunther had no time to waste worrying about that though. The wyvern had spotted him standing there and saw an easy target on the ground.
Gunther was already back in the air dodging through the fir trees by the time the wyvern had closed the distance. The monster snapped its jaws shut on thin air as it crashed through a few spindly trees in a furious pursuit. The wyvern seemed to be desperately trying to kill at least one of the griffons. Its focus was a mistake on its part though.
In its rage it had forgotten that Gunther wasn’t fighting alone. His chase gave the others the chance they needed to land a crippling blow. And they did not disappoint.
One of the other griffons dove in from above and brought their axe down into the beasts tail with tremendous force. Gunther spear might have been excellent for jabbing at joints and other weak points, but the axe tore through flesh and bone with ease.
The tail was cut in half, falling to the ground with a spray of blood. The wyvern squealed in pain and shock. It tripped and fell to the ground a few steps later, its balance lost.
Seeing a chance, the griffons charged into to hack away at the monster before it could recover. Except for Gunther, who was searching the broken forest for his lost boar spear. Spotting a glint of metal in the flattened brush, Gunther yanked the crushed grass aside to reveal his spear lying underneath.
As soon as he picked it up and flew back to the fight, he heard the monster roar loudly. This was followed by a griffon crying out.
“Get back!”
Evidently the wyvern had had enough of the fight, and its will to live had overcome its pride as a powerful monster. As Gunther flew towards the clearing, he spotted the wyvern spreading its tattered wings wide. Off to the side of the battlespace, Gunther spotted two of his soldiers helping another to their paws. The broken branches made it clear to him that they had been brutally tossed against the tree.
Giving one last roar to scare them off from following it, the wyvern began a messy takeoff. With both its tail severed, and wings shredded, its flight was slow and unsteady. The militia tensed themselves for another round of combat. Gunther was first to voice what they were all thinking.
“Damn it! Don’t let it get away after all that!”
If the wyvern managed to escape after everything that had put it through, it was certain to come back for revenge after a few months spent licking its wounds. As far as Gunther knew, wyverns weren’t the kind of creature that’d let a grudge go. It’d return and start to pick off the villagers who wandered just a little too far from home, or attack the village directly if it was mad enough. If they lost track of it here today, it could disappear back up the mountains out of reach and there would be nothing anyone could do.
There wasn’t a chance in the world Gunther was going to let that happen. At least not without him doing his absolute best to finish the job. As the monster towards him, Gunther flew up to intercept its retreat.
Gunther was in much better shape than the monster was in at this point, and he was soon able to soar above the wounded wyvern. Taking a moment to brace himself, Gunther dove down and landed on the wounded back of the beast.
Raising up his spear, Gunther stabbed into the base of the wyvern’s wing. Again and again, Gunther dug deeper in the flesh of the joint. Eventually, as the two of them passed over the monster’s nest, Gunther finally managed strike deep enough to hit something important.
The wing he had struck fell limp, causing the wyvern let out a terrified shriek as it started to fall out of the sky. Gunther leap back off the doomed wyvern, dodging past the stump of a tail before coming to a hover. The wyvern crashed straight into the jagged cliff face.
Stones fractured and splintered as the monster tumbled down the steep cliff like a sack of potatoes. Behind it, the force of the impact meant that the cliff face itself collapsed around the impact. At the bottom of the cliff, the body of the wyvern was crushed to a pulp under the weight of the rock that followed after it.
After watching the gruesome display, Gunther felt the exhaustion of the fight hit him as the intensity of the battle faded away. He landed down on the forest floor, panting heavily.
Gunther was soon joined by his militia, though a quite few winced as they gingerly touched at parts of their bodies. One of the uninjured soldiers stepped up next to Gunther and swept a surveying gaze over the pile of fallen rock before speaking.
“Can’t even recover the body anymore. Shame, the hide would’ve been worth a lot.”
“I’m just glad we got through this all without anyone dying. We got real lucky today,” Gunther replied before sighing. “We should just go and start looking for the bucket. Doubt we’ll even find it after the nest fell apart like that, but that’s the whole reason we even came out here. May as well try and see it through.”
The griffons around him all groaned, but Gunther was right. They started carefully clambering over the stone, prodding at any part of the mess that contained a chunk of the nest. For a while it seemed like they would be coming back empty-clawed, but then they all heard a cry from the top of the mound.
“I’ve found it!”
Gunther looked over to where a young griffon was raising the damned bucket high over their head with pride. The thing didn’t look like it was anything special. Just an ordinary wooden bucket. Once again, Gunther wondered what the point of the stubborn insistence on the bucket in the first place.
The lad noticed the weary gazes that his comrades were giving him, and he flushed pink in embarrassment. He slowly flew down from the top of the pile of stone to pass the bucket off to Gunther.
As Gunther rubbed the bucket in his talons, he looked around the faces of the griffons around him. Despite the damage felt by the surrounding woods, no one had actually been caught by the wyvern and torn to shreds.
