ARC 6-Winter War-68
After a rousing discussion, trying to follow along as Alana talked at me about troop deployment for the campaign and optimal positioning, I convince her to give me a tour of the house. Not even the James are exempt from noble pride. Their home still has places of extravagance and leisure.
Like every noble worth their title, the James have a library, though theirs is focused on military history, tactics, and the heroes of Victory. Their armory is also impressive, though incredibly utilitarian. There’s stone, there’s metal, and not much else. The only decoration is a single banner. However, the house does have one interesting feature. The basement.
Specifically, the key feature of any estate in the north, the home furnace, a large cylindrical structure of stone with one thick pipe sprouting from its top and disappearing into the ceiling. It’s separated into two parts. The bottom is kept heated by burning strange black stones apparently mined throughout the region. The larger, upper part is for the snow and ice cleared from around the fort.
The snow and ice are heated in the furnace and turned into steam. Apparently, the stone pipe at the top of it branches into dozens of smaller pipes that run throughout the house. The circulating steam keeps the building warm. And all without magic.
I asked why they didn’t use artifacts for the job, like the one over the door, and the answer is that the war consumes too many resources. They refuse to use something as valuable as affinity stones on something as frivolous as staying warm. Only in Victory.
However, there is a cost to the non-magical solution. That would be the servants that live underground. Four of them, three young boys and a girl, live in rooms barely large enough to be called closets on the opposite side of the room as the boiler. Orphans with no family to support them, working for bread and shelter. They keep the hissing beast functioning at all hours, splitting the day into two shifts. They aren’t allowed into the main house for any reason, having a separate entrance to the surface. That they reach by squeezing through a tunnel, like rodents.
It was a thoroughly miserable sight I could have gone without ever seeing. Alana wasn’t thrilled witnessing it either, standing on the stairs leading to the basement and averting her eyes. The poor kids looked similarly uncomfortable being observed. The way they hunched their shoulders and edged closer to shadows gave the impression of rats, though I felt guilty for making that comparison, even in my mind.
My tour revealed another, uglier side of Victory. When nobles of the capital speak of Victory, it’s with disdain and vague concern. They don’t understand the uncompromising zeal of the northern warriors but are more than willing to indulge them as long as they keep their swords pointed in the right direction.
When the commoners speak of Victory, their words hold awe and admiration. A society where worth is determined by merit, where anyone can be recognized, sounds incredible, despite the danger. Some are even drawn to the danger and the opportunity to train, either as knights or casters.
No one thinks about those without merit. Those who cannot brew potions, shape armor, forge weapons, or fight monsters. The completely ordinary who die in droves trying to prove themselves or worse, the untalented. The poor bastards who just can’t manage to do most things well.
In our village, even the slow-witted and disabled can make a living doing honest work. They aren’t consigned to the darkness. Thankfully, heat stoking is one of the worse jobs and only taken by the desperate but servants aren’t treated well in this fort. Not at all.
The more I learn about this place, the better I understand Alana’s past, and the more I don’t like it. Yet, I want to know more. It’s insatiable, my desire for her, even her unhappy memories.
I love her for indulging me, despite the subject making her uncomfortable. Nothing gets under her skin like her family and Victory. I can’t imagine how much they hurt her…and yet, she can’t pull away from them. As if the constant snow and cold people weren’t enough to make me dislike this place.
After witnessing the depressing reality of servants in the north, I desperately need something to cheer me up. We have a couple of hours to kill before dinner so Alana recommends taking a stroll through the rest of the fort. Options for entertainment include watching drills, watching exhibition fights in the arena at the center of the fort, and visiting a real knight order. I take her up on her offer, as I also want to drum up interest in my wares. I brought a lot of liquor with me and I can’t drink it all. Well, I could, but it would be a waste when it could save lives. And make money.
I also want to inquire about the monsters past the Peaks. The books in the James’ family library contain a fair bit of information, which is why Geneva is currently reading through them. I want to ask experienced knights about their personal encounters. Nothing goes together better than stories and a good drink.
Alana and I leave the estate with one sword, three glass bottles, half a dozen cups in a small bag, and an imp riding on my shoulders. A shouted, “Wait!” stops us at the door.
We both pause in putting on our shoes to look up. Yulia is hurrying toward us, as much as decorum and her heavy dress will allow. A fur-lined cloak is in one arm. She’s clearly planning on going somewhere. Did she mean to come with us? I don’t think Alana will approve.
My guess is proved right immediately as my future wife hastens to put on her boots. In response, Yulia quickens her pace. I can’t help thinking they’re both being a little ridiculous.
