• Solo • Leining- I mean, Oram, versus the an- I mean, locusts.

[Oram Mednix]

91 Ashan 721

”That’s not good,” said the Professor drily, looking through the spyglass. Oram looked over quizzically, but Jasper Seams’ eyes were intently trained on the glass, and he did appear to notice his companion’s puzzlement.

The two men sat atop the same hill as they had a fortnight before, surveying the fields east of Scalvoris, around Beacon and beyond. This time, after meeting with the farmers and explaining their purpose, the pair were not in danger of being taken for idle or dangerous trespassers.

”What is it? What do you see?” asked the hunter. His voice seemed to rouse Seams, who started and then offered him the spyglass.

”Over by that big maple, next to the stone wall,” the professor explained, pointing as he did. ”See it?”

Oram nodded. The Professor’s eyes were good, but then so were his, and he was able to pick out the landmarks Seams mentioned. However, when he raised the glass to his eye, he saw only nondescript fields of blue sky or tree line or blasted field. Seams must have noticed him scowling, and he patted the traveler on the shoulder to get his attention from the glass. When Oram looked, the Professor pantomimed and explained: ”Hold out your off hand, like this, put your finger over the thing you want to look at, then hold it there while you look for your finger in the glass.”

Oram complied, looking through the glass at the blue fields and tree lines until his view was filled by a pink blob. When he lowered his finger, he could see the tree and the fence. ”I see the tree and fence now,” he announced.

”Good, now, move the glass down and to the left -*very* slightly, just barely. The glass magnifies angles, so small shifts become big ones.”

Oram moved the glass as carefully and minutely as he could manage, and was rewarded by the prospect that had concerned Seams: a large dark patch that snaked and spread across the blighted acres. After watching it for several trills, Oram realized that it was moving.

”You see it now, don’t you?” prompted the professor. ”Remember what I said about hopper bands?”

Perhaps a fortnight had passed since Oram and Professor Seams had spoken to Daltrik and the other farmers about using glowing chickens and light traps to control the locusts that had swarmed Scalvoris and devastated its crops. Over the subsequent trials, the swarms had lessened and finally seemed to have stopped altogether. Seams had told Oram that, once locust populations dropped below a certain density, they stopped swarming and went back to behaving like solitary insects.

Seams had also told him that swarms often came in multiple waves or pulses, and that they often started with immature locusts congregating into large, earthbound groups known as “hopper bands”. Oram hadn’t entirely believed it on first hearing, but now before his very eyes -at least when he looked through the spyglass- was proof that the Professor told it true. He looked through the glass again, fascinated. ”They don’t seem to be moving very fast,” he offered.

Seams shook his head. ”Not fast, no. Not much more than a couple miles a day. But that still doesn’t give us a lot of time to prepare.”

”We should go tell Daltrik and the others right away,” Oram declared earnestly. He made to mount Mule.

Seams followed more deliberately. ”First, we should go take a closer look.”

Oram looked surprised. ”What, you mean just ride right up to the swarm and stop and look.”

The Sevryn was already nudging his horse down towards the road. ”Of course, why not?” he replied matter-of-factly. ”They aren’t dangerous or aggressive. They aren’t even that smart or alert. They won’t respond to our approach. You’ll see.”

To the hunter, it seemed counterintuitive. Oram was used to dealing with animals that responded to their surroundings. Spurring Mule to follow the Professor, Oram had to remind himself that these were insects, and that Seams had had experience with locust swarms before, or so he had said.

[Oram Mednix]

But can they do the Wave?

The mounts would not approach the crawling mass of locusts, and Oram and Seams had to leave mule and horse some distance away to walk. Up close, the hopper band was impressive, but not all that menacing. The Professor had been right about their absence of aggression towards them. The vegetation in their wake was not quite so fortunate.

”I’m surprised” muttered Seams, as he surveyed the writhing skein of chitin and appetite, ”that there’s much for them to consume after the last wave. Also, their life cycle is fast, but not this fast. I can’t believe these are from the same brood that blew through two tentrials ago.”

