Anima et Forma

Episode 4: Acquaintances

Alexander smashed through the Wrenndilyn Peaks after an Ilbeanian general discovered a hidden pass through the mountains. This commander's name was Darron, the son of Darius, and he would go on to lead Alexander's western army to Caliacran Bay, conquering every city in his path. Meanwhile, Alexander pushed north, through the Red Hills. The dwarves fought fiercely to defend their territory from the Alexandrian plague spreading across the continent. Alexander's legions were haggard and demoralized by the time Darron swung his army north, marching to join his Emporer. When news of a second army moving against them arrived, the Dwarven Kingdoms sued for peace. Alexander allowed each king to maintain dominion over their realms in exchange for the mineral-filled foothills and fertile valleys to the south, as well as free passage into the north for his armies.

After the war, people called this region the 'Red Hills,' because of how many men died in the fighting. According to the calculations of his own scribes, the casualty rates suffered during these campaigns were the worst Alexander encountered during all his years of conquest.

—Brother Donnman, of the Holy Order, "A Brief History of Alexandria." 1521 A.D.

"You're not a deserter, are you, Gus?" the scrawny old farmer asked, a wooden pipe clenched between his teeth.

"Do deserters make it this far west?" Gus returned a question.

"If you are a deserter, the King's men will find you, eventually. Even if they don't, my Lord's men will." Sitting atop his wagon, the sunburned farmer took his pipe from his mouth and spat. "Better to turn yourself in.

"I'm not a deserter," Gus assured.

"I hope not." He eyed Gus. "The name's Ribald." The old man nodded. "Most call me Farmer Ribald. Where are you heading?"

"Shepshed," Gus said. "And, afterward, west."

Ribald grunted. "I'll go ahead and tell you: I'm dirt poor. Unless you plan on stealing my potatoes and onions-" he pointed to the bed of his wagon- "don't expect to find much. I'm not heading all the way to Shepshed, but you can hop on until I reach the market in Stoneborough."

Gus approached the bed of the wagon and slung his backpack beside a pile of dirt-covered potatoes. The old farmer watched his every move. Next, his bedroll hit the wagon bed, wrapped around a sword concealed by a blanket. "What's that sticking out right there?" Ribald asked. "What are you hiding beneath that blanket?"

He met Ribald's wisened eyes. In the wrinkles of the farmer's face, Gus saw the ridgelines of the Red Hills–years of toiling in tough soil. "A sword," he said.

"What?" Ribald startled. He nearly spat out his pipe.

An eastbound breeze carved through the hills and the rocks, cutting through Gus' gray cloak. "I'm not looking for a fight."

"What are you looking for?" Ribald asked.

Gus chuckled. "A ride on your wagon."

"Are you sure you're not a deserter?" the farmer asked.

"I would know if I am," Gus said. He climbed up beside Ribald, taking a seat on a large wooden bench.

"Deserters bring trouble. The last thing I need is more trouble! The Red Hills are teeming with gnolls, and bandits, and deserters. War makes life hard for us small folk."

The Red Hills made for rough travel, even on the roads. They wound up and down and around valleys, knolls, and cliffsides. In places, landslides or flash floods washed away the roads. Farmer Ribald's muscular oxen moved slowly but surely, carrying their cargo with determined ease.