“I wonder what that is” he said aloud to Drake the war club as he spotted some kind of structure in the distance. Drake didn’t reply, he never replied.

Valtor turned the dial on his goggles, zooming them in on whatever it was. Hopefully it was a structure, which meant oasis, because his water was getting a little on the low side.

A structure it was, it looked like some kind of temple, with…snakes? Were those snakes? Hopefully they were just statues and not actual giant snakes.

“Off we go!” he shouted as he turned the sandcar towards the temple.

——

After a couple hours of sailing, Valtor started nearing the temple, giant snake statues they were. In fact, the entire temple was snake themed. “I wonder if they like snakes…” he mumbled to himself sarcastically.

As he pulled up to the front of the temple, he noticed that it seemed to have only one entrance which was flanked by two very large guards in snake themed armor. They looked at him angrily.

Valtor jumped out of the sandcar, strapping Drake to his back as he did. “Greetings!” he yelled to the snake guards, raising his open palm as a sign of non-hostility. The snake guards just stared.

He was shocked as he got closer to them, they were bigger than him, not something he was used to. “Hey fellas” he said finally getting within a few feet of the men “would you mind telling me where I am, and possibly point me to whatever spring gives you the water out here?”

The men looked at each other, and then one spoke. “This is the temple of Ga’gan, the only outsiders allowed inside are pilgrims.”

“What about potential pilgrims looking to top off their water stores while being willing to listen to anything you have to say about your religion?”

The guards looked at each other again before the same one answered. “Come with me, do not stray from the golden tiles, and don’t leave the spring room for any reason.”

“Thank you, thank you good sir!” Valtor gushed before following the guard to the door of the temple.

“I would ask that you leave your club outside please” the guard added as they got to the door. Valtor obliged muttering “I’ll be back for you soon, Drake” as he followed the guard inside.

——

Valtor followed the guard through the dark, maze-like temple for a good fifteen minutes before they reached a room filled with the sound of a brook babbling. “Wait in here” said the guard “Fill your casks and drink your fill. An acolyte will be with you shortly.” As he left, Valtor walked into the room and beheld the spring. It was a massive pool, fed by a spring coming from the stones somewhere. He quickly dropped to his knees beside it, taking his cup from his belt and downing a few mugs. After drinking his fill, he took the half a dozen wine skins from his shoulder strap on his back and filled them with the fresh water before replacing them. As he stood from the pool, he heard a soft voice behind him. “Hello?”

Valtor turned around to face a slim man in purple snake themed robes. “Greetings” he said, raising his hand to the man in the same way he had the guards outside.

“I’m told you wish to learn more about our religion and way of life?” the man said.

“I’ll level with you,” the barbarian replied, “I just said that because I was getting pretty desperate for water and your boys didn’t look like they’d want to help a brother out.”

“Ah” the priest replied “Well, you’re already here, might as well listen as I walk you out, maybe you’ll be inclined to stay a bit longer?”

“Sure. Lead on.”

As the pair walked out of the temple, following the path the guards had pointed out earlier, Valtor listened to the priest talk about their religion. They worshipped snakes and the snake mother. Snakes symbolize regeneration and regrowth; the snake mother embodies this. Looking upon her is sin. On and on the man went, getting more excited and trying flashier language as they got closer to the temple doors and saw that Valtor seemingly had no interest in staying. As they approached the door outside, Valtor thanked the man for his hospitality, but said that he thought snake worship just wasn’t in the cards for his life as it currently was.

He turned to go and that’s when he heard it, it was distant, but he couldn’t ever mistake that sound. A man screaming in bloody terror. “What was that?” he asked the priest, who visibly began to sweat.

“Nothing, probably an animal being butchered and just echoing through the temple.”

“Uh huh, you guys couldn’t have just waited until I was gone, eh?”. The priest paled.

Valtor sprinted back into the temple towards where he heard the scream. “HEEEEY!” he yelled as loud as he could “KEEP MAKING NOISE! I CAN’T FIND YOU UNLESS YOU KEEP SCREAMING!”

Another scream echoed through the temple and Valtor knew he was on the right track; even without berserking, he was really fast, and not just for an older man. As Valtor ran towards where the screams were apparently coming from, they got louder and more frequent, showing him the right path.

Finally, he turned a corner and entered another room, a very large room, and that was where he saw it. The statue gardens. Valtor’s eyes surveyed the large room at what looked like hundreds of statues of men, and some women, in various poses, all screaming with looks of pained horror on their faces. As his eyes roamed upward, he saw it; a giant cauldron bubbling with some strange orange liquid, and a pully system submerging some poor, now quiet, man into it.

“What in the names of the ten gods is going on here?!” he yelled. Suddenly, several more priests and guards all around snapped their heads and eyes to face him.

One of the soldiers drew a sword and charged Valtor, who just smirked. As the soldier brought the sword down trying to split Val’s head in twain, Valtor clapped the blade, catching it, and then front kicked the guard, sending him sprawling and disarmed.

Valtor tossed the blade into the air, caught it by the handle and said “Now. You can all explain what’s happening here, or I can berserk and remove your cult from the face of the planet.”

The guard on the ground looked up at the priests and other guards who were approaching. Several guards had drawn their swords as well, but now seemed to be thinking better of it. A priest with a golden headpiece began to speak. “We are the Cult of Medi’sa. We worship snakes and the snake mother.”

“Yes, yes, I got the pitch earlier. What’s going on HERE?”

“Well, as you may know, it’s a sin to look at the snake mother, Medi’sa. Outsiders who do must be put to death. They are dipped into the molten compound in the cauldron you see before you, and then placed here in the statue gardens.”

“Uh huh,” Valtor said “So even if someone accidentally sees your snake mommy, you grab them and dip them in the stew.”

“Yes. It must be so.”

“Must it?” Valtor smirked. “Listen, it’s time to knock this business off. I can’t help the people you’ve already done this too, but you won’t be continuing it. Otherwise, I’ll end your snake cult.”

The priest laughed. “Oh, will you? We don’t just have our guards you know. Ph’thon!”

The entire chamber began to rumble, “Oh boy…” Valtor muttered.

Suddenly, at the far end of the chamber, rocks gave way and burst, as a gigantic snake thundered into the room. It raised itself up and opened its mouth widely.

Valtor stood his ground. The air was heavy with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he gazed into the darkness of the snake’s pupils. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by a potent cocktail of excitement and fear. He had heard legends spoken long ago of Ph’thon, the monstrous serpent that slumbered in a desert—a creature with scales as dark as the abyss and eyes that glowed with an otherworldly intensity. He never imagined he’d encounter it, especially after the magic left.

Valtor tightened his grip on the stolen sword, feeling its weight anchor him to the ground. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the damp cave walls, as if hinting at the imminent clash between warrior and serpent. With a deep breath, Valtor steeled himself for the epic battle that awaited him in the stygian abyss.

A low, sinister hiss reverberated through the cavern, as Ph’thon fully emerged from the wall. Its serpentine form coiled and writhed; its eyes fixated on the intruder who dared to challenge its dominion. The cavernous space seemed to shrink in the presence of this monstrosity, but Valtor stood firm, undeterred by the overwhelming odds.

