Difference between revisions of "The Journal of Veksvale"

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In probably the biggest mistake i made in this place, i scouted an easy trail down to Hinterhigh and established relations with a trading post.  Calling my place Veksvale made the residents of the crowded part start calling their place "Hinterhigh Township."   
 
In probably the biggest mistake i made in this place, i scouted an easy trail down to Hinterhigh and established relations with a trading post.  Calling my place Veksvale made the residents of the crowded part start calling their place "Hinterhigh Township."   
  
I soon had nearly a hundred regular residents in Fort Vek.  A few families, a few travelers,  a few employees, hunters. brewers, .  A few mountain-men who decided Veksvale wasn't bad for the mountains and retired to the safety and plenty of the Fort.  I could always find things for old experienced hands to do.  They were always at the fire and their stories are always funny.  he truth was they worried that infirmity would hit them in their isolation, as had happened to many before.  Its a fear of these men.
+
I soon had nearly a hundred regular residents in Fort Vek.  A few families, a few travelers,  a few employees, hunters. brewers, .  A few mountain-men who decided Veksvale wasn't bad for the mountains and retired to the safety and plenty of the Fort.  I could always find things for old experienced hands to do.  They were always at the fire and their stories are always funny.  The truth was they worried that infirmity would hit them in their isolation, as had happened to many before.  Its a fear of these men.
  
 
=='''Dowser'''==
 
=='''Dowser'''==
  
 
After Veksvale had been in place for 4 years a new visitor arrived that would change the place once again.  He was a young boy, the son of a warrior tired of his downhill world.  I believe he was a deserter but up here you don't ask such things.  The fathers name was Cudgel.  The Boy was Dowser.
 
After Veksvale had been in place for 4 years a new visitor arrived that would change the place once again.  He was a young boy, the son of a warrior tired of his downhill world.  I believe he was a deserter but up here you don't ask such things.  The fathers name was Cudgel.  The Boy was Dowser.

Revision as of 07:45, 25 June 2019

The View of the Seas

I stepped up to the ledge. Looking down was twenty thousand feet to a raging sea crashing waves up a thousand feet. In the history of this world this wall must have been the rock of death to mariners. Waves started hundreds of miles out to sea to splash that high. There was a reason the East Seas were only crossed by the boldest of Sailors and rarely within five hundred miles of the Split Rock.

But I was in shadow so the “hows and whys” were irrelevant. I had searched for a world with incredibly rugged mountains and vast wilderness forests. I had wanted cold too.. I had found it in spades.

I had not braved the waters at the time of this writing. One day. Below three seas crashed against the Wall of the World. The Ice Bound, The Relgalsa, The Sea of Colors. The seas were so fierce that the few ports filling gaps in the Wall were supplied by pulleys and come-alongs from the plateau above. The lure of pearl is all that fed those little places clinging to the stone.

Three thousand miles Downhill to the west was the sea. Beaches, cities, highways, and a horse and wagon culture. Humans, mostly, though as a traveler I could tell that some time in the past, Orcs, dwarves, and elves had interbred with the natives. So far back that their histories were barely fairy tales and folklore.

I had spent a month in the region known as Hinterhigh. East of it was five hundred miles of some of the ruggedest, most beautiful wilderness I'd run across this side of chaos. At the far end was a thousand mile long edge cutting into the sea that only dropped below sixteen thousand when it reached down to a lower lands on the north and south. The region was rich with wildlife and game.

Below the eight thousand mark was large spread out community of people who live in trade off the mountain hunters, gatherers, artisans, adventurers. Its as peaceful a place I was looking for and I found it, for the most part. They had a tavern of course, with rooms available. Paka would sit on my lap while I played the harp or the flute. I tuned instruments if they were brought me and i taught songs other liked.

In the Village I might as well call Hinterhigh since the people there didn't call it anything, I was told that there was a band of desperate men in the hills. Had been for decades. Some kind of defunct warband turned brigands. They told me that those who chose to live in the deep woods occasionally had to deal with them. Sometimes they raided Hinterhigh. They told me to just cooperate with them and I wouldn't be too badly hurt. They didn't understand me when that made me laugh. At least when I went into the mountain I'd have something to look forward to.

A few week into the mountains I found a nice vista. Good water; a fast moving stream, deep and wide, with a bulge before a flat somewhat wooded area. High rocky hills protecting from the cold breezes, heavy woodlands. Plentiful game. The views were spectacular. I set up my camp and did a few day trips. It was perfect. A great place to winter. Easy reach of the Wall of the World. Lot of nice rocks around for day climbs.

