He turned away from the crowded dining hall and got out through the main door and starting to walk towards the Union main building. He went through the interconnected rough stone path and entered through the side door of the main building. The inside of the main hall is brightly lit with countless torches burning more than half a fling away from each other and decorated with teeth, skins, and heads of the games around the city, lining on the thick cobbled wall covered by the rough woollen fabric. It was more like a hunting lodge than a Union main hall. There was almost no dangerous threat apart from fierce games like Wodbear and Vipri which caused some casualties for hunters, but they were always dealt by vengeful and more coordinated hunters, occasionally accompanied by a knight and/or Maeist or two. Normally, the Union hunted occasional rare beasts and vanquished bandits. The appearance of a cave entrance to the Abyss changed everything.
The main hall was decently spacious with tables and chairs for discussions and quick drinks from the bar at the corner of the hall. At night, it always filled with chatters and noises of boozes clicking and tall tales running from drunks with various people from the city gathered to listen and romanticize adventures. He used to sneak around and listen to the tales, gossips, and news from locals, merchants and travellers, much to the dismay of his brother. But now with most of its useful members died, the hall was almost empty for a month. The bar had closed down and the Union lost its rowdy liveliness. Even as he approached the reception, the attendant seemed dispirited. Knights of Sheldon was dying. “Morning, Ruffia.” “... Oh, morning...” The attendant froze in a second when he greeted her but answered quickly with a slightly agitated voice. “...As you can see, I don’t have...” Continued, the attendant was smiling nervously and repeating the words she said to him for a month before he cut her off. “I understand, just here to inform you I’m going to the farm if they need any help.” “... Of course, they did...” The words trailed off for seconds. “...I’m going then... See you...” “... Luc...” Sensing the embarrassment, he quickly turned and left through the side door before she could properly respond.
Closing the door, he took a deep breath and walked slowly to the dormitory. Although he had grown accustomed to the treatment, it always hurt right into your heart when the person you know since childhood turned cold and fearful. Ruffia shared her childhood with the brothers, running and playing around the city. Even when they were busy with the Union, they still had some time to catch and joke with each other. What has been lost would never be returned again. Forcing down the rising flow of memories, he started to walk at a quicker pace, took another deep breath, and entered through the door connected to the dining hall. The line should have gone. He walked in fast but brisk pace as the dining hall ceased its morning chatter and became silent. Grabbing a trench slice of bread, he handed his bread forward to the kitchen hand. The kitchen hand poured a scoop of cereal pottage into the thick slice of bread without looking at him. He quickly walked towards the exit with his hands full of his breakfast before the pottage worked through the bread and starts to stain his hands. He gobbled down the pottage while chewing the hard and tasteless slice of bread as he walked across the wide training field and towards the Union gate entrance.
Outside of the Union compound, he gazed back to the Union compound which has been surrounded by cobbled walls. The entrance was higher than the fences with its thicker cobbling structure and stone foundation with a large wooden gate. He sat on the stone foundation and continued his breakfast while looking dispassionately at the street. The street was roused from its night slumber and renewed the day with its procession of people, going on their business. Setting up their makeshift stalls, going for breakfast in cheap stalls, and rushing to their respective jobs. Even so, he noticed a significant change with the flow of people as their numbers dwindled.
Tressmoor was located in the southeast region of the coalition of Thamathus, a small city-state alliance formed by lords and barons of various southern cities of the fractured kingdom of Slavaris long ago. The history of Tressmoor was brief compared to the rest of Thamathus. Tressmoor started as a small settlement of hunting and farming before the arrival of the Tress family. An exiled family of nobles with some gold to spare, the Tress family quickly established themselves as the patron of the settlement as they invested in the expansion of the settlement by buying and developing several farms and lumber mills. It did not take a decade before the whole settlement depended on the family.
The family designated a name with a cynical hint as if the whole area was too inappropriate for their former social standing. Shrewd and seasoned, the Tress family hired cheap settlers to build and connect the road from the southern main road to the border city near the Principle of Jercflosey with the settlement as the checkpoint and spread the news. The connection allowed the settlement to thrive and grow from a backwater village to a city-state when the Tress proposed to the coalition to recognise their lineage and accomplishment for their lordship over the once impoverished village and earned their right for the ownership and joined the coalition. It was very impressive considering the achievement was within a lifetime of a generation, no more than five decades.
With the passing of the former generation, the title of the Baron fall to Fargon Harnessen Tress, the surviving son of the former Baron’s second brother, Harnessen Norweg Tress who died of diseases. It was a miracle for the youngest male to sit on the chair of the head of the family as other male members had contested heatedly for the seat with some very heinous clashes resulting in several losses of lives. The clashes pushed the Baron’s favour to the indifferent and fun-loving nephew. The death was too sudden as the contest was ended without the clear advantage of a side and the title was bestowed to a bystander.