With a primal roar that echoed through the underground chamber, Valtor charged forward, his stolen sword arcing through the air. The blade whistled with deadly intent, aiming to strike the impervious scales of Ph’thon. The serpent, agile beyond comprehension, evaded the attack with a graceful slide, its movements seemingly defied the laws of nature.

Undaunted, Valtor pressed on, his battle instincts honed to perfection. He danced around Ph’thon’s relentless advances, ducking and weaving with the agility of a predator. Each swing of his sword carried the weight of determination, as he sought the vulnerability that lay within the serpent’s impenetrable defense.

Ph’thon retaliated with lightning speed, its massive jaws snapping shut with a force that could shatter bone. Valtor, fueled by adrenaline and a warrior’s instinct, sidestepped the jaws of death, his reflexes pushing him beyond the limits of mortal capability. The resounding clash of their connection echoed through the cavern, as the two adversaries engaged in a primal struggle for survival.

Valtor’s strikes landed with thunderous impact, his sword finding purchase on Ph’thon’s scales. Sparks flew as the blade bit into the monstrous creature, yet the serpent’s resilience seemed unyielding. Ph’thon, desperate to overpower the warrior, coiled its immense body around Valtor, squeezing with relentless pressure. The very air seemed to be crushed from Valtor’s lungs, his muscles strained and tested to their limits.

Finally summoning the rage that burned within him, Valtor tapped into the berserker fury that lay dormant, waiting to be unleashed. A primal roar escaped his lips as his strength surged to superhuman levels. With an indomitable surge, he broke free from Ph’thon’s suffocating grip, his sinewy muscles bulging with newfound power.

In a final display of defiance, Valtor and Ph’thon clashed one last time. The warrior’s sword cleaved through the serpent’s scales, carving a path of destruction. A guttural roar mixed with the shrill hiss of the dying serpent, filling the air with a cacophony of triumph and defeat.

As Ph’thon’s lifeless body writhed upon the cold cavern floor, Valtor stood amidst the aftermath of his fierce battle. The air grew still, the weight of victory settling upon him. Valtor, the indomitable Berserker, had conquered the depths of the underground cave, forever etching his name into the annals of history and striking fear into the hearts of the cultists who worshipped above and around him. Unfortunately for them, his fury was not yet sated.

Valtor, foaming at the mouth, and eyes rolled back in his head, stepped forward. One foot following the other, his body moving with an inhuman grace and speed as he cut through cult guard after cult guard. Severed heads, dismembered bodies, rapidly dropping and replacing weapons as he went because they got stuck, or dulled, or broken in someone.

A guard managed to get a tone from a snake-shaped horn before Valtor buried a sword in the top of his skull and split him from top to bottom. It was loud enough to summon the rest of the guards and priests from the temple.

As more of them poured into the stone gardens, Valtor kept moving, his voice making occasional noises that sounded like they didn’t come from a human. Occasionally he would get a wound, they were never bad, and due to his conditioning, never bled. Eventually, no more came. The gardens were empty save Valtor himself, a few cowering priests around the head priest in a far corner, and what seemed like literal tons of carnage and viscera.

Upon hearing a priest’s involuntary squeak of terror, Valtor turned and saw the group. He began stalking towards them, pulling a large sword from a body as he went. In one or two strokes, he had sent the remaining cultists to the afterlife, leaving him face to face with the cowering head priest.

As he raised his sword above his head, he heard a familiar feminine voice. “Please, stop” it said. And Valtor was snapped from his berkerkergang. Images flashed through his mind “Daddy please stoooop hahaha” his children’s raucous laughter during tickle fights.

Valtor lowered his sword to the ground but didn’t drop it. He turned and faced her for the first time, the snake mother, Medi’sa. She was standing above him on the edge of the cauldron platform, cast in shadows, but he could tell she was just a girl, couldn’t be older than fifteen or sixteen. Her hair was an ornate series of braids shaped like slithering snakes that moved around her head.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“You know.” Came the reply.

“What is all this, what’s going on?”

“This is, or was, the cult of Medi’sa. Snake worshippers who believe that their holy snake mother is reincarnated into the bodies of young girls every time the previous one gets too old. Once she’s too old, they make her an addition to the gardens, and then search various towns and cities for her replacement, one that matches the descriptions in their writings. They modify her with various surgeries and then brain wash her using various techniques of torture and hypnosis.” She stepped from the shadows, revealing her face and snake eyes, the fangs they’d implanted into her extended from her canines as she opened her mouth.

The head priest yelled “Snake mother no! You must not reveal yourself!” as she launched from the platform at Valtor with a spitting hiss.

“I’m sorry.” He said, holding his sword up to let her falling form impale itself. “Please Daddy, stooooop! Hahaha” flashed through his mind again.

At the last second, he reversed his stolen sword, allowing the girl instead to take the pommel right in the solar plexus and knock herself out. She fell limply across his arms. Valtor placed her on the ground, and as he did so the head priest rushed towards them screaming “Defiler! You sh—hrk…” as Valtor’s thrown sword pinned him through the throat to the wall behind him.

Without a word picked up the girl in his arms, tiny to him by comparison, and left the temple.

——

As Val walked out the door, he grabbed Drake “Have I got a story for you old pal.” He said, now carrying the girl over a shoulder. He spent the next hour or so filling up every available container he had with water from the temple spring, and then using some picks found within the temple itself, made some well calculated strikes to the temple entryway, collapsing it in on itself. “Rest in piece I guess.” He said, hoping this would be the end of the cult.

He laid the still unconscious girl across the backseat of the sandcar, locking the doors and putting the divider between them. He didn’t know how she’d be when she awoke. After finishing loading the car, he said to Drake “It’s time for us to go see an old friend.”

And with that, he expanded the sails on the sand car, and sailed off into the desert.

The post Wandering Valtor – Chapter 2 – Why’d It Have To Be Snakes? appeared first on NovaVerse Online.

In the twenty years hence, he met Lye’ta, the dryad woman who would become his wife and mother of their three, half-human/half-dryad, children. Lye’ta was beautiful, and like most magical creatures, didn’t suffer from the rigors of age typical to other beings. Where Valtor was very visibly in his mid-fifties, Lye’ta still looked early twenties despite actually being a couple of decades older than him. Age and appearance didn’t matter to them anyway, they were happy and had a happy healthy family. He stood on the porch looking out across their fields and continued to reminisce. Money wasn’t an issue, his military pension, and wage as a training officer, coupled with a good investment banker assigned specifically to help out the soldiers meant money would never be an issue.

This was coupled with the fact that Lye’ta was a dryad, a magical humanoid plant creature that had an affinity to growing things. After their wedding, Valtor bought her a farm and paid to get it up and running and run it she did. Their farm rapidly became the biggest food producer in the district. Times were good, and now that their kids were all school aged, they focused more on their jobs to keep busy and time with each other.