The sneaky sister reaches us before we can slip out the door. “Allie. Lou.” Is it wrong that I’m a little delighted when Alana scowls at the casual use of my name? “What fortuitous timing. I was just about to head home. Perhaps we can walk together?”
Her eyes are wide and hopeful as she looks at me. I can practically hear her begging for me to help her. To be the bridge between the two sisters and help mend the broken relationship.
I ignore her silent request, turning my head.
“We aren’t headed for the bunkhouses,” Alana bites out.
“A shame but we can go for as long as we’re together. Perhaps I can help with your assignment from father? I’m not too good at these things but you know my husband.”
“Thank you for the offer but I don’t need pillow-talk expertise.”
I wince but hold my tongue. Yulia doesn’t make any more attempts at conversation but she does follow us as we leave the house. What I hoped to be a fun jaunt through the fort is instead a terse walk filled with tension as Alana tries to leave her sister behind and Yulia stubbornly keeps pace. In no time, we pass the garden of swords and exit the gate formed of ice.
A group of five hunters are waiting a short distance away. I know they’re hunters because there is no fur in their outfits. Everyone wears fur in the north. It’s weak evidence but I would have been comfortable with my assumption.
What seals it in stone is their manner. They are huddled together in a small circle, hands tucked under their arms or in front of their faces as they blow on them. All of them shiver intermittently. They look cold. Natives of Victory prance around shirtless in this weather. Obvious outsiders.
At first, I think they’re simply admiring the duke’s estate, the usual gawking people with wealth and power have to endure. My opinion changes when one of them sees us and quickly gestures to the others. Eyes narrow, nostrils flare, and the five hunters come stomping toward us.
“You!” the one in the lead, a tall man with a face flushed by the cold and ill-fitting gloves on his hands, sneers at me. “Are you Lourianne Tome?”
Before I get the chance to respond, one of the men behind him interjects. “Oi, who else is walking around with that kind of hair? It’s her.”
“Look at her face,” a third says, though I have no idea what he means by that.
“Yeah.” The leader cracks his knuckles. “I been waiting for this. With the mountains as my witness, I declare that you have wronged me and mine beyond reconciliation. Our grudge can only be settled by blood. I challenge you to combat, knowing and accepting all consequences of my words.” He sneers. “Let’s see what you can do without your monsters to protect you, little noble.”
ARC 6-Winter War-68
After a rousing discussion, trying to follow along as Alana talked at me about troop deployment for the campaign and optimal positioning, I convince her to give me a tour of the house. Not even the James are exempt from noble pride. Their home still has places of extravagance and leisure.
Like every noble worth their title, the James have a library, though theirs is focused on military history, tactics, and the heroes of Victory. Their armory is also impressive, though incredibly utilitarian. There’s stone, there’s metal, and not much else. The only decoration is a single banner. However, the house does have one interesting feature. The basement.
Specifically, the key feature of any estate in the north, the home furnace, a large cylindrical structure of stone with one thick pipe sprouting from its top and disappearing into the ceiling. It’s separated into two parts. The bottom is kept heated by burning strange black stones apparently mined throughout the region. The larger, upper part is for the snow and ice cleared from around the fort.
The snow and ice are heated in the furnace and turned into steam. Apparently, the stone pipe at the top of it branches into dozens of smaller pipes that run throughout the house. The circulating steam keeps the building warm. And all without magic.
I asked why they didn’t use artifacts for the job, like the one over the door, and the answer is that the war consumes too many resources. They refuse to use something as valuable as affinity stones on something as frivolous as staying warm. Only in Victory.
However, there is a cost to the non-magical solution. That would be the servants that live underground. Four of them, three young boys and a girl, live in rooms barely large enough to be called closets on the opposite side of the room as the boiler. Orphans with no family to support them, working for bread and shelter. They keep the hissing beast functioning at all hours, splitting the day into two shifts. They aren’t allowed into the main house for any reason, having a separate entrance to the surface. That they reach by squeezing through a tunnel, like rodents.
It was a thoroughly miserable sight I could have gone without ever seeing. Alana wasn’t thrilled witnessing it either, standing on the stairs leading to the basement and averting her eyes. The poor kids looked similarly uncomfortable being observed. The way they hunched their shoulders and edged closer to shadows gave the impression of rats, though I felt guilty for making that comparison, even in my mind.
My tour revealed another, uglier side of Victory. When nobles of the capital speak of Victory, it’s with disdain and vague concern. They don’t understand the uncompromising zeal of the northern warriors but are more than willing to indulge them as long as they keep their swords pointed in the right direction.