The worst injuries that Gunther could see where from being whipped by the tail or wings. The armor padding came in handy there, dampening a blow from caving in your chest to cracking a few ribs at most. These were alongside plenty of cuts and splinters from the wood. Gunther knew from his own kick that they would all be feeling their wounds in the morning, but they had gotten away pretty darn well for what they were up against.
Gunther had spent enough time out in the woods for today though, and he was looking forwards to sleeping under a roof tonight.
“Let’s just get out of here,” Gunther sighed. No one disagreed.
When they returned to the village, Gunther was quick to toss the damnable bucket into the claws of the one who had it stolen from them in the first place. He then shoved the griffon to the side, ignoring the squawks of indignation from them. Gunther marched on towards the village eldergriff’s house.
Throwing open the door with more force than he had intended too, Gunther paused to take a deep breath while Jonas’ head shot up. After he had taken a moment to steady himself, Gunther stomped over to speak with his friend.
“It’s done,” Gunther gruffly stated.
Jonas just sat there and blinked at Gunther, seemingly stunned by Gunther’s sour mood. Once he had recovered from the sour attitude, he rose from the leatherworking bench before speaking.
“Right, that’s good to hear. I hope it wasn’t too much a hassle.”
That was the last thing Gunther wanted to hear come out of Jonas’ beak. “You know damn well it was a hassle! It was a wyvern for crying out loud! We were lucky enough to get out without having to drag anyone back. We got the precious bucket back too, for whatever that’s worth.”
“I know, and I’m sorry I made it seem like you had to do this,” the eldergriff sheepishly replied. “This was something that I needed to deal with at some point though. Honestly when I saw your band of warriors, I saw an easy solution. Especially when you came looking to take away part of our harvest.”
”Then you better not have gone and forgotten what we talked about earlier,” Gunther growled at him. The other eldergriff raised his claws in the air disarmingly.
“I haven’t forgotten, don’t worry about that. And I’ve gone and given some more thought to this whole thing,” Jonas replied. “Originally, we were going to go and pay some professional monster hunter to go and take care of this for us. But you know how much the bounty hunters’ guild would’ve wanted for something like that, and you’ve helped save us a lot of coin, Gunther. And I suppose some of that should go to you.”
Oh, Gunther had become keenly aware of just how much fighting for a living could be worth. Assuming you were able to continue on with the living part, of course. The pouch of silver that Geralt had shown him in Griffenheim was enough for Gunther to understand the appeal of bounty work.
“I’ve already promised you a portion of what we’re gonna have this year, that’s been set in stone. We haven’t covered the details of that though yet, and I'll be as generous as I can. On account of what I put you through for us, that is,” Jonas explained.
Gunther felt his shoulder sag in relief. “I’m grateful for that. It’s a weight off my back for sure. And I'm sorry about barging in here as I did.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jonas said. “Doubt that we’ll be giving you enough to feed everyone from what you’ve told me though.”
“Yeah, you’ve got that right.” Gunther stretched out in his chair. “This is only my first stop. Got to leave in the morning and head off to try and win over the next village. Hell, if we can get enough claws in the pot, we might not even end up needing too much from you anyways.”
“If you need another voice at the table to convince them, well you can count on me. I can’t speak for your lord ‘til I’ve met them myself, but I know you well enough for that, Gunther,” Jonas added on. “You just bring them to the table in the first place.”
“Yeah, that’s the hard part alright. Bad enough I have to get them all in one place, and then I need to get them all to agree?” Gunther shook his head in dismay. “Now there’s trouble waiting to happen.”
As he sat there, an idea suddenly popped into Gunther’s mind. Maybe there was a way to get the village heads all together without worrying as much about the squabbling and making it seem less like a summons from a noble.
“What about the midsummer festival?” Gunther asked.
Jonas looked at him funny. “What about it? It’s coming soon enough, yeah. It'll be a fun celebration, but I don't see why you brought it up.”
“No, I just had an idea. If I invite them all to talk it over when Blackwood decides to hold the festival, well then now I got an excuse to invite them together. It’ll make it a much nicer time to talk about giving up their harvests. At least for the ones I can’t convince on the spot like you. Which we both know will be probably all of them,” Gunther explained.
Jonas nodded in careful agreement. “Probably. And I’ll be there for the festival in Blackwood too then. If you already have someone who agreed, it takes away the danger of being the first one and makes it easier to follow. Kind of like herding sheep.”
“It’ll be nice having you there. Don’t use the sheep thing when talking with the others though. They might not like being compared with farm animals like that.” Gunther added on as the two of them spoke throughout the rest of the evening.
The slightly worse for wear looking soldiers of Blackwood left the village the following morning, waving goodbyes to their hosts. As they headed back into the woods, Gunther hoped that the business of monster fighting done for the time being, and the rest of their stops wouldn’t see them fighting for their lives for something far too worthless.
