Arthur kept walking, the cart rattling behind him over the old dirt road. It wasn't that far to Harrowfield. Maybe four, five miles. Less if you cut across the field, but the cart wouldn't survive that. Even so, he hadn't been there much. Kind of strange, thinking about it now. A village that close, yet he didn't go too often. Mira went more than him. Gregor too, sometimes Garlan. He'd always been the one left behind. Just the way things were. Father never bothered to bring him. Said it wasn't worth dragging dead weight all that way.
The times he had gone, though, they weren't bad. He remembered walking the road with Mira, her carrying one basket, him carrying the other. She made it feel like an adventure even if they were just dropping off eggs or picking up thread. They'd stop on the way and argue over who could throw a rock farther, or she'd trick him into climbing a tree just so she could laugh when he couldn't get back down again. He kind of missed that. Not the fall, but the way she smiled like it didn't matter what they were doing.
Harrowfield itself... it wasn't much. Just another village. A little bigger than the farmstead, more buildings, more people. Mostly farmers, brewers, tanners, a midwife, maybe a sept. He couldn't remember if there was a sept or just a shrine. There wasn't much reason for him to think about it before now.
Then he remembered what happened a few moons back. The Red Death.
His father told Gregor and Garlan about it one night. Arthur had been half-awake, listening through the wall. A group of bandits hit the village. They killed a few of the men, including one of the bakers. Then they took some of the women. Spirited them off into the woods. Never came back. People still whispered about it, but no one ever said the details out loud. One of the women had been with child. She was never seen again.
Arthur hadn't been there. Mira hadn't either. Thank the gods. She'd been home that day. He didn't know what he would've done if she hadn't. There was no way to stop men like that once they had you. No way to track them either. Maybe now he could, with that new skill, but back then he wouldn't have stood a chance. Nobody did.
He looked ahead. The road curved a little near the tree line. The sky was clear. He kept walking. The road kept stretching out in front of him. The wheels on the cart bumped and clicked over the harder parts of the trail, but it wasn't falling apart. Not yet. Arthur leaned into the pull a little more, gritting his teeth when the weight started to drag. The slope was mild, but it still made his arms burn. A soft chime rang out in his head.
+1 Conditioning
He rolled his eyes. "Great," he muttered. "All I had to do was nearly throw my back out."
The cart wasn't even overloaded. Just some eggs, a jug of milk, and the leather to pick up. It felt heavier than it should have, but that wasn't the cart's fault. He was still weak. The extra point always helped, but it wouldn't fix everything. If he wanted to survive long-term, he needed a weapon. A real one. But until he could get his hands on real steel, he'd have to settle for something else.
He glanced down at his hands. Callused, a little raw, but they still worked. [Carpentry] was almost at five now. He could try carving something basic. A wooden sword maybe. Nothing fancy. Just enough to get the feel for it. With his [Sword Prodigy] perk, it wouldn't take long before he started picking it up for real. He could shadow-fight in the woods or behind the barn. Even if his swings were sloppy, he'd improve. He'd just have to be careful his father didn't see. Gormon would take the sword from him and break it in half just for the hell of it.
Of course, if he wanted a real sword eventually, he'd need coin. That was the real problem. He didn't have any. Couldn't earn any on the farm. His father didn't pay him. No one did. He'd have to figure something else out. Maybe he could start making furniture or tools. Sell them to the villagers. Benches, stools, small things that didn't take too much time or wood. Or maybe he could find work with the local blacksmith. Trade labor for scraps. Though he doubted anyone would take him seriously. He could steal it—but that'd end in disaster. He'd get caught, get whipped, or worse. He'd end up right back where he started, or buried outside the fence.
He pulled the cart a little faster, then slowed again when his legs started to throb. He needed a plan for after the chores. Today was a full list, but after that, he'd start slipping away more often. Being on the farm didn't do anything for him. He wasn't going to get stronger feeding chickens and scrubbing troughs. He needed to train. He needed to grind his stats. He needed to get out. Not right away, but soon. The village was a start. After that, maybe the next town. Maybe Rosby. Somewhere with roads that went further than fields and fences.
