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The Year Of The Bear - Ep.3

ButonflyAug 6, 2018, 12:16:43 AM

(Start at the beginning)

The town of Ipswitch was the most lively outcrop of civilization this side of the high north path. It served as the first point of call for traders and travellers making their way through the region, and the main hub for trade before entering the kingly realms. The dwellings were simple but hearty, built from lumber and roofed with thatch or shingles. All were suited to weathering storms, not to mention the ever flowing stream of hearty folk coming and going with trade. The road and paths they walked were covered in gravel, mined from the surrounding mountain, and scattered by those who made their living as residents of the town. An economy of which had been laid out at the behest of an Alderman who had seen the town rise in growth and prosperity over generations. These were just a few of the many things Julia had learned of the town in the weeks since her arrival and, all things considered, she couldn't rightly stand the place. It was small, too small, too remote, far too cold, and all-in-all too civilized for the likes of her imagination. Her idea of the northernmost reaches of the realm had a touch more brutality to them, a measure of lawlessness, and entirely more excitement of the bloodthirsty affair. She couldn't complain about the nobility she’d seen, the coming together and functioning form of the simpler folk; going about their rustic lives. It was quaint, nice even, yet she had been sold a different image to have her agree to take the long trek away from the comforts and intrigues of city life. What of the stories of brutes and barbarians, of raiding parties, warring clans, and dark monsters coming down from the crags? What of the books she’d read of the past detailing a much more colorful history of these lands? More importantly, how drab would her report be upon her return should the highlight only include details of crop yields, mining deposits, and the usual list of everyday individuals without an ounce of notoriety amongst them. Oh sure, Bill the Blacksmith was an able bodied metal worker with a wife and two children under his name, capable of forging ploughshare and sword. A notable feat for any individual. But then what town did not have a Bill, or Bob, or Bruce, or Ben?

Julia sighed as she looked out across the towns center and main road at the mid-morning traffic. Two horse drawn carts and a dozen or so people already buzzily going about their tasks. The pace was a molasses by her life's experience, which brought with it a sort of pain that sat somewhere just above her sternum. She might have abandoned her task a week ago had it not been for a little problem with coin. She could have happily concluded, with negligent judicial authority, that all was quiet and mundane “without exception” in the town of Ipswitch. Yet circumstances had forced her to approach things otherwise. To start, the trip North had been met with unexpected expenses, a trouble only exasperated by a small but no less annoying amount of thievery once she had arrived. Now her coin purse was light and despite a letter home requesting some manner of aid, it was only a matter of time before she’d be opting to join the ranks of shovelers lining the streets with gravel in order to maintain herself. At least her Mistress couldn't question her doing a thorough job for all the time she’d been forced to invest. A silver lining she’d happily garb herself in for the sake of appearance when the time came.

Seated in the veranda outside the Inn, soaking up the warmth of the morning sun, Julia watched with piqued interest as a small troop of men rode swiftly into town. She counted seven horses in total, with six of the men standing out in tightly fitting black breeches, loosely fitting ashen tops, and a blue sash of rough cloth slung over one shoulder. Most strange was the short cropped tufts of hair on their heads coupled with the complete lack of facial hair, which made them stand out in the region without exception. Each was adorned with a blade, and all followed a more prominent figure, similar in appearance except for the blue velvet and vermine robe he was garbed in. Julia thought the troop resembled a group of soldiers, though she did not recognise their uniform, nor marry the outfit up with any army to her knowledge. With haste the troop dismounted their horses, and without delay the robed man amongst them took a stand on an elevated platform and began reading aloud from an unfurled scroll of parchment. The words carried on the open air but they became inaudible sounds over the distance. Already, Julia was up off her seat, drawing closer to earshot as the nearby throng of morning towns folks did the same. All around a cluster of men and women became encircled, with more still stopping from their daily lives to listen nonchalantly from the wings. Julia drew forth a small book and, with pencil in hand, readied herself to capture notes.