Because of all this good fortune, Valtor had instituted the house rule that every night, everyone puts everything on pause and sits down together for dinner. He knew that everyone in his family would probably long outlive him so he wanted to have as much time together as he could. He wanted to give them lots of fond memories of him.

“Vaaaaalll, dinner!” He heard Lye’ta from inside. As he opened his front door, he was tackled by three tornados. No, not tornados, children! Children with entirely too much energy.

“PAPA! YOU’RE BACK!” shouted Leanna, his youngest.

“Like a vertebra” he replied to her confused face, and then they both started laughing.

He let the children lead him to the dinner table, bantering all about their days and what they learned at school while he watched Lye’ta serving the dishes on the table. They shared a look and a smile. “She’s so beautiful”, he thought.

He picked up a fork and turned to look at his plate as the room was suddenly bathed in darkness along with a faint *pop* of displaced air. “What the name of the Maker?” he asked aloud, “Hon, did something happen with the generator? Hon?” no answer, no sounds of kids either.

As his eyes settled into the dim light coming through the windows from the dusk, he realized he was alone in the house. “What in the…” and he headed out the kitchen door to the back yard. All the field golems, that usually worked diligently and non-stop were slumped and unmoving, all of their lights off. That’s when something tickled the back of Valtor’s memory. Something half-forgotten from long ago. A warning everyone said was crazy. He sprinted around his house, entering the front yard and looking across the district toward the city and realized what had happened. All of the lights were gone, every one, except for the fires slowly starting that he could see. The age of mana had ended.

Valtor dropped to his knees and screamed himself hoarse.

*5 YEARS LATER*

Valtor sat back on his haunches, listening intently to the young idiot in front of him monologuing. He felt the tightness of his bindings and thought could almost discern what knots they’d used to tie him up. His goggles itched next to his nose.

“…And THAT is why the Counterville Cannibals were able to catch you! You’re going to feed us for a week!” the idiot laughed. He began to continue his rant, but Valtor interrupted him, to his visible annoyance.

“Sonny, sonny, sonny, I get it. The pull of the ego, you NEED people to realize how badass and smart you are, how you’re the best leader of the Cannibal Carnival—”

“COUNTERVILLE CANNIBALS!”

“Right, right, that’s what I said. I get where you’re coming from, but I need to ask you, have you ever heard of the Barbarian Berserker Corps?” and the cannibal laughed.

“Of course!” he said sarcastically “They were all killed in the skirmishes after the magic went away and they all lost their strength, bunch of pathetic losers. Why?”

“Well,” Valtor began, “The thing about the corps was, not all of them died, and not one of them used a lick of mana”, he smiled, and everything went red.

——

Valtor awoke on his knees. “Am I still kneeling or kneeling again?” he asked out loud to himself.

The sky overhead had some light, but he couldn’t tell the direction the sun was in, so he didn’t know if it was dawn or dusk. His club was sitting next to him. Good old Drake. It had been a while since he and the war club had had a good chat. Granted the club never replied, but their conversations were decent enough Valtor had thought.

As his wits slowly returned and his senses came fully online, Valtor was aware of several things. One, he was covered in blood and viscera, two, none of it was his own, three, he was surrounded by cannibal bandit parts in various states of carnage, and four, their entire camp was destroyed with some of the remains of it being on fire.

“I hope it was worth it” he muttered to any cannibal hearing organs that might still be nearby.

He got up, a bit stiff and sore, picked up his Drakebone Maul and slung it over his shoulder. He made his way to the freshwater spring where the bandits had made their home and drank using a ladle made from a bleached human skull “waste not want not” he said, muttering an apology to the skull.

After his thirst was satiated, he decided to head to see what they had for transport and then he saw them. Desert wind skiffs. Sail boards made for surfing across the desert dunes using the powerful winds. Valtor smiled and, after securing his gear and club, set out on a skiff.

He followed the stream that flowed from the spring knowing he’d reach some kind of settlement eventually. After about three hours of sailing into the morning light (turns out it was dawn after all), he came upon a small village. Upon seeing his skiff in the distance, the people started ringing a gong and running for cover, locking, and boarding up their doors and windows.

Valtor pulled up outside their town and walked into the village square of the now, apparently abandoned, hamlet. “Hello?!” he yelled. “Villagers?! I come in peace!”

“Look, I’m not a bandit, cannibal thing. I, well, I brutally killed the lot of them and left their pieces in their camp by the spring head. Look, I’m a field commander of the Barbarian Berserker Corps, none of you have anything to fear from me.”

“You mean you WERE a field commander” said a voice from behind a barrel. A feminine voice. “The berserkers were defeated when the government collapsed after the mana left.”

“I suppose you’re right” he replied “but old habits die hard. And name dropping being a leader of a heroic group of soldiers who protected the innocent can only help build trust, right?”

“Unless you’re a liar…” the voice replied, then continued “You know,” it said, “you don’t sound much like a dumb brute.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I am, years of conditioning from my wife just corrected my way of speaking.” The girl finally came out and smiled.

“Anyone who would find a wife to tolerate him long enough to fix him can’t be all bad. Come out all of you! What’s your name barbarian? Or would you just prefer ‘Barb’?” she smiled again.

He laughed, “I’m Valtor, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He offered his hand.

“Oh, fancy words, I need to meet this wife of yours.” She quipped back, accepting his hand and shaking it. Valtor’s smile faltered but didn’t fade entirely.

“So, tell me about the bandits, how long had they been raiding your village?” The girl noticed he changed the subject but didn’t press.

“3 seasons on and off” she said, “The Counterville Cannibals, more like Counterville Cranium…voids.”

Valtor smirked, “So I take it this is Counterville?” Valtor gestured around him.

“Oh, more of that barbarian brilliance,” she began, smiling “but yes, this is Counterville, or what’s left of it.”

“They really were cannibals?” Valtor asked her.

“I don’t actually know, *I* don’t think they truly had the balls, but lots of people did go missing over the last 3 seasons. Part of me thinks they just used what was going on to try and bolster their reputation.”

“Makes me almost feel bad for letting them set me off…” he muttered.

“Don’t worry, they had it coming. Stole medicine that led to people dying, actually did kill townsfolk, stole food that led to some starvation. I just don’t think they were cannibals.” She finished.

“Welp, I’m gonna help you improve and fortify your town, but then I want something in return.” He said causing her to raise an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to talk to the elder.” She said, looking away. “FATHER! Come here, he has a proposal for you!”

An older man approached, about the same age as Valtor, “Thank you, stranger, for taking care of the bandits. I am the elder, and I see you’ve met Nadja. She says you have a proposition for us?”

“I do sir,” Valtor began “I noticed you have a magicar parked in that shed.” he said pointing at the vehicle.

“Yes, it was the only one in our town, we used it to travel to the ocean and trade at the port there, but we’ve since had to abandon it for obvious reasons. We modified the trailer it towed to be towed by a horse, but it’s very slow going.”

“I’ll make you a deal; if you give me the car, in return I will improve your town in every way possible.”

The elder looked at him skeptically. “How?”