Cooking and carpentry were easy enough to work on. He could help his mother more often without raising suspicion. Every time he stirred a pot or carved a board, he'd be making progress. Slow, but progress all the same. Swordsmanship would be harder, but he'd manage. [Tracker] was already doing all the work on its own. That one barely needed effort. Even now, without thinking, he could look around the field and see the signs. Rabbit tracks. Squirrel prints. A fox had passed through last night. He knew it from the shape, the pace, the depth. It was like reading a book he hadn't studied but still understood. That skill was scary good. Almost like cheating.
He glanced out across the field again and sighed.
"I need to get out of this place... me and Mira." He said it under his breath. Even if all he ended up being was another sellsword, it would still be better than this. Better than wasting away under Gormon's thumb.
Arthur reached the edge of Harrowfield and slowed the cart down a little. The village wasn't busy, but it wasn't dead either. A few people moved along the main path, some standing outside their homes, others carrying bundles or working near their doors. He passed an old man hauling a sack over one shoulder—Harys Gorse, he was pretty sure. The man gave him a quick glance but didn't say anything. Two boys were stacking hay bales not far off. One of them... Ned Tiller, maybe... stood up when he saw Arthur and stared like he wasn't sure if he was seeing right. A couple women further down the lane were talking outside a small weaving shed. One of them looked up. He thought it might be Ellen Weaver, though her hair was tied back and he couldn't tell from this distance.
It kept happening.
Wherever he walked, people looked. Not for long. Just a second or two. Some of them tilted their heads like they were trying to remember where they'd seen him before. Others just frowned a little. One girl, he thought it was Bess Clay, didn't even look away. She just watched him roll by like he was something crawling out of the woods.
Arthur sighed.
'Gods, I'm not that bad,' he thought. 'What, do they think I've got greyscale or something?'
He kept moving until he reached the center of the village. There was a stone well near the middle, the rope curled up neatly beside it. He parked the cart close by and took a moment to stretch his back. His arms were killing him, and his hands felt like they were starting to swell. He glanced around again. Still no idea where the tanner was. But it was a small place—couldn't be too far. Probably just needed to ask someone, or follow the smell of piss.
For now, he just wanted water.
He walked over to the well, pulled the rope, and brought the bucket up. It wasn't heavy. He grabbed the tin cup hanging from the hook, dipped it in, and brought it to his lips. The water was cold and tasted good. Better than the stuff back at the farm. He drank the whole cup, filled it again, and drank slower the second time.
Then a voice spoke behind him.
"Arthur?"
Arthur turned around and saw someone his past self would've absolutely passed out over.
Elsie Tanner.
His heart gave a small jump. She looked exactly how he remembered; long red hair tied back with a strip of cloth, pale skin that never seemed to tan, slender arms, narrow shoulders. She hadn't changed at all. Still had that small nose, soft mouth, and big green eyes that kind of locked onto you. Her voice hadn't deepened or toughened like a lot of the other village girls. She still had that soft, calm way of speaking.
Arthur blinked and reflexively activated [Observe].
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STATUS MENU
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Name: Elsie Tanner
Class: Tanner's Apprentice
Heritage: Crownlands
Age: 16
Level: 2
Unallocated Stat Points: 0
Title(s): [None]
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COMBAT ATTRIBUTES
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Strength: 4
Dexterity: 6
Constitution: 5
Intelligence: 6
Perception: 5
Luck: 4
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PERKS
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[Attractive]
You're pretty enough that people take notice even when you don't try
This makes conversations easier and doors open that might stay shut for others
[Sweet Demeanor]
You give off gentle energy that makes you seem safe kind and worth trusting
[Deft Hands]
You've got nimble fingers well-suited for threading needles tying knots and anything that needs a light precise touch
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SKILLS
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[Leatherworking] (8/100) (Novice)
[Cooking] (14/100) (Apprentice)
[Cleaning] (12/100) (Apprentice)
[Sewing] (6/100) (Novice)
[Animal Handling] (5/100) (Novice)
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BACKGROUND
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Elsie Tanner is the only daughter of the village tanner and has spent most of her life helping scrape hides and boil lye. She is quiet kind and keeps her head down, rarely speaking unless spoken to. Despite her modesty, many boys in the village used to have a crush on her until her father made it clear no one would touch her unless they wanted their face flayed. She avoids conflict and often fades into the background. She's known Arthur since childhood but they rarely spoke due to her strict upbringing and his protective brothers.
