Arc 721, 11th of Cylus
Cylus was a cold season, but Darius thought the residents of Hopetoun could have been forgiven for thinking otherwise. The warmth of the Faldrass sand, combined with the heat of exertion from their hard toil, meant that many of them had discarded their coats during some of the toughest trials.
The bearded blond himself did not suffer such difficulties. As a FireForged, his body seemed to find a curious equilibrium between hot and cold, as if it was consciously regulating his temperature. It was just one of the many curiosities that had entered his life since swearing his allegiance to Faldrass.
But for the settlers themselves - and that was how he saw them now, rather than refugees, for they had returned home - there was enough work to keep them warm most trials.
It was the coldest breaks in the night that had them wrapped up in some of the many blankets that had been donated to them for their journey to the island.
Not long after deciding on the location for Hopetoun, Darius had put together scouting parties: small groups of settlers, no more than four at a time, to explore the world beyond the imaginary, invisible boundary. Those who stayed behind tended to the encampment itself, with some fishing from their new food source, others chopping wood and building a stockpile of logs and firewood, while a security detail kept watch in case of any unexpected visitors.
Adamant about being a leader who was willing to work just as hard as he was asking his followers to, Darius had insisted on doing his part. At times, that involved digging ditches, or planning new structures, or even dealing with a recent rat situation. And this trial, it meant heading out with one of the scouting parties to get a better feel for the land that the people of Hopetoun once again called home.
The group was made up of: Lars, a wilderness huntsman who seemed to be thriving in the wild landscape and who claimed to have already identified some local forested trails; Serena, a young woman who wasn't afraid to roll up her sleeves; Darius himself; and Kirt, the farmer whose nautical ineptitude had fortuitously gifted the community with their first local food source.
It was the latter's first excursion into the wild. Since stepping onto the ship as it prepared to depart Almund, the man had not stopped waxing lyrical about his pre-eruption farming exploits, and it was as much to give the other settlers a reprieve from his stories as it was to use his expertise out in the field...
...and he was quite happy to offer that expertise, entirely unprompted.
"Volcanic soil is good for growing crops," he volunteered as the group followed a particular trail that Lars had wanted to explore. "That's why my grandfather settled on Faldrass. He swore farming near the volcano would mean better yields from the land. It's very fertile."
The others said little, presumably content to just keep moving, their breaths escaping their lips in small clouds.
As they crossed a small rise, the trees parted and the trail opened up. The quartet paused on the small crest and looked down at the clearing before them. Clumps and speckles of ash were visible within the grass, and it came as no surprise to the others that Kirt was the first to speak. What did surprise them is that he did so in an unusually quiet voice.
"Oh my," he gasped, his words barely beyond a whisper. "This land looks very fertile."
The farmer very slowly began to step into the clearing, and only then, as he turned back to look at the others, his face beaming with delight, did his voice return to its usual volume.
"Very fertile, indeed!"
The bearded blond himself did not suffer such difficulties. As a FireForged, his body seemed to find a curious equilibrium between hot and cold, as if it was consciously regulating his temperature. It was just one of the many curiosities that had entered his life since swearing his allegiance to Faldrass.
But for the settlers themselves - and that was how he saw them now, rather than refugees, for they had returned home - there was enough work to keep them warm most trials.
It was the coldest breaks in the night that had them wrapped up in some of the many blankets that had been donated to them for their journey to the island.
Not long after deciding on the location for Hopetoun, Darius had put together scouting parties: small groups of settlers, no more than four at a time, to explore the world beyond the imaginary, invisible boundary. Those who stayed behind tended to the encampment itself, with some fishing from their new food source, others chopping wood and building a stockpile of logs and firewood, while a security detail kept watch in case of any unexpected visitors.
Adamant about being a leader who was willing to work just as hard as he was asking his followers to, Darius had insisted on doing his part. At times, that involved digging ditches, or planning new structures, or even dealing with a recent rat situation. And this trial, it meant heading out with one of the scouting parties to get a better feel for the land that the people of Hopetoun once again called home.
The group was made up of: Lars, a wilderness huntsman who seemed to be thriving in the wild landscape and who claimed to have already identified some local forested trails; Serena, a young woman who wasn't afraid to roll up her sleeves; Darius himself; and Kirt, the farmer whose nautical ineptitude had fortuitously gifted the community with their first local food source.
It was the latter's first excursion into the wild. Since stepping onto the ship as it prepared to depart Almund, the man had not stopped waxing lyrical about his pre-eruption farming exploits, and it was as much to give the other settlers a reprieve from his stories as it was to use his expertise out in the field...
...and he was quite happy to offer that expertise, entirely unprompted.
"Volcanic soil is good for growing crops," he volunteered as the group followed a particular trail that Lars had wanted to explore. "That's why my grandfather settled on Faldrass. He swore farming near the volcano would mean better yields from the land. It's very fertile."
The others said little, presumably content to just keep moving, their breaths escaping their lips in small clouds.
As they crossed a small rise, the trees parted and the trail opened up. The quartet paused on the small crest and looked down at the clearing before them. Clumps and speckles of ash were visible within the grass, and it came as no surprise to the others that Kirt was the first to speak. What did surprise them is that he did so in an unusually quiet voice.
"Oh my," he gasped, his words barely beyond a whisper. "This land looks very fertile."
The farmer very slowly began to step into the clearing, and only then, as he turned back to look at the others, his face beaming with delight, did his voice return to its usual volume.
"Very fertile, indeed!"