“Well first, I’ll teach you all how to make medical supplies and set up a duty rotation schedule for maintaining your stores. Then I’ll teach you all the most in depth field medicine I know. After that I’ll teach you everything my wife taught me about farming. Irrigation, companion planting, crop rotation, animal-based soil regeneration, swales, wind breaks, and water storage. Then we’ll work on making and maintaining improvised weapons and you’ll all get a crash course in using them and how to practice with them. After that I’ll help your men refurbish the trailer to be comfortably towed by two horses instead of awkwardly towed by one, and I’ll fix both of your single-horse wagons. Get you running a proper caravan for trading.”

“You would do all this for us, for nothing more than the broken old magicar?” The elder asked incredulously.

“That and some assistant labor to help with all the projects and with the repairs I want to make to the car.” Valtor nodded.

The elder smiled “It’s a deal!” and shook Valtor’s hand, “come, let us feed you and give you a place to sleep and we start tomorrow.” And with that they went to Nadja and the Elder’s house.

Dinner was succulent pork and chicken, along with some sad vegetables and salad. Valtor ate heartily and thanked them profusely. They put him up in their guest room.

Over the course of the next few weeks Valtor stayed with the people of Counterville, accomplishing everything he said. He had, in a couple months, transformed their town, giving it back some of the civilization he thought it might have lost. The people were most happy and agreed to everything he asked.

They helped him dismember the sand skimmer and fix its sail and steering mechanism to the magicar. He took some supplies and a smart and diligent worker named Krine and “set sail” for the bandit camp.

It took them the better part of a day to get back to the camp, moving a whole car with one sail, but they made it. That night they made camp in what was left of the bandit’s camp and the next morning set to work disassembling the rest of the sand skimmers.

Over the next few days, Valtor and Krine worked diligently to build an entire array of sails onto the frame of the magicar. Attaching all the pulley systems to spots in and around the old steering wheel. With some trial and error, Valtor got pretty good at driving it, and after about a week they headed back to Counterville, covering the distance in one forth the time of Valtor’s original trip following the stream.

They got back to the town and Valtor bid Krine, Nadja, and the rest of the town farewell, but not before the elder could heap supplies onto him, and then headed out in his refurbished mag—no, his Sandcar, with Drake the club in the front seat beside him.

The post Wandering Valtor – Chapter 1 – Reawakening appeared first on NovaVerse Online.

John replied, “I understand you’re a one-man fishing operation named Dag. Your wife Marion sells your hauls everyday.” “Aye” said the fisherman, “what’s it to ye?”

John explained who he was and that he’d gotten a new idea to study insects. He had heard that different insects were better for catching different kinds of fish. The old man nodded and John continued “Might I ask where you get your bait?” “The dock boys” Dag said, referring to the youngsters that lived near the docks and made their livings fishing, trapping, and catching various types of bait and selling them to the different fishermen. John thanked him and headed out to wander the wharf and see if he could locate any dock boys. He found a bunch of them lounging in the shade of a wagon that was waiting to have its contents loaded to a ship.

“Hello boys, I’m John” he began.

“Hiiii Jooohn” the boys all said in unison, mockingly. John laughed.

“I hear you guys are good at finding bait for the fisherman, old Dag says you sell to him and the others.”

“What’s it to you?” the oldest boy asked.

“I need some bait, a lot of it of as many types of bugs as you can find. I’ll pay you handsomely for them, 1/10^th of a gold per bug.” The boys immediately sat up at attention. “You serious?” they asked. “Usually” smiled John, “I need them all alive, I’ll only pay for living ones.”

“Hah, just like the fishermen. Come back here in 3 days at dusk with a wagon, and bring money.” The oldest boy said. John nodded and left as the boys all ran off.

——

3 days later John arrived at the appointed time and place with the wagon. He and the driver inspected and counted the 50 large jars of still living insects. All the jars were half stuffed with various pieces of plant and other materials, John assumed as makeshift habitats for the bugs. “I count 237” said the driver “added to my 303” said John, and that’s 530 insects. John pulled a pouch from his belt and added 3 more coins to it from another pouch. “53 coins, as promised” John said, tossing the pouch to the oldest boy who smiled ear to ear. “You be sure to come back any time you need more bait” the boy said to John before the group of them ran off.

John smiled to himself and said “Let’s go back to my workshop.”, the driver nodded and off they went.

——

Over the next several weeks John busied himself with the insects; experimenting with different notes on different instruments, dragging different materials across other materials, observing and recording how all the insects reacted to each sound, vibration, or intensity. Restocking his bug supplies by working with the dock boys.

Eventually John found his golden note. He had been experimenting with different sizes of dock whistles made of different materials. He found one that made no apparent sound he could hear, but every time air went through it, every single insect went crazy, smashing into the farthest sides of their jars as possible. “Yes!” John thought before heading to Ryan’s office.

——

At Ryan’s office his secretary said “Hi John, what’s up?” “Just here to see the man and show him something I’m working on, is he busy?” “he’s in a meeting, but I’ll ring the ‘John bell’ and let him know to wrap it up” “John bell?” John asked. “Yes,” she replied “He had a special bell made for when you come in wanting a meeting. He and his father realized that you only come here when you have something that will make them a ton of money, so you get priority.” And John laughed.

A few minutes later he was ushered into Ryan’s office. “Sorry for the wait John, how can you help me today?” Ryan said with a smile and John laughed again.

“I’m here about my latest project” John began, and explained how he was preparing to get ready to go on a trip to research about his past, when the notion of travelling through the swamps with the bugs got to him and so he put off his trip to address the issue.

“So you’re telling me, you created a whistle and repels every insect, but we can’t hear it?” Ryan asked raising an eyebrow, “I don’t suppose you brought it”.

“As a matter of fact” John said, pulling the small whistle from his pocket and a jar of a half dozen different insects from the other. He set the jar on Ryan’s desk and blew the whistle. The bugs went nuts trying to get away from him. “A whistle of this size only has a range of about 10 feet before it stops working, this will keep it from aggravating the apiary or any birds or other animals who might be impacted by it too seriously. Attach it to a wind tracking windmill design and it can be made to blow automatically when the wind does. Do you think there’s a market?” and Ryan burst into laughter.

“You just solved the bug problem for every city, healer’s temple, and caravan. I’ll bring news of this to my father at home this evening, and we’ll meet you with the lawyers to get it drawn all up in the morning. After we make a deal, you can give all your work and materials to the scholars we’ve hired from the university, and your prototypes and designs to the liaison from the tradesman’s guild to deal with the setting up of mass production.” Ryan was very excited. John thanked him and left.

That night he met with Ryan and the old man over dinner and they came to an agreement. “Standard contract then? A million gold, and a royalty? What would you like this time” the old man asked. “I think I’ll ask for 5 percent from the profits of every sale, as these are a ‘one and done’ sort of deal for everyone who buys them.” The old man laughed and said “Your canniness still surprises me, young John. But it’s a deal.” And the next morning the contracts were signed and John found himself a millionaire a second time with yet another regular source of income.

