In The Old Village

Kierkgard Dun <>

A wide dirt path winds its way through a small village. Small buildings line the road, close together, as if each is holding up the others. Towering over the village to the north is a high mesa, its steep cliffs seemingly insurmountable. A narrow ravine breaks the almost sheer stone wall, no more than a shadow in the rock.

Contents:

Brev

Carac

Winter has past, and spring has come again to Dunland. Though spring is usually a time of hope, there seems little of that in the Old Village. Food is still in short supply and rumors of marauding bands of orcs roaming the lands, keep the people of the Old Village and Kierkgard proper close to home.

Adding to the unpleasantness are the patrols of Guardians who wander the area in search of those responsible for the recent deaths at the City Gates.

One of these patrols have just finished a sweep of the Old Village and now head back towards the Ravine Path and the long climb back to Kierkgard Dun. "I think we search for ghosts," one says to his partner. "All know that Tet'Nak is long dead and now some claim it was not the son, but the Splitface himself who accompanied him. If you ask me those truely responsible are weaving tales to keep suspicion from themselves."

Up the road from the southwest comes a solitary figure, the young man known as Brev, with a rabbit is slung over his shoulder. He seems to be in a good mood, for he is whistling snatches of some tune or other - too off-key to identify. His head turns this way and that as he surveys the road ahead, noting its unwelcome occupants. The sight of the Guardians seems not to disconcert him in the least, for neither his pace nor his attitude alter. He halts only once, to peer towards one of the village houses outside which a dilapidated hen coop sits, and to murmur thoughtfully, "Needs mending, that."

Not long after the Guardian patrol has begun its climb up the Ravine Path a figure slips out from the ruinous remains of building he called home for a short time. The hood of his grey cloak is pulled up, perhaps to keep the chill wind off his face, or possibly to hide his identity.

A glance towards the departing Guardians and then his attention falls upon Brev. "Seems you've gotten better with a sling since last we were acquainted," he calls towards the younger man.

At those words, Brev's off-key whistling stops. Still with an eye for the road up which the Guardians had gone, he turns on his heel to view the grey-clad figure and shrugs his free shoulder. "I was all of - what, seven summers? Eight?" He parts his lips in a bare half-grin. He pauses a moment or two then adds, his voice a little lower but its tone no less light, "Seems you've got a lot better at riling folk since we last met."

Carac chuckles softly. "We were both young then, weren't we?" he asks. "Now it seems everyone I once knew, save you is gone." He shakes his head. "Do you know anything of my half brother and sister?" he asks suddenly. "Selest's children? I have searched for them, but none seem to know anything of their where they might be."

He nods towards the city on the mesa above. "That is why I wished to enter Kierkgard, and why I grew so angry when I was denied."

Brev snorts at those first words. "That's life," is his unsympathetic comment. "The one thing you can trust other people to do is to leave. That's the first thing I learned." He shifts his burden slightly, then shrugs. "As to your other question - imagine they'd be up Forthunn way? Haven't passed that way in a couple of years." From his tone, one would surmise he has made no attempt to seek out his kin, either.

Carac shakes his head. "I passed through Forthunn on the way here there's no sign or word of them anywhere in the area. Though few are willing to speak to 'outsiders', things are as bad, if not worse there than here. The Stag are without a Chieftain and the people are barely surviving."

He keeps his eyes on his old friend for a moment and then turns towards the city. "You say I am good at riling people up and perhaps my methods were wrong, but is it not time that someone riled them?" he asks. "Someone needs to stand up and take the reins and restore some kind of order to Dunland. It's not a position I want, it's one I would left Dunland to avoid, but someone must set things right."

"Oh." That one word is flat. "Don't know where they've gone, then. Not been back since the .. uh, incident with Timon." He scowls.

Carac's other words bring a frown to his features, then he rubs at his face and it is gone. "Why?" he asks bluntly. "Dunland is how it always was. Sure, there's been a few bad harvests lately, but to contest for what there is - it's just nature. The weak die, the strong or quick-witted survive. Last few folk I knew who tried to 'set things right'," he mimics the other man's tone, "met with unpleasant ends. Or just ... disappeared."

Carac nods. "I agree that this is how things have always been, at least as far back as I can remember." He says as shifts his stance slightly. "That doesn't mean they have to stay this way, they can always be changed. I'm not saying I have all the answers or that I am the one who can make those changes, all I know is that the people of Dunland deserve better than what they have been forced to accept."

