Dragon Blight: Legends

Dark Night Sun

Autumn had taken the land with gentle hands. Once lively forests had relinquished their verdancy for a veil of gentle oranges and stunning reds. With the migration of Summer's warm light and gentle breezes, so too did go the songbirds leaving behind only those of thicker feathers. Those dark birds of most intelligent eye, raven and crow and jay, watched as men who had forgone their broad hats worked through the last of their fields. Calloused hands threshed late-planted wheat from the dirt, plucked engorged gourds from their vines, and roused corns from within their husks.

These men of earth toiled in their fields, reaping what they could from the dwindling lights of day. Unlike in the long-shadowed summertime, they did not dare risk staying out past the last lights. When the sun drew its final sighs and dipped its face below the distant horizon, the men of the fields hurried back to their walls. Safely they rested their heads under the protection of stone, iron, and flame. Peace of mind that the beasts within the dark of the wood stayed beyond their erected boundaries.

Unlike most towns, Landstal enjoyed a calmer sense of peace. In place of small stone half-walls or wooden fences, Landstal boasted an impressive palisade that encompassed the town. Thick posts of oak and pine prevented unwanted beasts or brigands from breaching the townsfolk's haven. A gantry of piled dirt allowed the town guard to watch out beyond the walls for trouble. And where the town met the road, a gate made of hardwood and iron sealed them from the dangerous world beyond.

The hills surrounding Landstal, during the summer, would roll with waves of golden wheat. Now in the Autumnal season, they were bear but for a smattering of overripened fruits or the remains of threshed wheat. Inside the city walls, the townsfolk had begun their preparations for the harsh winters of the land. From storehouses, they pulled free the furs and trappings they had saved through the year, using them to line the walls of their homes.

On the eastern edge of the town, where the wall kissed the riverbanks, the millers had begun to run the harvested wheat. Their work was marked by the churning of the water wheel in the babbling river. A quarter would go to the city for sale and tithing, but the rest would be distributed to the town.

Sat at the southernmost edge of the city were the barracks. It was a most utilitarian structure. Its two longhouses were connected at one end by the scullery and smith in the center. The tall chimney of the combined kitchen and forge billowed a tower of smoke that travelers could see for miles beyond the town.

Within the eastern longhouse, guards slept upon beds of wool and hay. Woven mats of straw divided them for privacy, though they offered little in that way. Across in the western longhouse, the guard captain kept his chambers, and the armory lay protected behind a heavy wooden door with the heaviest lock in the village. Between the arms of barracks were the training grounds, a dirt plaza with beaten posts and straw archery targets.

Inside the smithery, a young woman worked, bent over the anvil and the rod of red-hot steel. A mixture of sweat and soot coated the tawny skin of her face and arms. Where her leather apron did not cover her tunic, the fabric was pocked with burnt holes. She lifted her hammer, the well-toned muscles of her arm constricted, building power before she struck hot steel in tandem with her father. The two worked in a fluid dance with the metal, striking, and heating, repeatedly before quenching the oil steel. This was the routine that Violet had grown accustomed to throughout her life.

Each day she would spend her waking moments assisting her father as he smithed tools, nails, weapons, and armor for the people of Landstal. She would take her break during the midday, watching the guards train in the plaza beyond the forge. Wistfully her eyes would follow their motions as they sparred with wooden polearms and swords. Each motion they would make would become seared into her mind's eye, stored deep into her memories, where the motions would momentarily sate her ambitions for adventure. During the evening hours, she would help the cookie in the scullery prepare supper for the guards and themselves.