That night John sat in his workshop playing with one of his whistles and a hand pump, attaching them together with a hose, he found that squeezing the pump he could make the whistle repel the bugs. He attached the hand pump to the bottom of his travel staff prototype, ran the tube up the side to where he mounted the whistle to the top. Now every time he took a step with the staff, the bugs in his jars went crazy. John smiled.

——

After getting all his materials to the scholars, and explaining it to them, and then getting all his prototypes and designs to the trade guild liaison and helping them set up mass production, converting one of the smaller unused warehouses into a mini-factory, John was ready to get back to work on his staff and preparing for his journey.

——

As John sat and tinkered with his staff designs, he realized he really hated consumable things. Especially for the idea of travelling. He knew he’d need a portable light source, and while the glowing rocks he got from Petros were able to store the sun’s light all day and maintain a fairly bright glow for a decent length of time after sunset, they weren’t very good for radiant light, more for just making beacons. Torches, lanterns, and the like were the go-to source for portable lights at night. John wasn’t fond of having to carry around fuel for them, nor was he fond of their potential dangers.

He decided he needed some time to think, away from the city and reconnect with some old friends, so he jumped on the next caravan back to Greenhill. 3 weeks later he arrived to find Nathan, Hulda, Sven, David, Patrick, Petros, the glassblower, Sarah, and all 3 of his apprentices all waiting to welcome him home. They had a small party in David’s pub and John caught everyone up on his life since he’d first established that tidewalkers could be used for communication.

They informed him that one day the king’s soldiers came with some bankers and finance ministers to audit Lord Quezzel and found that he had been milking the town dry for years. He and his “town guard” thugs were all arrested. The guards were jailed, but the king had Quezzel executed as an example to the other lords.

The king had installed a new lord, Lord Glanburry, to manage the town and surrounding lands going forward, and now the people had functioning roads and a guard to protect them from bandits and to help during natural disasters like when the river flooded last year.

John smiled, quite pleased with himself. “So Patrick” he said “Tomorrow I’m going to head to your smithy, I have a project I’d like to discuss with you”. “Sure,” Patrick replied, “It’s really good having you home John, we all missed you.” And they all had a toast.

After the night was done, John walked back to his cottage, entering it for the first time in over a year. It looked like the apprentices used it regularly and kept it up. John collapsed happily on his bed and slept like a rock.

The next morning John met Patrick at the smithy “So what did you want to get into?” Patrick asked. “Well, I’ve been trying for months now to start a journey to try and finally discover who I am and about my past, but I keep running into obstacles, becoming obsessed with overcoming them, making a ton of money from my inventions and then finding the next problem.” “Tons of money eh? Sound really stressful” and they shared a laugh.

John continued, “I had just started to become obsessed with figuring out a better and safer way to make portable light sources at night, and decided I needed a break. Come home, meet my old friends, and simplify things.” “Makes sense. You want to start woodworking again to take your mind off things?”

“No,” John replied “I realized we don’t have a watch maker here in this town. You’re the closest thing to someone who works with metal. I’d like to take that up, and who knows, maybe it will give me some transferrable skills, or help jog my memory.”

“Okay” said Patrick, “What do you need from me?” “A space to work and materials and tools” John answered.

“I’d like to rent part of your shop, buy any materials I need from you, commission you to make any tools I find myself needing, or custom parts I can’t make myself. What say you?”

Patrick smiled “After everything you’ve done for all of us, brother, you got it. Let’s get to work!”

So Patrick and his apprentices helped John clear a space to work and set up a workbench. John spent a week drafting out tools he’d need made and parts he imagined he’d need but couldn’t yet build himself, just based on everything he’d seen and learn from the watchmakers in the city. He paid Patrick and his team well, and they got to work, furbishing him with everything he needed. And thus John began his career as an amateur watch maker.

As the weeks went by, with Patrick giving as much assistance and tutelage as possible, John became quite the mechanist. He learned more and more about mechanical engineering and how energy is transferred. Teaching himself about coils, springs, gear ratios, locks, and pins, it was great fun and he found he was quite proficient in it. Since money wasn’t an issue for him at all, he gave away the watches, clocks, and other knickknacks he made to the people of the town.

One day after giving wind up toys to a group of children, one of the boys untied the bracelet he was wearing. He handed the bracelet to John saying “This is because you’re always so kind, and because my Mom says you’re going on a trip someday.” The charm on the bracelet was a small lodestone compass. John was very touched and thanked the boy, putting the bracelet on immediately.

A few weeks passed and one night, working half in the dark because he’d gotten too distracted with what he was doing, John had just finished rolling a batch of copper wires into copper springs. He stood all the springs up on small clamps Patrick had made for him, pleased with himself. These were going to make some neat things. John hadn’t specifically decided what yet, but he figured they’d be neat.

As John reached across the springs to sweep some of the metal dust and particles into the bin at the end of the table, he noticed something. In the dim light of the room, whenever he would wave his hands passed the springs, he could see a faint blue glow from their tips. John waved his hands a few more times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, and then doused the lantern he’d been using the rest of the way. He waved his hands across the springs again and much more clearly in the dark, he saw sparking from the springs he’d made. “What is going on?” he marvelled.

——

The next day, he dragged Patrick into the smithy early “You’re never going to believe this” John said. “I believe I need coffee” Patrick replied “what is it?” John closed the shutters, sat Patrick at the work bench, doused the lanterns, and started waving across the springs. Patrick fell over backwards in the chair.

“SORCERY! JOHN YOU’RE A SORCERER!” Patrick exclaimed. “NO! No, no I’m not, I’ve never had a magical inclination in my life, that I can recall” John said “I think this is something else.”

Patrick met his apprentices at the door and told them to head home, they would get full pay for the day off, he and John were trying to figure something out and needed quiet. They shrugged and left.

John and Patrick spent the morning with John waving his hands above the springs, he noticed that Patrick couldn’t do it, and he couldn’t seem to do it with his right hand, only his left. And that’s when he realized it wasn’t him, it was the compass. When he’d wave the compass across the springs, they’d glow blue. The faster he did it, the brighter they glowed. He handed the compass to Patrick to try and had the same results.

“You see?” John asked, “It’s not magic, it’s something else, something about the compass. What’s this made of?”

Patrick looked at the compass “This is one of mine, it’s a lodestone compass. The loadstones themselves stick to anything with iron in it, and if you balance them with a counter weight or float them on a leaf in water, they always point north. That’s how a compass works.”

Fascinated, John asked “Do you have a bigger one?”

The post The Amnesiac Woodcutter – Chapter 3 – Insect Whistles and Clockwork Glowing *DRAFT VERSION* appeared first on NovaVerse Online.

