One Moo'r Plow

The cows were strangely quiet when I walked to the pasture the next morning. No grumbling moos roused the morning air to greet me. Perhaps they were settling into the routine? Any hope I had of that was dashed as I saw my small herd.

They were lying on their sides, barely moving. I dropped the pails and broke into a brisk run, my eyes wide. I was stupid. I hadn’t even thought about any other animals in earshot. If the scream had killed those birds above the field, what had it done to my cows?

I knelt and grasped one’s head, turning it side to side. Weak protests came from its mouth, which brought some relief to my mind. No blood anywhere. Meant they weren’t bleeding out like I had been. I moved from cow to cow and found them all in the same state. Weak, lethargic and only ably to feebly protest as I drew near.

The mandrake scream had affected everything in earshot. The horses nervously grazed on the far side of the pasture, at the very edge of hearing. But just the revelation made me stop to think.

What if Ishila and Gol had been next to me when I yanked that thing free? I doubted that they could have borne the brunt of the scream better than I had.

I needed some way to isolate the mandrakes from the rest of the farm. If that small, infant monster could kill animals with sound alone, I did not want to see what an adult was capable of. I gently stroked the poor creature’s head, and nodded in sympathy to its feeble moos. No milking today, then.

The only mercy was that the horses, by virtue of being bullied to the far end of the pasture by the cows, hadn’t been affected. They were at the very edge of earshot, and other than some nervousness at my approach, I could see nothing wrong with them. A relief. Something good had come from having mean cows, then.

I had been attacked by a monster just a few days hence and thought little of it. Just killed it and moved on. Attacked by thugs a few days prior. It spoke volumes to this world that no one considered that noteworthy. Was violence and danger such an everyday thing here that people just didn’t care? Garek’s skewed memories suggested so.

So did Ishila. The orc girl leaned against her usual spot as she pondered my question.

“Yeah,” She agreed. “See, for city folks, it might be a bigger deal. And you know, that’s a good thing on some level that they don’t have to be adapted to constant danger. But out here? Away from the walls and with monsters in the woods? It’s just something that happens.”

“Seems very…common.” I suggested, sort of at a loss for words.

Ishila just shrugged and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

“You know, one of the strangest things to imagine is a world without monsters. What’d give us levels and skills then? ‘Side from our main classes, I mean.”

“See, I’ve always thought it a bit strange that killing monsters is the universal way to gain levels. It means that even if you can’t do a job or secure a lifestyle, you can still make someone of yourself through violence,” She noted, oddly pensive today. “But Ma’ always says I’m overthinking it. I mean, what a fantasy, right?”

I nodded awkwardly. Yeah, what a fantasy indeed.

“What classes do you have anyway?” I asked. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

The lass rubbed the back of her neck, a gesture I’d come to associate with her being thoughtful.

“Well, I’m a Farmhand, mainly. But I still have the opportunity to transition that into a Farmer if I get my own place an’ meet all the requirements.”

“What are the differences between the two?” I asked, mostly out of curiosity. I could vaguely guess, but any new knowledge of this system as a whole was useful.

“Well, from what I’ve heard talking to Ma’ and Pa’, the Farmhand class focuses more on physical farmwork, with lots of skills that actively and passively work towards, ya’know, helping me work the farm. Farmer class instead focuses more on the farm as a whole, I understand.”

I nodded along as she spoke. Made sense, that.

“Though I’m also a low-level Prizefighter,” She grinned. “Pa’ weren’t too happy when I came home with that shiny new class one night.”

“Do tell.” I asked dryly. Gol whined in what I assumed was confirmation. Couldn’t tell. The beast was slouched next to ishila, letting the girl stroke the soft part of his head. He yawned smugly at me, lazy as ever.

“Well, out here, it’s up to us farmkids to make our own fun, see?” She grinned mischievously. “So we’d all get together and have sparring matches. Course that was a polite way of puttin’ it. We absolutely beat the shit outta each other with a crowd watching. Most parents didn’t care, right until we started sproutin all the wrong classes. Then that was the end of that.”

“They cared more about classes than physical harm?” I stated the obvious, incredulous.

“Course,” She nodded. “Broken bone or cracked rib can be fixed be with a healin’ potion. Gettin’ the wrong class can’t.”

“Your accent’s slipping.” I noted with some amusement. She blushed and rubbed the back of her head again.

“Been tryna’ work on it lately.” The lass admitted. "Don’t wanna seem uncouth round Miss Le’rish or anythin’.”

We drifted off into further discussion, and came to the agreement that we’d need to be more careful with the monster plants. Specifically, the mandrakes would require extreme care. We finally settled on transplanting them to the far end of the field, physically away from the farm. But before that we would need material to plug our ears, both physically and magically. Which would warrant a trip to Hullbretch.

