The farmville is nearby; this corn field being the first of many we cross as we make our way to it. The group is on high alert for the goblins to return, but we do not spot them again. Though my owl had been dozing before, I will it to provide aerial coverage so that I am not subject to any more surprises. We push through lunchtime and reach the central building complex a little after one o’clock.
This farmville is precisely what it sounds like: a collection of farms and farmers in the same way that a village is a collection of buildings and villagers. It’s much more spread out than the average town, but there is a central complex with a well and assembly hall. There is no inn—I would assume travelers don’t often visit a farmville and the hospitality of a farmer’s home will suffice were there a need. There is no tavern, just that modest hall where the farmers and their families can gather. There are certainly no temples, libraries, or government buildings, but there is a general store. Unsurprisingly, it is stocked with what the farm is growing, but also appears to carry other supplies that farmers might need.
In my experience, a farmville is comprised of several different farmers but, more often than not, the lineage is the same. This one just so happens to be the farmville of the Tullikins family—eight generations and counting.
The central complex is abuzz with the activity of the day. Vong in the lead, we approach the nearest wagon unloading straw and barrels near the assembly hall.
“Hail!” calls Vong, “We are from the Adventurer’s Corps. Have you seen any goblins?”
Nice and subtle.
The three men stop unloading and relax against the cart. All three of them. As though it were a holy ritual or something. The nearest one gives the group a look of discernment that involves one eye squinting and spitting at the end.
“You up from Nodkis then?” he asks suspiciously, if not cleverly. The other two stop leaning on the cart and stand up next to him.
Vong seems oblivious of their defensive posture and continues to walk forward. While I do not fear some lowly farmers, my imposing frame will probably not increase our chances at a friendly exchange of information. I do not approach.
“Yeah, your farmville is in our sector this week. We saw some goblins back that direction but they got away,” Vong motions back the way we came.
The farmers cock their heads and look as though the goblins might be visible, then return their attention to Vong, “Yeap, heard about some goblins not too long ago. Was up in the apple orchard. Gave Paulk an awful scare, coming at him and the horses with their stupid, squashed faces an’ pointy nibblers.” The farmer turns to one of his companions, “Where’d Paulk get off to?”
Shrugs all around.
Vong has the sense to ask, “Which way is the orchard?”
The farmer motions in a roughly eastern direction. We came northwest to arrive here. It’s pretty likely they are the same goblins.
Vong looks back at me quizzically. I nod. He smiles and turns back to the men. “Any other sightings recently? We’re going to check them out.”
The men hem and haw and twist their mouths in thought. They share a meaningful look and then turn to Vong and shake their heads in unison.
Rural enclaves are so strange. The behavior of these farmers is not setting off any alarms in my head that they might be hiding something. I think a family-community like this just lives differently and it only appears that they share some kind of hive mind.
My family, while expansive, did not share these kinds of quirks. Not merely because we lived in one of the larger cities in Varasht, but it would also be exceptionally rare for a family to all be farmers. The Pillars of Devotion bring with them different professions, and there are rules to devoting. A first-born son is given free choice to choose his Pillar. A second son is expected to choose a different Pillar than the first-born and, preferably, something that is of high need in the community. If no son has yet chosen his father’s path, then it is the third son’s duty to take that Pillar, otherwise he must devote to Religion. Fourth sons have little say about devoting to Husbandry and becoming farmers or ranchers. There are guidelines beyond four sons but it is rare to find a family so blessed. So the only way a family might all be farmers is when the father is a farmer, his first son chooses Husbandry of his own will, and the second son takes husbandry because of the needs of the community. It breaks down at the third son, but two sons is pretty good, all in all.
Here, though, families are specialized and, through marriage and interbreeding, can come to dominate a sector of the community. One outbreak of illness, then, can wipe out a family and leave the rest of the community at a loss. If it happens to the cobbler family, it isn’t such a big deal. People just don’t get new shoes for awhile. When it happens to the food providers, it is more of a problem.
Yet another reason Elysium is weak.
Walking back to the party, Vong has a great big grin. I can only marvel at what it might be after that exchange.
“After lunch, I want to track those goblins.”
Rakatha nods in agreement like a man with a score to settle.
Voella’Tien also nods, “It is why we are scouting, after all.”
I don’t need to say anything, so I don’t.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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