He was surprised at how quickly they took to their new environment as long as they were provided with salt fish and fresh water. He had built brood boxes, not knowing if they’d be needed or used, but to his surprise they were. After spending a few weeks feeding and watering the tidewalkers and getting them used to his presence, he began trying to train them. John decided he needed to tag them and make them easily recoverable should they escape. He asked the jeweler for advice on making tags for them after explaining what he was doing. “Have I got a deal for you, John” said Petros, the jeweler. “I bought these minerals from a travelling merchant for quite the price” the rocks were pinkish and red, with whites, grays, and yellows. “They’re fantastic gems that capture the sunlight!” and he took John outside into the street and held a handful of the rocks up in the direct sunlight. To John’s surprise, they began to glow bright pink and orange. “What are these?!” asked John in wonder. “Some kind of mineral the merchant said they dug up from a mine up north. They cost me a lot of money, and sadly, nobody can afford to pay my prices for them, so I’m just sitting on them.”

“So what’s your deal then?” asked John. “Simply this” said Petros, “I believe in your brains and ambition and what you’re trying to do. I think coming up with a way to move information across the continent so fast is well worth doing. I will make for you simple metal rings with gems of this material inlaid in them. That way should any of your birds escape, they should be pretty easy to track back to their nest, especially as the sun goes down. I will do this for free.” John was thrilled. “However,” Petros continued “should you lose any of them, I expect to be compensated full market value, my time included.” “deal” John said, shaking Petros’ hand. “Pick them up tomorrow morning”. And John did just that.

The next day, John carefully attached the glowing rings to the feet of every tidewalker. Then the training began. John began getting them used to being out in the yard on leashes one at a time, walking them around, gently restraining them when they tried to fly. Using salted fish to lure them back and forth with the help of the meat farmer who was also intrigued by what John was attempting. The rings did make it easy to track the couple who escaped back to their nest, and they were docile about being recaptured. After a month, the first generation of domestic tidewalkers was born in John’s coop. He tagged them too, right away and began their training, which was even easier. As time went on, they became more obedient and likely to do what they were trained to do. Flying to different markers, farther and farther away, until finally it was the day. John headed out with Nathan’s caravan again to Port Saltmarsh. He had agreed to synchronize times with his apprentices to let the 3 best trained tidewalkers out, each with a message a day after he and Nathan were supposed to arrive in the city. They should have let them out that morning, and that afternoon John was getting excited.

Then he saw a flock of tidewalkers on the horizon.

He ran to the docks where the flocks always landed to find their food and waited. And sure enough, there in the water, were his 3 birds. Each with a glowing bracelet and a small vial tied to their leg. John whooped for joy! “T’shaw t’shaw!” he hollered, looking like a madman and making the sound he tried to mimic from the birds. His 3 birds saw him standing with his salt fish and immediately rushed him. Nathan finally came to find him and found him with a bird on his head, one on his shoulder and one in his lap. Laughing and reading the notes from his apprentices. It had worked!

A little while later it was getting to be time for the tidewalkers to fly back, and John had to see if it worked. He put reply messages into the vials and left his birds on the ground where they took off with the flocks. “So what now?” Nathan asked “we wait. If they come back again tomorrow afternoon with more messages, it means it works and we head to the bank to talk to that clerk.”

It was the next evening near closing when John and Nathan ran into the bank, apparently babbling in excited hysterics. It took the clerk a full 2 minutes to calm them down. “Okay now WHAT happened?” “THE TIDEWALKERS!” John said “I trained them to carry messages between here and Greenhill during their feeding cycles! AND IT WORKED!” he said showing the messages to the banker. It took the banker a second before his eyes became wide as dinner plates. “You’re telling me, you trained TIDEWALKERS to fly messages back and forth between Port Saltmarsh and GREENHILL?!” “YES!” Nathan yelled. “Impossible, how?!” and John walked him through his last few months. The banker was suddenly VERY interested. “John,” he said “If you can prove this to me, and then repeat it. This is going to change everything and make you a very rich man”. John laughed “I just wanted a bank and bookkeeper in my town!” “Oh you’ll get that, and much more I assure you”.

The next afternoon John’s 3 main birds landed again with messages from his apprentices, but this time the banker was with him. He had the clerk write his own messages to prove what was happening with instructions to send the messages back with petals from the mystic blue iris, which only grew around Greenhill. The birds left with the rest of the flocks and the next afternoon John, Nathan and the banker were outside waiting for the afternoon tidewalker feeding rush. And sure enough, there were John’s birds amongst them.

John called his birds and fed them their treats, then he opened the vials and spilled out the flow petals. The clerk fainted.

It took a couple minutes to revive the clerk, but revive he did.

20 minutes later the three of them were running hysterically into he bank branch rambling like mad men. “FATHER!” yelled the clerk. “Gods, Ryan, what is it?!” came an answer from the loft in the bank. The old bank manager was bald, and stopped over, and small, but he had a wit far larger than anyone for a long way John estimated. After an urgent and sudden meeting, everyone had calmed down enough to discuss John’s achievement.

“Assuming this is all true” said the old man “It IS true Father!” said Ryan, the clerk. “ASSUMING it is true” his father continued “how much do you want for it?” the old man asked John. John looked at him puzzled “What do you mean?”. The old man said “You invented a new method of doing something incredibly grandiose and convenient. One that has the potential to make everyone on the planet much richer and their lives more convenient. You’re the only one who knows how to do it, or do it effectively, and other people know you’re the creator and know this. We believe you should be compensated.” John smiled. “One million gold, and a tenth of one percent of the profit from every transaction made using my method. To be payable to me, and then my heirs or people they appoint in whatever percentage I or they deem fit from now until the end of time. In exchange, I will help your scribes compile all my extensive notes into a training manual and give you the manual and said notes. I will teach any ten people you choose, not only my method, but how to teach other people my method of training. I will teach how to hunt and trap the tidewalkers, how to breed them, how to build their coops, I will personally train a thousand birds, and I will design and supervise the construction of a grand coop here in the city, as I imagine, you want your bank to be some type of communications hub for this method going forward.” The old man used his un-louped eye to look John up and down, then said “Done. You’ll stay in my house tonight, and tomorrow we’ll have the contracts drawn up and you’ll get to work.”

The next day John read through the contracts with help from Nathan and Ryan and an advocate counsel they insisted he hire. Once everything was properly negotiated and signed, John got to work.

He spent the next year fulfilling his end of the contract and living at Ryan’s house. The grand coop was huge and built to house birds trained to fly to every major city on the continent. Stopovers and relays at smaller villages were established along the way and soon the skies were filled with tidewalkers carrying messages and conducting business all over. John was now a very rich man.

He sat in his room, reminiscing about how far he’d come in the last 2 years. An amnesiac beggar, turned wood cutter, turned carpenter-woodworker, turned father of a new style of communication that changed the entire history of the continent.

——

John was a wealthy man now, his woodshop had grown thanks to the tidewalker communication system and creation of a bank branch in Greenhill. Heck the whole town had grown, everyone there lived better lives, though about a quarter of the people weren’t thrilled with its sudden growth and changes. The lord of the town was especially happy with what John had done as, through taxation, he’d become even richer off of John’s work, and off all his subjects. John resolved to fix that.

He had a meeting one day with Ryan, now official bank liaison to the Tidewalker Communication Guild. “How can I help you today, Guildmaster?” Ryan asked. “Don’t call me that, I’m not the guildmaster, I don’t even work there.” John said. “Fine fine, how can I help you, JOHN?”