So I dragged out my iron kits. The cook set up was first. The large tripod and the big pot. A couple smaller sets. Three fires. Gonna need them. Setting the pans out. I hadn't unloaded the iron kits in this world yet. It meant I was staying here. Maybe a few years. A good cook area was needed first. Places for skinning, prepping, drying. I'd build a smoke house eventually, and a good still barn. A fish pond. A hot pool.

But first would be a good sized single room cabin. Maybe three room. Plenty of wood. Paka and I could manage.

Home

Its been a few years since I wrote on the first page of this journal. I have two of course. One is for day to day things that I assure you would bore you to tears. My mind is that of a sorcerer but still, notes are a good thing.

For example:

Month 1, Day 3, in Veksvale. 20 trees down, drawn, trimmed. Enough for the frame. Dressed two deer. One good set of antlers for toggles. Brew vats working, nothing ready. Conjured a keg of rum. Paka has been gone for three days.

Month 1, Day 3, in Veksvle. Woke up beside the empty keg and the smoldering fire. Swam to clean up. Paka not back. Spent the Day working food, setting drying out. Did trim on the wood, chopped firewood for drying. Made trump for Veksvale. May visit Ang Ri for companionship and some gardening supplies. Tomorrow, I start the frame no matter where Paka is.

Month 1 day 6 No Paka. The bitch. I'm sleeping in a tent instead of a comfy cabin because she wanted to wander. Chose the spot for the water pond. Moved 12,198 rocks. Too lazy to move two more. Will start readying the foundation of the house later but lining the pool comes first. Rows of rocks, fitted. Smooth stone spells to lock them in place. This pond is the hot pool, at the low end of my stretch of river. 30'x 30' x 6'. I'll put a couple hot stones in it to keep it in the mid 100s. Another up stream will be the fish pond.

Month 1, day 7 Since im staying awhile i laid out the garden. Not too much sun. Planted staples. Tempted to Summon Paka but that just tends to piss her off.

Month 1, day 12 Foundation set and dry. Laid the first row around the three room. With all the wood cut and ready for stacking. Paka came back just in time to not do any of the stone work. She looked pretty smug.

Month 1 day 23 Cabin mostly done. Finishing touches. 3 rooms, not counting a closet privy. Porches all around and a deep thirty foot front porch to work on during the winter. I'm air drying several kills till the smoke house and the drying shed get done.

Veksvale Daily Journal

I think I've made the point for the Second Journal?

Over the first two winter Veksvale grew from a camp fire to a community. It hadn't been my intention.

I had finished my work. Mostly, such things are never really done. I had a three room cabin calked against the weather. I'd imported special unbreakable weather-proof windows and covered the installations so as to not look too otherworldly. I had a hot pool at the south end of my land and a fish pond at the north. A smoke house and a distilling barn and a long low storage barn. A animal barn for goats, a few milk cows, a couple horses and a couple mules. A few cats had shown up, in some kind of state of worship for Paka. That was fine with me. Cats eat rats and I really don't.

By this time I had met a lot of the locals, such as the mountains had. Loners for the most parts. Small families. I've got to to know the races, nations and peoples of the planet by hearing what happened “Downhill” that drove people “Uphill”.

Call it 300 people withing 30 miles of my little place.

I started running an informal tavern at first. Open air, fireside, mainly trading what they made for booze. As much a weekly campfire with booze and wilderness survival talks.

Soon a trader came up and asked if he could build at the edge of my vale, across the stream, downhill from my side. I didn't have anything built on that side but he had manners. So I helped him build a trading post. He left and I thought I'd never see him again.

Grikoo brought up a mule train of dozen of the most complacent mules I ever saw packed to the brim with buckets and traps and knives and kegs.. I had started making kegs early on and now making them was just an ongoing process.

Every so often someone else would show up, set up a mile away. Half mile. Quarter mile. Over two summers Veksvale became something of a destination place. A sort of first lay over for those new to the rigors of mountain life.

There is something about the people who come up hill. Resilient, self-reliant. Friendly when they need to be. Most had left the downhill world for good reasons. Its impolite to ask. Because its impoite to ask what drove them to the mountains, they never asked me where I came from and what brought me here. That kind of anonymity is a blessing to one like me.

Brigands

I came back after a month running deep, taking a look east to the sea.

My place was in shambles.. Not destroyed, but infested. I knew of about 300 people within 20 miles of my place and when I crested the hill I saw at least 400 in my vale. I recognized about 30 and none looked happy. I shifted into a bird and landed in the branches of a fir tree that was near the rear of my cabin. Paka shifted to her ferret form and scooted among the undergrowth.

These people had raided my vale, harassed and killed my people, and had abused woman and girls. There was something in me that felt violated. Assaulted in my possessions and in my people. Insulted in my person.

