Return of the Stormcriers

CHAPTER 2 - CLEARFIELD

  Clearfield was a medium sized collection of neat wooden houses near the southern border of the Klippéfell Province of Verden, that boasted roughly five hundred or so permanent residents at any given time. Nestled snuggly in the rocky crags and highlands that covered almost the entirety of the province, it was an unwieldly sprawl; the streets were winding and the houses were mismatched, but everything was clean and well taken care of. The city bustled with activity. Merchants hawked their wares, friends called greetings to one another, animals at the market brayed, whinnied, and bleated, adding to the cacophony of sound. Several uniformed guards sporting chain mail embossed with the provincial crest, dark silhouetted crags on a soft, dark blue background, strolled the busy streets. While most of the guards had not grown up in Clearfield, many of them had been stationed in the town for enough years to call it home. Every member of the populace carried out their tasks with the same frantic energy, desperate to complete their work before the storm struck in earnest.

  The Drake wagon rolled into Clearfield not more than half an hour after Matt had spotted it on the horizon. The dark clouds overhead made it impossible to tell the time, but Matt estimated that after the length of their journey it had to be fairly late in the evening The rain was now coming at a steadier pace, beginning to seep through Matt's cloak, causing it to cling irritatingly to his skin. He pulled the hood farther over his head, shaking it to free the water that had begun to pool in the folds of the fabric. If this was any indication of the winter to come, it was going to be a brutal season.

  "I'm looking forward to a hot meal after we finish selling our goods," Andrew grumbled as he shook water off of his own hood like a dog drying its back. His sons agreed whole-heartedly, eager to finish their work so they could enjoy a warm fire and a dry seat at the Silver-Hand Inn. Almost every visit to Clearfield Matt could remember had ended with a hearty meal at Clearfield's sole source of lodging and comfort for weary travelers and outskirts farmers such as themselves. It would be a welcome respite from the raging elements and the angry autumn sky.

  As his shop was on the outskirts of Clearfield, the Drake's first stop was Vincent Frost, the animal merchant. He supplied butchers all around the Clearfield area with the finest animals available, purchasers from up and down the Azure coast came to buy from his stock. Vincent, a large man with a bushy mustache that completely obscured his upper lip, leaned against the door of his small, two room house that doubled as his storefront. No matter how the world was carrying on, he always remained good-humored, whistling and joking with the ease of a child whose joy of life had not yet been weighed down by reality and pessimism. His father and Vincent had been friends for as many years as he could remember and the large man had always treated Matt and Mark with the kindness of an uncle, slipping them coppers, and once even a silver, to buy themselves toys and treats from the other merchants while they waited for their father to finish his business.

  "Hail, Andrew!" Vincent greeted them when they got close. Cages full of sheep, hogs, and cattle stood behind him. "What are you bringing me, today? Is it a three-legged goat? Or a dying sheep?" He let out a big, booming laugh at his own joke. The Drakes joined in. A laugh like Vincent's was contagious.

  "We brought our best sheep," Andrew said, hopping down from the wagon to shake Vincent's hand. He glanced back at Matt and Mark, motioning for them to unload the sheep from the wagon. Matt climbed down from his seat, his boots squelching in the mud, the soles sinking an inch or two into the wet earth. Mark clambered down beside him, sweeping his foot across the back of Matt's ankles as he passed by, sending Matt tumbling toward the ground. Cursing and laughing, Matt managed to catch himself on the back of the wagon, preventing a face first fall into the muddy dirt road. He aimed a blind kick toward the back of Mark's feet but he missed by several inches as his brother scampered away roaring with laughter. They lowering the wooden gate and leading the sheep around the front to their father and Vincent.