“I’d like a full audit done of Lord Quezzel, all his accounts and his books with the kings finance ministers. I know you guys handle all of that.”

“I’m happy to do it,” Ryan said, “But why?”

“He’s too rich. Greenhill was a largely self-sustaining little hamlet, no crime, and they handled everything you’d expect a government to do themselves and out of their own pockets. The people there lead hard, poor lives, while Quezzel lived in a mansion with his guards. They were supposedly town guards, but they were never in the town for anything other than collecting taxes, or free booze.”

“I see. I’ll get right on it.” Ryan said. “Why are you doing this?”

John smiled “they took care of me when I had nothing, not even any memory or clothes on my back. It’s the least I can do.” Ryan nodded and John thanked him again and left.

——

As John walked away from Ryan’s office he thought to himself. “Where do I go from here? What do I do now? I’m wealthy, I don’t need to work, and I helped all the townsfolk who saved me. I guess I finally have the real means now to find answers.” He headed back to the workshop he’d set up in Ryan’s father’s mansion to prepare for his journey.

When he got to the mansion he realized that if his journey would be long, he’d need to travel light. He’d been working with a Port Saltmarsh blacksmith for a few months on small and collapsible multi-tools. John had a number of them now, mostly for woodworking and carpentry, but he knew he’d need others for a journey, camping tools, survival tools, and he knew he’d need a way to defend himself. John sat down at his drafting table and got to work. He had envisioned a staff, or walking stick, full of multi-tools of different types. Some on winders, and belts, others that popped right in and out of the shaft.

He knew he’d need to be able to start fires for cooking and purifying water, and included magnifying lenses from an old loupe, as well as a flint and steel in his design. Next, he incorporated 2 small collapsible spits and a thin, small, roll-up square piece of scale armor to use as a cooking surface. He had his camp stove.

In a pinch when he needed water and couldn’t boil it, he came up with the idea of using a reed tube packed with cloth, sand, and charcoal that he could use to suck up dirty water for safe(r) drinking. He added that straw and a small hose of catgut and a hand squeeze pump to his staff design to help siphon the water through the filter for cooking or movement, knowing the hose and pump might be useful for other things.

John added compartments for topical disinfectants and analgesic oils, sterile bandages, some collapsible splints, along with poppy gum for emergency pain killing and energy. He added some spools of fine horsehair thread and some stitching needles, along with glue, because you never know. He also tucked in a catgut tourniquet.

——

The next day while John was out collecting supplies for testing and tinkering with his travelling staff designs, he saw wagons moving the entire town apiary. “What in the heck is going on?” he asked one of the apiary workers following on foot. The worker replied “We’re having to move our whole operation across the city, there’s a new machine they built at the shipyard for planing the wood in the ships and it makes some kind of vibration that disturbs the bees and drives them away. We tried going to the council, explaining how important our honey and mead are to the economy, but they said they already sank too much money into the shipyard and gave us new land to move to away from the sound.” John was surprised, but it gave him an idea.

As the weather got warmer every year, there were many kinds of insects in this part of the continent that were bothersome, venomous, or carried diseases. People used netting and various types of smelling oils to keep them at bay. While John liked the netting, he wasn’t fond of the smelling oils, as some were expensive, irritating to the skin, or could run out at inopportune times. John headed down to the wharf to begin talking to fishermen.

The post The Amnesiac Woodcutter – Chapter 2 – Tidewalkers Take Flight *DRAFT VERSION* appeared first on NovaVerse Online.

As he was catching his breath, he noticed a beggar sitting in a corner, who looked at him with what he sensed was empathy. He felt grateful for the stranger’s kindness and accepted the pouch of coins the man offered. The beggar told him that he “looked like you could use the money more than me!” and smiled a half-toothless yellow grin, the man thanked him sincerely.

After taking the charity from the beggar, the man then decided to look for some clothes, and noticed a seamstress’s shop nearby. He approached the old seamstress and explained his situation to her. She looked at him with suspicion, but when he showed her the coins, she took pity on him and gave him some old, simple clothes she had in the back. She told him to keep his money and wished him good luck.

The man thanked her and asked if there was a cobbler nearby. The seamstress replied that her husband’s store was next door, through the hallway. She led him there and told her husband to fit him a pair of simple shoes for free, and that she would explain later. The man felt touched by their kindness and promised to pay them back someday. He then headed to the pub, hoping to find some food and maybe some answers.

He ordered some food and a drink, and sat down at a corner table. The bartender noticed him and struck up a conversation. The man explained his story and how he woke up with no memory of who he was or how he got there. The bartender shook his head and said, “You can’t even recall your own name?” and the man sadly shook his head. The bartender replied, “Well, that won’t do. You’re John now, after my favorite uncle.” John smiled sheepishly and thanked the bartender.

After some time, and finishing his food, John headed back to the cobbler to get his shoes. He thanked the cobbler and his wife and told them his name was John, a gift from the bartender. He then wandered around the town, trying to figure out what to do next. He knew he needed food, water, and shelter, but he had no idea how to get them.

Eventually, he saw a large woodpile behind the blacksmithy and headed inside to talk to the blacksmith. After explaining his story to the smith, John asked if he could split six months of lumber for the smith, in exchange for the splitting axe. He then said he would come back weekly to split for him if the smith kept his axe sharp and in shape. The smith laughed and agreed, and John got to work.

That night, John asked the smith if there was anywhere he could sleep out of the chill and wet for free. The smith told him about an old traveler’s shack on the outskirts of town. He warned him that it was rumored to be haunted, but John said he would take his chances and thanked the smith.

He made his way to the shack and found an old blanket and some straw for a pillow. After some startling encounters with rats, he fell asleep without incident. The next day, he began wandering the town, stopping at every home and business he saw, offering to cut wood for them for a bit of coin and food. The townsfolk pitied him and took him up on his offers. After putting in a 12-hour day, he was able to afford a night in the Inn’s cheapest room and still had money leftover for his savings.

John passed several months this way, becoming the town’s unofficial woodcutter. He had come to learn that the town was called Greenhill and learned the town and local area’s geography. He also familiarized himself with all 150 or so of the town’s inhabitants.

Eventually John decided he was tired of living in the inn and needed his own space, he had checked out a small, abandoned cottage on the outskirts of town and asked the mayor if he could purchase it from the town.

The mayor, a portly man with a booming voice, listened to John’s request and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, John,” he said slowly. “That cottage has been abandoned for years, and no one has shown any interest in buying it until now. I suppose we could sell it to you for a fair price.”

John nodded eagerly. “Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”

The mayor smiled, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “I have no doubt you will, John. You’re a hard worker, and the people of this town have grown to trust you.”

They shook hands, and John handed over the agreed-upon amount of coins. He practically skipped back to the abandoned cottage, excited at the prospect of having a place to call his own.

He spent the next few days cleaning and fixing up the cottage, using his woodworking skills and some borrowed tools to fashion a crude table and chairs. He even managed to scrounge up some old blankets and a pillow, making himself a makeshift bed.