Despite Raffnyk’s warning, I needed another visit to the town in order to advance things on the farm. But this time, I intended to collect some profit. Fresh milk was a valuable commodity, I learned from Ishila. Most people preferred to turn theirs into cheese and milk to prevent it from going bad. The jars and vines I had would grant me a few days of safe storage, even though I knew I should pasteurize it or something, just out of habit.

"We should break up a third field,” I suggested half-heartedly. “Just for the crops, ya’know?”

“Aye, we should.” came the agreement.

“Buuuuut that can wait.”

“Ya, I agree.”

“Field won’t run away,” I assured myself. “How bout we build that safety shack instead?”

She was very agreeable to that idea, I found. And with two people, it went much faster than expected. In the end, we elected to just make it an add-on to the current house. Needed less wood that way. We were actually done by mid-afternoon. Crazy how two people made everything easy. If I were still human and by myself, this would have been a multi-day job. Which led me to another line of thought.

“Why is it that human standards are used as a baseline for everything anyhow?” I asked out of curiosity.

Ishila shrugged at that.

“In most of this continent, sure. But’s that cause humans are everywhere here.” She grimaced a little. “Not ta’ be an asshole or anythin’, but they’re kinda like pests. Short lives, breed a lot of kids, spread and stick their noses in everything. Don’t matter if you kill a few, there’s always more to take their place. Kinda like bigger, pink goblins.”

Ah. That was a very vivid description, then.

“And actual goblins?”

The lass frowned and made a face at that, scrap lumber over her shoulder as we carried the junk away. Cleaning up after the job still needed to be done.

“Most orcs don’t like being compared to goblins, just to warn ya.”

“So I’ve learned from experience.”

“Good.” She nodded and paused to think for a bit.

“Humans an’ goblins ain’t too different in the end, see. Breed lots, are kinda everywhere you go, always happy to get into a scrap with outsiders. Main difference is, humans work together and will make peace and treaties if it suits their interests. Goblins have too much Trork in them. Don’t trust each other, fight among themselves, refuse to adapt to the world. They’re like humans without the most valuable trait humans have; adaptability.”

“Trork?” I asked.

“Nother point of contention among us greenskins.” She made a face. “Ain’t something we love spreadin round, given as so many races already hold us in a bad light.”

“And yet..”

We walked in silence until we dumped the lumber and stood to admire the view. Ishila was chewing over her words here, obvious distaste on her face.

“All the greenskin races are devolved,” She finally started abruptly. “Trolls, goblins and orcs were once one race. Trorks. Or whatever they were called. The name is lost to time. But over time, after some massive fuckery nobody remembers, we got split and over time lost most of what made us the dominant race in the world.”

“Trolls got most of the strength but became near brainless and infertile. Orcs kept the warlike spirit and adaptability, goblins kept the numbers but got shafted in every other regard. Lotsa orcs hate being reminded we were ever the same race.”

“Ah.” Was all I had to reply.

“Look it’s a bad topic.” She sighed. “I’m only tellin’ you this cuz you’re a decent person and been great so far. Wouldn’t expect that from a minotaur. Your race has a reputation, and ya’ll earned it.”

I nodded vaguely, blissfully unaware at the moment of what exactly she referred to, and in no hurry to discover it for myself.

In time, we moved back to the farm, and began to discuss what we wanted to do in the immediate future. After a bit, we decided to wait a few days and then head to Hullbretch to sell milk and search for a potential buyer for monster parts. That way we could guarantee some profit between now and when the crops were ready to harvest, and Ishila needed to pick up personal things anyway.

After much debate, it was decided that the irrigation ditch could wait. It was already past the time to dig it anyhow, as the field was seeded and already sprouting.

“Watering by hand will be a chore,” Ishila sighed. “But it’s just another job.”

“Aye.”

“Remind me to buy a lock,” I spoke distractedly. “And two keys. For the shack.”

“I mean, we have Gol to ward off intruders.” The lass offered.

We both stared at each for a moment and then started laughing.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so either. He seems more liable to slink off than chase off an intruder.”

“Honestly, the thing I’m worried about most is the baron’s men showing up while we’re away.” Ishila frowned. “I have a feeling Ironmoor’s lackeys would have little qualms about razing this place while you’re away.”

That gave me pause. I could probably fight off however many thugs he sent, but that meant nothing if they jolly well sallied up while I was absent. An empty farm wasn't going to defend itself.

“Any suggestions for this?”

“Well, not to seem too in favor of her, but you could hire Miss Le’rish to run security while you’re away.”

“I’m seeing a clear pattern of favoritism here,” I smirked. “I wonder why?”

The blush I got out of her with that was worth the angry squawks that came afterward. But later, I did decide that having the huntress stalk the trees and frighten off any potential intruders was worth the coin if it kept my farm untorched. I couldn’t stay holed up here forever, and no amount of justification would get me to put Ishila in danger. The lass could handle her own, no doubt, but I was taking no chances and brooking no complaints.

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