One insults a Lord of Amber, even a minor one, at their peril. One insults a Lord of Chaos, and a Hendrake at that, to their utter disaster.

Flying to the ground a mile away I shed the avian form and took my bearded form again.. I'd let my look go native. Gather the mules and their furs and meats and horns, we walked into greet my visitors.

Within moments a few came to walk me in. They made mock of my age and the limp I effected. They grabbed the riens of my mules and I thought to stop them but it occurred to me that they were unlikely to harm them. There was plenty of meat around without butchering mule.

As I was brought to the hetman of this gang of ruffians the people of the Vale watched me in silence and fear. I could hear someone in my cabin being abused.. I silently cast my sense into the room and found two ruffians and one of the young girls that lived in the vale.. The one inhorsed went to sleep as the sleep spell as I cast Personal Paralysis. Having someone frozen on top of one is better then having them die. The other however got the full Lorgus powered Cardiac arrest that made his heart erupt like a paint filled balloon.

The Hetman looked up at me, “So this is the founder of my lovely town? Valek, they tell me? Is that right?”

Noding, “Yes, they call me Valek. What have you done to my home?”

The brigands laughed gather to see my humiliation.

“This is my home now. I might not kill you. Though, I should probably kill you, just so they understand how things are here now. Tell you what, you tell them to obey me and i'll let you go down hill. If I ever see you again, you are dead meat. “ The brigands laughed as if they knew he was both mocking me and teasing me.

Nodding, I said,, “Very well. I will be happy to speak to your men... and my people... oh, I mean your new people. Please don't hurt them”

They laughed as the hetman summoned his men who hurried in expecting good fun. I saw numerous woman under the arms of ruffians I knew were not their husbands. I saw some missing faces and that made my blood boil. But I held my temper.

Once the people were assembled the hetman stood and put his hand on by shoulder, a sword in his other hand. He slapped my back to start me. Some part of him may have wondered at the shoulders that did not feel frail.

“People of Veksvale. I know, i've never liked that name. But it seems we have guests. I intend to make them welcome.”

Twisting my arm up and over the hand on my shoulder, turning, striking the hetman and twisting his head sideways with a horrifically crunching sound. Stepping away as the body falls like a cut marionette. Gripping his broad sword in the left hand, drawing it from the sheath as he fell away. .

Stepping to the nearest brigand, the iron knife shifting to its Bowie knife form and dragging the broadsword against his cheek, sheering the top of his head clean off above the teeth.

Several steps more ended the brigands who had been on either side of the hetman, his boon companions, his lieutenants.

Only a few moments had passed, enough for the brigands to know death had come for them... They broke and ran.

And the saying told in realms from Amber to Chaos was apparently true in this world too. Run, and you just die tired.

I hunted them. They made no attempt to hide their trails and it probably didn't occur to them they needed. It wouldn't have mattered. I could track them by sign or Sigil.

When I returned I had remembered to I found them cleaning the vale and stacking the dead. They had wandered down my trails and collected remains. They were building a bonfire. A merry blaze it would be.

As the fire burned the people of Veksvale finally asked me what I was? I tried telling them I was just a soldier, and one without a country. They were not convinced but they made me realize that while I had come here a stranger, a traveler, I had made a home for these people. So this scattering of homesteads needed a center.


Fort Vek

I told them to start collecting. Rocks. Any size. They did. They would come to the fire and drop rocks in the various piles. Small ones, medium ones, big ones. Then one day i started sorting them out, moving them to places around. A wall would do for the most part. Nothing more then four feet. Crenelations up to five.

I pulled the logs from my cabin and replaced the bottom three feet with stone. i cheated a bit smooth stoning them to fit air tight. We scooted out a few good sized stones and I showed them how to chisel split them. Over the next year we built 12 stone foundations and low walls for homes. Made stone smoke houses.

In probably the biggest mistake i made in this place, i scouted an easy trail down to Hinterhigh and established relations with a trading post. Calling my place Veksvale made the residents of the crowded part start calling their place "Hinterhigh Township."

I soon had nearly a hundred regular residents in Fort Vek. A few families, a few travelers, a few employees, hunters. brewers, . A few mountain-men who decided Veksvale wasn't bad for the mountains and retired to the safety and plenty of the Fort. I could always find things for old experienced hands to do. They were always at the fire and their stories are always funny. The truth was they worried that infirmity would hit them in their isolation, as had happened to many before. Its a fear of these men.

Dowser

After Veksvale had been in place for 4 years a new visitor arrived that would change the place once again. He was a young boy, the son of a warrior tired of his downhill world. I believe he was a deserter but up here you don't ask such things. The fathers name was Cudgel. The Boy was Dowser.