As he settled into his new home, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him. He might not know who he was or where he came from, but he had a purpose now, and a place to call his own.

The next morning, he woke up early and headed to the town square, where he saw a group of people gathered around a man with a loud voice. The man was dressed in fine clothing, and his hands were adorned with expensive rings.

John approached the crowd, curious. “What’s going on?” he asked a woman standing next to him.

“The lord has come to collect taxes,” the woman replied, rolling her eyes. “As if we have anything left to give him.”

John frowned, watching as the lord’s men went from house to house, collecting coins and valuables from the townsfolk.

As the group dispersed, John made a decision. He couldn’t stand by and watch these people be taken advantage of any longer. He resolved to do something about it.

When it came to be John’s turn to pay his taxes, he handed over everything in his pocket, explaining that until a week ago he’d been a homeless woodcutter and only had recently been able to afford to move into the old shack by the river on the outskirts. The lord’s man laughed at him and said “this amount is fine” and still chuckling “if you ever end up making more though, we’ll expect a bigger sum.” And with that he patted John on the shoulder and walked away chuckling.

John was annoyed but kept his annoyance in check. After a couple more weeks of his woodcutting, he had earned enough money to buy his own set of carpentry and woodworking tools. He was very excited when he entered the smithy.

—-

When John entered the blacksmith’s shop, he immediately gravitated to the tools on display. “What can I get you John?”, Patrick the blacksmith asked in his typical jovial tone. Patrick had been the town blacksmith since he was a teenager after inheriting the shop from his father. He was a large man, with arms like tree trunks, and a pot belly betraying his love of ale and potatoes.

“I want to start wood working” said John, “really woodworking. I just bought the old cottage and managed to get it passably livable with some borrowed tools, but I want my own and I want to make it great.”

Patrick laughed “That’s great John. I’ll give you the best deal I can on all the gear you’ll need. We don’t have a carpenter or woodworker in town anymore, so you might even find yourself some business in that regard, if you’re up to it”. John smiled and nodded.

After their transaction, John headed home and got to work.

He rounded up any wood he could find around the town, asking for donations and offering to purchase from all his clients. He also began to scout the forest and teach himself about the trees and the different types of wood from them. He began work on proper wooden shingles and, with some advice gleaned from Patrick, and Nathan, who owned the general store and caravan, began making his own pitch by commissioning the distillery. With his handmade shingles and pitch he was able to replace the roof properly with one that would last for years.

Time passed and his skills and builds at woodworking grew. Eventually the townsfolk began commissioning him to make them things or build them outbuildings, barns, and house extensions. John had enough money coming in that he hired a boy from the village to take over his wood cutting and when the boy was confident and skilled at the job, John gave him the business to focus full-time on his woodworking and carpentry.

Finally, the demand for John’s work grew so much through Nathan’s caravan, that he had to expand. He got permission from the mayor to build his own outbuilding next to his cottage and make it a wood shop. Once it was completed, he bought some more tools from Patrick and some doubles of his other ones and hired 3 young men from the village to be his apprentices. They were all eager to learn and worked hard. He had agreed to pay them profit sharing on every commission and project in addition to their wages and they were very happy with that.

With all the money coming in now, John needed some help with tracking orders, cash flow, and paperwork. He needed an accountant. Nobody in the town had such skills or ever needed them before. So the next time Nathan’s caravan headed out, John climbed aboard and made his way to the city for the first time.

The trip took 3 solid weeks of travel, 12 hours a day, but the caravan was long and wide, even bigger now that much of it was occupied with commissions for John’s customers. John and Nathan made it to the city at Dusk and made camp on the outskirts for the night. The next day John got his first look at the city.

Port Saltmarsh, so named because it was an ocean port that backed into a marsh. “The town founders were creative” John thought with a sarcastic smile. Once in the port city, he knew exactly where to go.

Elias and Sons Banking was the largest banking company on the continent and one of the only ones in most towns. John entered and spoke to a clerk, a short overweight man with curly brown hair.

“Hi. I’m looking for someone to manage my money for my woodworking and carpentry business. Take care of orders, paying my apprentices, managing the money, and paying my taxes to the local lord.”

“Where are you from?” The man asked, giving John a strange look. “Greenhill” said John. “Well,” said the clerk “it sounds like you need an accountant for larger, longer-term things, but a book keeper for your day to day, unless you want to do that yourself.” “I do not.” said John bluntly. “I didn’t think so” said the man. “The problem is, Greenhill isn’t big enough to justify us opening a branch there, you’re the very first business from there that’s actually grown to this size, but even you aren’t enough to justify the expense of opening a branch and then running a messenger route.”

John couldn’t hide his disappointment. The man continued “Unless you can figure out some way to move the information faster than messenger, I can’t help you. You’ll have to keep doing the books yourself and then bringing them to us every quarter for deposits and managing your taxes.”

John thanked the man and left. He and Nathan spent a few days in Saltmarsh, meeting some of his clients and helping to deliver their commissions himself, they were all so friendly and grateful. Eventually after 3 days, it was time to head home.

The ride back was largely uneventful, until one day John asked Nathan about the birds. “What kinds of birds are those Nathan?” “You mean the tidewalkers? They’re all over the continent. Terrible to eat, no fat, stringy meat.” “Do they always fly back and forth like that?” “Oh yeah, that’s how they live. They eat this type of ocean minnow, but they nest inland near freshwater. They go in and out like the tide, hence the name.” John smiled. “you’re a genius Nathan” he said. “I know” said Nathan with a smile.

John began to plan.

——–

The next 3 weeks were like slow torture for John to get back and enact his plans, but it gave him plenty of time to come up with scenarios, traps, and training methods.

When he got back to Greenhill, it was 6 weeks later. His apprentices were thrilled to see him and he was thrilled to see his house and shop still intact. After catching up with them over dinner and ales he explained his plan. He was leaving them in charge while he began a new project, capturing tidewalkers.

All 3 of them laughed until they could see John didn’t smile. “You’re serious?” said Axl, the oldest of the three. “Deadly” said John. He spent the next week or so making various traps and asking Jacob, the town hunter, for tips. Once he was confident enough in his trap designs he went scouting in the forest near still waters for tidewalkers. He found some easily and began trying to bait them with salted local fish. To his surprise it worked, they loved the fish. “It must be the salt content” John thought to himself.

Upon his realization it didn’t take him long to trap a bunch of the tidewalkers. He would leave the traps near their nests for a few days while they were gone and leave food behind. After he got them comfortable with taking the food over the course of a few days, he snapped the traps shut and took home his new pets.

He kept the tidewalkers outside his house, and they squawked and pooped and generally did not love to be caged up. He fed them salted fish and fresh water though and they all ate and seemed healthy. They were hardy birds. Eventually after a few days of just seeing if he could keep them alive, the meat farmer showed up at John’s house and suggest he build them a coop.

Coop build, he did.

The post The Amnesiac Woodcutter – Chapter 1 – Amnesiac Awakening *DRAFT VERSION* appeared first on NovaVerse Online.