When the commoners speak of Victory, their words hold awe and admiration. A society where worth is determined by merit, where anyone can be recognized, sounds incredible, despite the danger. Some are even drawn to the danger and the opportunity to train, either as knights or casters.
No one thinks about those without merit. Those who cannot brew potions, shape armor, forge weapons, or fight monsters. The completely ordinary who die in droves trying to prove themselves or worse, the untalented. The poor bastards who just can’t manage to do most things well.
In our village, even the slow-witted and disabled can make a living doing honest work. They aren’t consigned to the darkness. Thankfully, heat stoking is one of the worse jobs and only taken by the desperate but servants aren’t treated well in this fort. Not at all.
The more I learn about this place, the better I understand Alana’s past, and the more I don’t like it. Yet, I want to know more. It’s insatiable, my desire for her, even her unhappy memories.
I love her for indulging me, despite the subject making her uncomfortable. Nothing gets under her skin like her family and Victory. I can’t imagine how much they hurt her…and yet, she can’t pull away from them. As if the constant snow and cold people weren’t enough to make me dislike this place.
After witnessing the depressing reality of servants in the north, I desperately need something to cheer me up. We have a couple of hours to kill before dinner so Alana recommends taking a stroll through the rest of the fort. Options for entertainment include watching drills, watching exhibition fights in the arena at the center of the fort, and visiting a real knight order. I take her up on her offer, as I also want to drum up interest in my wares. I brought a lot of liquor with me and I can’t drink it all. Well, I could, but it would be a waste when it could save lives. And make money.
I also want to inquire about the monsters past the Peaks. The books in the James’ family library contain a fair bit of information, which is why Geneva is currently reading through them. I want to ask experienced knights about their personal encounters. Nothing goes together better than stories and a good drink.
Alana and I leave the estate with one sword, three glass bottles, half a dozen cups in a small bag, and an imp riding on my shoulders. A shouted, “Wait!” stops us at the door.
We both pause in putting on our shoes to look up. Yulia is hurrying toward us, as much as decorum and her heavy dress will allow. A fur-lined cloak is in one arm. She’s clearly planning on going somewhere. Did she mean to come with us? I don’t think Alana will approve.
My guess is proved right immediately as my future wife hastens to put on her boots. In response, Yulia quickens her pace. I can’t help thinking they’re both being a little ridiculous.
The sneaky sister reaches us before we can slip out the door. “Allie. Lou.” Is it wrong that I’m a little delighted when Alana scowls at the casual use of my name? “What fortuitous timing. I was just about to head home. Perhaps we can walk together?”
Her eyes are wide and hopeful as she looks at me. I can practically hear her begging for me to help her. To be the bridge between the two sisters and help mend the broken relationship.
I ignore her silent request, turning my head.
“We aren’t headed for the bunkhouses,” Alana bites out.
“A shame but we can go for as long as we’re together. Perhaps I can help with your assignment from father? I’m not too good at these things but you know my husband.”
“Thank you for the offer but I don’t need pillow-talk expertise.”
I wince but hold my tongue. Yulia doesn’t make any more attempts at conversation but she does follow us as we leave the house. What I hoped to be a fun jaunt through the fort is instead a terse walk filled with tension as Alana tries to leave her sister behind and Yulia stubbornly keeps pace. In no time, we pass the garden of swords and exit the gate formed of ice.
A group of five hunters are waiting a short distance away. I know they’re hunters because there is no fur in their outfits. Everyone wears fur in the north. It’s weak evidence but I would have been comfortable with my assumption.
What seals it in stone is their manner. They are huddled together in a small circle, hands tucked under their arms or in front of their faces as they blow on them. All of them shiver intermittently. They look cold. Natives of Victory prance around shirtless in this weather. Obvious outsiders.
At first, I think they’re simply admiring the duke’s estate, the usual gawking people with wealth and power have to endure. My opinion changes when one of them sees us and quickly gestures to the others. Eyes narrow, nostrils flare, and the five hunters come stomping toward us.
“You!” the one in the lead, a tall man with a face flushed by the cold and ill-fitting gloves on his hands, sneers at me. “Are you Lourianne Tome?”
Before I get the chance to respond, one of the men behind him interjects. “Oi, who else is walking around with that kind of hair? It’s her.”
“Look at her face,” a third says, though I have no idea what he means by that.
“Yeah.” The leader cracks his knuckles. “I been waiting for this. With the mountains as my witness, I declare that you have wronged me and mine beyond reconciliation. Our grudge can only be settled by blood. I challenge you to combat, knowing and accepting all consequences of my words.” He sneers. “Let’s see what you can do without your monsters to protect you, little noble.”