_____________________________
'Oh shit..." Arthur thought, eyes darting back to the real Elsie in front of him. "Elsie fucking Tanner. How the fuck did I forget? Her name is literally Tanner!!!'
He almost slapped his head then and there. She was the tanner's daughter. No wonder his old man sent him to do this errand. Gormon knew her brothers gave him shit every time they saw him growing up. That was deliberate. That was calculated. Bastard.
"Damn old man," he muttered under his breath.
"Sorry?" Elsie asked, her head tilted, expression slightly confused.
"It's nothing," Arthur said quickly, straightening up a little and looking her in the eyes. "It's... nice to see you again."
Elsie blinked, then her face brightened a bit. "I heard you were on death's door," she said. "The autumn fever had taken you to the Stranger's doorstep, I'm so glad to see I was wrong!"
Arthur waved a hand. "Yeah, that's a bit exaggerated. I'm fine now. Recovered well."
She smiled, it was soft and genuine and looked good on her. "That's good to hear. Mira looked really sad the last few times I saw her. Wouldn't say much."
Arthur nodded. "She took care of me. Made sure I ate, helped me walk when I couldn't. Honestly, it's thanks to her I'm even upright."
Elsie looked him over, her eyes running down and then up again. "Well, you look healthy."
Arthur snorted. "I don't feel it. If I wasn't leaning on this well, I'd probably fall over."
Elsie giggled, covering her mouth a little, then dropping her hand again. "You haven't changed."
They chatted for a bit, small stuff. The weather. Her father's workload. She said Mira had been by a few days ago to trade for thread. Arthur mentioned that Gormon had dumped all the chores on him in one go, which got another small laugh from her.
Eventually she tilted her head. "So, what brings you into town?"
Arthur nodded toward the cart. "Got some milk and eggs for your father. He's supposed to give me some leather in return."
Elsie's face lit up. Her smile widened, and she stepped forward, reaching out without warning and grabbing his hand. "Perfect. I'll take you there."
Arthur blinked and glanced down at their hands. "Elsie... people can see."
"So what?" she said with a playful grin.
"I kinda don't want to get my face kicked in by one of your brothers." He replied.
She waved him off. "They won't hurt you. Not if I'm with you."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You that confident?"
She gave a half-shrug. "It's been a long time since I've seen you. It'll be nice to catch up. Now come on."
He let out a long breath, rolled his eyes, and grabbed the cart handle again. "Alright, pushy."
She giggled again, already turning and leading the way. Arthur followed her across the square, heart thudding a little faster than he liked. He had to continuously remind himself that it was past Arthur who was enamoured with this girl and not him, though she was still a pretty girl even if she wasn't completely stacked like Mira was. Honestly he was surprised she wasn't married yet as he was sure most girls his age were in talks or at least courting. Her still being single was a small miracle.
Elsie moved in closer as they walked, sliding up right beside him until her arm brushed his. Arthur didn't say anything, but he could feel the stares. He glanced around as they passed through the village square and sure enough, a few familiar faces were eyeing them from a short distance away. Roslin Tiller stood with her hand on her hip near the baker's stall, whispering something to Tysha Gorse. Both of them were pretty—Roslin with that Westerland blonde hair and soft cheeks, Tysha with her curves and chocolate brown hair—but they were also some of the worst people he knew. Constant gossiping, always snickering at others behind their backs. They used to tease him for being sickly, especially whenever his brothers were around. One time Roslin had "accidentally" spilled water on him when he'd walked past the well. They hadn't spoken since. And now they were whispering and smirking as they saw him walking with Elsie.