It was no wonder that the uncles of the new Baron did not acknowledge the will. The city-state was torn apart by the infighting with the farmers sided with the surviving elder uncle, Hearn Norweg Tress, the craftsmen sided with the younger uncle, Hursel Norweg Tress, and the traders and merchants sided with the new Baron. As the only Union in the city, Knights of Sheldon was drawn into the embroilment. It was unknown of the motive of Grawyrad, the former leader of the Union, had when he decided to side with the new Baron, but by tipping the scale to the favour of the new Baron, the city-state achieved a delicate peace with the faction of the new Baron able to administer its authority in the city while reaching an uneasy truce with the faction of Hearn and Hursel Tress. The expedition to the cave entrance of the Abyss broke the delicate balance. With the leader gone and the Union weakened, the power balance could be tipped towards other factions.
On the contrary, the other factions did not have the time to spare for such an opportunity. The heavy blow to the Union was felt from all over the city as hunters were starting to leave the area due to the appearance of Vorgion-type chimaera and the cave entrance of the Abyss. Some farmers also refrained from getting out on the field too early and staying too late for safety. Crops and domestic animals also suffered as some farms had been ransacked, trampled, and stolen by beasts. There was no travelling merchant and caravan coming to the city. Even the countryside thugs ran away with their life from this part of the region. The craftsmen did not have enough customers and raw materials to work with. The small city of Tressmoor was in the poor state as supplies were dwindling and anxiety was increasing. Not that it had any concern to an outcast. Overlooking the depressed people over the main street of earthen coloured of cobbled, wattle and daubed buildings decorated by various coloured fabrics and flags of Tressmoor, a stalk of heather flowers flanked by two twirls of wheats sewed in golden yellow threads on a black flag, he finished his breakfast, brushed his hands, and melted into the street.
Strolling through the main street, he merely looked ahead towards the gate entrance. Tressmoor was still in mourning as he was. He had enough grief of his own to be bothered by others’ tragedies. Affected by the state of the city, the guards did not bother to keep their eyes sharp as they just phased through the shift in a trance. Passed through the gate, he headed to the Union’s farm. Stretched for two hects, the farm is quite large and located in the fourth column of farms in the southwest of the gate. To be exact, the farm does not belong to the Union, but the Tress family. Somehow, the Union has been commissioned with the patch of farmland to work with.
Trainees were scouted and tested of their talents, then assigned to their rooms and roles in the Union. All trainees required to live in the dormitory until they are considered worthy and tasked with the specific job such as cleaning and preparing meals, according to the roster. Tending to the farm was used to be one of such tasks until they found out trainees keep switching out from the task, for it took half a day or more to complete the task and left trainees too tired to go about their assigned quests. The task became a request that can be accepted to earn some pennies, but it was still too little to attract except for the ones desperate for jobs and pennies. Like him.
He sighed and walked towards the farm while wondering the relationship between their leader and the last Baron. Most of the farmlands were used to grow hay, wheat, rye, and oats. The Union’s farm was no exception. Two-thirds of the farm was covered with golden silks of hay ready for spring harvest, and he needed to work with the Union’s farmer and other trainees to reap and transfer the haystack to the storage pit all day long which was backbreaking for days to come. “Morning, Mr Hense.” He went and greet the thin and emaciated farmer. The farmer merely nodded and pointed to the sickles placed in a lined basket. He picked one out and worked in silent. Other trainees started to come by before the sunlight cut through the mild coolness and bearing down with a hint of a calm breeze. It was not unbearable, but it was sweltering with the arduous and repetitive task. They cut the hay and gathered it at a large cart which will be pulled by several trainees to the storage pit. During the assignment, other trainees conversed and joked around each other, laughing and poking on each other, but never once they approached him. They only motioned to him among themselves and whispered behind. He had grown used to the treatment and averted his attention with the task at hands.
It seemed like he worked diligently, but his hands and movement did move slower than usual as his mind wandered to the assessment. He purposely postponed his assessment by claiming to work on the farm, but he had dragged it for too long, over the whole week. He was demanded by Floki, the training instructor, to undergo it by today. At least there will be no trainee left by the time of his assessment. He absentmindedly went about his task, cutting and loading hays on the cart. Walking back to the dormitory during the midday to nip the leftover from the breakfast and resuming to harvest, his mind was occupied by the notion of the reality he has to face. He could not bear to see it to end this way. Twice, he missed the cart and dropped the hay on the ground, but he did not notice the smirks of trainees and the fuming stare of Mr Hense. He would have missed the time had Mr Hense did not go and tap him on the shoulder while motioning to the slightly lowered sun. Grew accustomed to the short daylight of the winter, he forgot the change in the passage of the sun during the spring. The Union has a water clock to measure the time, unlike farmers who sensed the flow of time through the passage of the sun. Thanking the farmer and returning the sickle, he walked slowly towards the inevitable.
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