Unfortunately for him, fate decided not to smile on Gunther this time.
Gunther and the two other griffons who had been brave enough to delve into the den of the wolf spiders emerged back into the sunlight. Picking off angrily biting spiderlings while pushing through webs, he was mostly just grateful none of the grown ones had stayed behind in the nest.
Now that they were out of the nest, Gunther gave a nod to the griffons waiting outside. They tossed lit torches into the tiny cave, which hopefully would turn the remaining spiderlings and eggs to ash.
In the woods just outside of the nest, there was a pile of smashed hairy spiders the size of dogs. Gunther didn’t know how it worked exactly himself, but wolf spider nests would attack anything that moved along the ground outside their nests.
Fortunately for those hunting the spiders who didn’t actually care about having intact corpses to harvest valuable silk from, that meant killing them was probably the easiest out of everything they had fought recently. Dropping a dead rabbit to get the swarm to charge out mindlessly, then dropping rocks on them to smash them to pieces worked wonders.
“You’ve got it still?” Gunther asked the griffon next to him once they were away from the spider splatters. The other griffon raised the pan up in confirmation, bits of web and spider egg still stuck to it the metal.
“Honestly, a griffon gets eaten and they want us to get the pan back. I know we’ve all gotten used to death out here, but they could at least have made killing the spiders back the main thing,” Gunther muttered.
Fighting monsters to reclaim cookery, collecting herbs, protecting griffons while they checked something in the woods. Every village they came across had some little thing they wanted Gunther and his patrol to do. And when it was done, they weren’t even willing to agree to the harvest deal anyways.
Instead, insisted that they had to meet with Lord Geralt before giving their word. They hadn’t turned him down after he came through on their errands though, which Gunther supposed had to be good enough.
The pride they had on getting by themselves out here was not going to be something most were willing to get past in a day, even with the promises Gunther made to them. It went against the spirit of the southern countryside, where each little village could fend for themselves, and only got involved each other for deals when both sides were strong and ready for an immediate exchange.
Privately, Gunther worried that Geralt had not really grasped that long-term commitments between villages or towns weren’t much of a thing down here. If the other eldergriffs felt that Geralt was starting to overstep his bound and tie them all together or push his title too hard, it would rub their feathers the wrong way.
These were the thoughts running through Gunther’s mind as he sat there losing focus on what the eldergriff sat across from him was going on about now that they had brought the pan back. He had heard the same thing so many times, and his mind had wandered back to Blackwood.
At least this was the last village they were visiting. After everything that had happened, Gunther was looking forwards to going home and properly resting.
None of the griffons who had set out from Blackwood had suffered any bad wounds on the trip, despite the efforts of everything they found themselves against. The damage to their gear and the light injuries had begun piling up however.
At first, they had looked like shiny professionals, with polished steel and clean armor. At this point though, that image was mostly gone. This last village had actually barricaded themselves up ready to fight after they spotted their group marching towards them. They had thought they were bandits from their ragged look before Gunther got it all straightened out.
Yes, they all needed some time to rest and recover. It was time to head back to Blackwood, with their quest having been moderately successful.
After two full days of tired marching, the mood turned to weary smiles as those from the old village started to recognize the woods around them. It was only a little while longer before they finally spotted the end of their journey.
Coming up on the village though, they noticed that their home had gone through a bit of its own journey while they were gone. When they had set off, work had only just begun on the new houses.
But now, Gunther and the others stared in amazement at the amount of progress made in such a short while. Where there was just light forest when they left, now they could see a pair of freshly built houses with nice slate roofs on them sitting comfortably. And beside those two, there were even more that didn’t look to be far off from being done themselves.
It was staggering work to say the least, and the murmurs behind Gunther told him that the others were just as impressed as he was at the sight. Gunther had to admit, he had felt it was going to take a lot longer to see the signs of Blackwood growing beyond being a large village into a powerful town in its own right.
But standing here on this hill seeing all the new griffons and now all the new houses? Well, it felt as though the farming village that Gunther had known for his whole life was going to have faded away entirely by the time winter finally got here.
Gunther hoped that they would be able to work their way through what was coming. It was going to be an exciting time for them all, and this old bird hoped he would be able to keep up. Gunther wondered if maybe he should give the math classes a try. If they kept growing, he wouldn’t be able to keep track of the village in his head anymore. And Gunther was in no hurry to step down as steward because of that.
As the tiny army approached the village, making their way through the fields of grain that reached up high towards the summer sky, two griffons flew down to greet them. Once they were close enough to see who it was, Gunther smiled. At least not everything was going to change, and he could still rely on a warm welcome when he came home.
Whereas Lord Geralt settled down on the ground in front of them to greet them formally, Cynthia had no such reservations. Instead, she tackled Gunther into a fierce hug, which he quickly returned.
After everything he had put up with recently, it was good to be home.