"Shit," Arthur muttered under his breath. "I hope they don't say anything. If they tell my brothers, I'm getting shit for it."
Elsie either didn't notice or didn't care. She smiled and started talking again, her voice soft and cheerful as always. "A merchant came through a few days ago," she said. "Had the most beautiful dresses I've ever seen. Blues and greens, and one with these little silver buttons down the back. But Father wouldn't even look. Said we weren't wasting coin on something I'd outgrow or ruin with work."
Arthur gave a vague hum in response, only half-listening as he kept glancing around for any sign of Elsie's brothers. He hadn't seen them yet, but that didn't mean they weren't nearby. He also kept track of who else was watching. Mostly older folk, some younger boys, and a couple more girls from the village he didn't recognize. Nobody else said anything though, so he kept walking.
"Are your brothers doing well?" Elsie asked after a pause.
Arthur scoffed. "Still pricks."
Elsie giggled again and nudged him lightly with her shoulder. "You can't say that."
"It's true though."
They passed out of the main square and continued down a narrow path that curved slightly east, toward the outer edge of Harrowfield. Elsie's home sat just past the last row of cottages, enclosed by a simple wooden fence. It was a modest place like all the rest, but well-kept. The garden out front had a few vegetables growing, the soil tilled and neat, and there were two smaller buildings set off to the side—one clearly used for tanning with dark stains on the wood, and the other probably a shed. A few chickens pecked near the gate, which creaked when she opened it.
"Just unload the milk and eggs in the main house," she said, pushing the gate open wider. "No one's home. I'll grab the leather for you. Father keeps it in the workhouse."
Arthur nodded. "Alright."
He pushed the cart through the gate, around the narrow path of packed dirt, and toward the house. The front door was slightly ajar, so he slipped inside and moved carefully through the small main room. It smelled like herbs and leather and something sharp—maybe vinegar. He found the kitchen table and set the baskets down there, checking each one to make sure nothing had cracked. The milk jugs were still tied down properly. He let out a breath and stepped back outside, dragging the cart off to the side before leaning against it. His legs were sore, his arms felt like he'd been hauling stone, and his head was still a little foggy from all the walking. He took a few deep breaths and let himself rest.
After a minute, he glanced toward the tanning shed but didn't see Elsie. He frowned. "Where'd she go?"
He waited another moment, then stepped back toward the house and pushed the door open wider. "Elsie?"
No answer.
He moved in a little further, glancing around. Still no sign of her.
"Elsie?" he called again, a little louder.
"I'm here," came her voice, faint but clear. "Come inside."
Arthur's ears twitched slightly. The sound came from the back right room. His perk [Sharp Ears] kicked in easily. He followed the sound, stepping down the narrow hallway and stopping at the open door on the side. He hesitated, then stepped inside.
She was there.
On the bed.
With nothing on.
At least the leather was on the bed.
"Shit..." Arthur said automatically.
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QUEST COMPLETED
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[Quest: Get to Work] – COMPLETE
Description:
Your father gave you a list.
You did the damn list. Every last task.
Objectives Completed:
✓ Chop and stack firewood
✓ Check snares and gut any rabbit
✓ Scrub the trough
✓ Clean the chicken coop
✓ Re-hang the fence gate
✓ Help churn butter
✓ Deliver eggs and milk to Harrowfield
✓ Trade with the tanner for usable leather
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REWARDS GAINED:
+1 Constitution
+1 Strength
+1 Otherworld Token
+50 XP
Slight Reputation Gain: Harrowfield Locals
__________________________________
'Oh well that's nice...' he thought with a dreary expression.
(AN: Our boy Arthur is being propositioned what should he do? Decline like the true gentleman Jonathan Joestar or embrace Joseph Joestar and slam that pussy regardless of the consequences. Anyway hope you enjoyed it.)
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