He lifts his shoulders and shrugs slightly. "Perhaps I will meet with an unpleasant end, but I can't sit still and do nothing. I remember those who helped me when I was lost, hungry, and had no where to turn after my mother died and before I'racil knew of me. Maybe I want to repay that debt and help Dunland find it's way, the way those folk did me."

The twist to Brev's mouth is cynical. "You sound like my Da. Another damn fool. How exactly do you plan to change things? By shedding blood? Sure, there'll be richer pickings for those of us left," his lips part briefly in a humourless grin, "but it won't solve the problems."

Carac sighs and shakes his head. "As I said, I do not have all the answers, but I do know that there will indeed be blood shed. There can not be change without it, that is something I've learned. Dunland does not react to words alone, but to deeds. Though I think the mistake has always been that those who wished to bring change always tried to work within the existing sysetm of clans and priests and Guardians." He reaches up to push a lock of hair from his eyes.

"I think if we are to make lasting change then some of the first blood that must be shed is that which flows through the veins of those who call themselves Chieftains. Remove them and distribute that which they've hoarded to those who've so long had to live off the scraps from their tables.

He nods as if agreeing with his own words. "Then we can return to the task that has too long been forsaken, the eventual retaking and return to our true lands."

The morning sun is strengthening, and with the Guardian patrol now long out of sight, the people of the old village emerge and start going about their business. The spring breeze whips at Brev's dark curls and he squints, hoisting the rabbit he holds a little higher up his shoulder.

He snorts, now. "Remove them and immediately you set up others in their place. In time they too become corrupt, and need removed in turn ... you can't change the system." He sounds quite uncaring. "As to the other - most folk round here just want food. Put that in their bellies, promise them goods for the taking and you'll have your army."

"Perhaps, others will rise in their place," Carac says. "Or it maybe that people have grown as tired of the clans as I. We may see the end of the three major clans and their corrupt ways and the rise of small clans who actually will care about the people which belong to them. That is my hope, the clans are supposed to be families, but they have become something more and something far more corrupt and their days are numbered. Creatrach is already gone, if I must destroy Redvyrne and Forthunn as well so be it, but I will not let cowardice keep from acting while I feign that I do not care."

It seems that Carac has chosen his words well, for Brev stiffens, and a passing breath of wind lifts his curls long enough to show that amber eyes are set in a glare. "Cowardice? You assume too much. I told you before, these days it's die or live - and I intend to live. Whether its with a dagger in my hand or by other means. A wise man moves with the times." He gives one of those trademark shrugs.

A pause, then he adds casually, "Folk are like sheep. If you care about Dunland's people as much as you claim, you won't leave them leaderless. Who will take charge, when all they've known is gone - you? What of your friend with the greedy sword?"

"Do not assume to know, Tet'nak," Carac replies. "Not all the stories that are whispered around campfires are true. He may have killed Giric, but what of the forgoil spies that fell to his blade? The orcs who would have bathed in the blood of your kin, and mine had he and his 'greedy sword' not been there. His sword may seem greedy to you, and you may think the same of the mace I carry. However, they are only greedy for the blood of those who oppress the people of the land we call home. The Guardians and the Chieftains may be hold the most blame in what has befallen this land, but those who merely stand by and do nothing are as much to blame."

He takes a long deep breath, letting the cool spring air fill lungs and the exhales slowly. "If I must lead then I will, until someone more suitable can be found. I only hope that you, Breveg, Brev, or whatever it is you wish to be called today, will stand up for what you must know in your heart is right. I know there is courage inside you, and I believe that you to wish to see a healthy, thriving Dunland in place of this sick and rotting land."

Brev listens to the words, his mouth set in a flat line. "I see." A moment later it twists wryly as he adds, "I suspect Dunland's people will find you an easier leader to stomach than he. Because ... he knows the way of things. That, men fear." Whether Brev himself shares that fear, he does not say.

He shifts the rabbit to the other shoulder now, stretching his stiff arm, and looks to Carac with a frown. "Make no appeals to my heart. Speak rather of opportunity. I seek gain, like any other man. Unlike most, I'm honest enough to admit it." That comment sets a smile on his lips, and whether forced or no it is hard to say. "Time I was on my way. Expect I'll be hearing from you again, Carac the change-seeker." He tips his head in a nod and starts off up the path.