Oram scowled. This didn’t strike the hunter as the most important thing to worry about. ”We need to tell the other farmers,” he urged, still gazing at the crawling swarm. It didn’t move that fast; he could easily have gotten to the farmers well ahead of it just by walking briskly. But they needed to warn them quickly to give them as much time to prepare as possible.

Warn them so that they could do…what? The hunter turned to Seams. ”Do you have any ideas how to stop this thing.” The Sevir nodded and grinned. ”Simplest thing in the world: dig a ditch.”

Oram wrinkled his forehead. ”What, that’s it? And they just fall right in?”

Seams nodded. ”They aren’t that bright. It just needs to be a couple feet deep, maybe waist-high on a man, with steep sides so that they can’t just crawl out. But it really is that simple, Oram.”

Simple, but logistically easier said than done. The traveler took his gaze away from the hopper band and he turned towards Mule. ”We need to warn Jurgen and Daltrik, get the farmers mobilized.” The two men had reportedly been busy these past trials, organizing the other farmers’ ability to respond to just such an incident. They would soon find out how effective the farmers had been.

As they approached Jurgen’s farm, Oram slowed, but Seams did not. ”I know someone in town who can help,” he explained. ”I’ll meet you back here.”

[Oram Mednix]

On Sticky! On Muley! On Carty! On…never mind.

Jurgen and Daltrik agreed without hesitation to help, at least once Oram was able to convey to the farmers what a hopper band was, and to convince them that one was on its way. When he described the location where he and Seams had seen the locusts, a gleam appeared in Jurgen’s eyes. ”That land’s abandoned,” Jurgen said after a moment. ”You say the swarm’s heading west towards us, right? That means the next farm after is the Outenz farm. I’ll go tell Lorne, you get Daltrik to round up the neighbors.”

A few bits later, after a hard ride up the hill to Daltrik’s stead, and a breathless explanation to the farmer, Daltrik nodded grimly. ”I’ll get the wagon and round up some people,” he told the hunter. ”You stay here a bit and catch your breath, drink something.” He looked outside at Mule, who stood shakily, breathing hard. ”Your mount’s winded. Borrow my wife’s jennet when you’re ready and meet us at the Outenz farm. That’s the one just west of where you say you saw the locusts. That hill where you and Seams do your lookouts is just across from his land, so you should know what his farmhouse looks like; it’s the half-timbered one with the stone silo.” The hunter nodded his understanding. He was pretty sure he remembered the stone silo. The house, too, assuming ‘half-timbered’ meant ‘mostly white’.

”I’m sure she won’t mind,” chimed in a female voice drily from the back of the room. Oram looked up to see Thera, who grinned at him. ”Daltrik’s generosity is legendary, especially with other people’s stuff.” She shot her husband a reproachful look, though she did not dispute his offer to use her horse.

After a couple quick gulps of water, Oram took once more to his feet to help Daltrik hitch up his wagon. ”I’ve only got the one draft horse,” the farmer muttered as he worked, depositing a pair of spades and a few other tools in the wagon’s bed with a clatter that caused said horse’s ears to twitch. ”I’ll need to ask Brett for if we can hitch up his. We’ll need two if we’re going to haul people.”

With a hasty farewell to Oram, and a slightly more thoughtful one to his wife, Daltrik clambered up into the wagon and set it rattling down the hill towards his neighbors’ farms. Thera stood next to the traveler quietly for a while as the wagon receded, then turned to him and said: ”Help me get Sticky ready,” as she made to walk back towards the stable.

Oram moved to follow her. ”Sticky?” he asked. ”That’s your horse’s name?”

”Yes, that’s my jennet that Daltrik so kindly offered you.” Thera gave a surprisingly sad sigh. ”And the name’s a story I’d rather not get into right now.”

The hunter did not press; he had not intended to in the first place. Instead, he helped the woman clean and saddle up a smallish piebald-though still taller than Mule- that seemed happy to see Thera, while snuffling suspiciously at Oram.

”It’ll take her a little to get used to you,” explained Thera, as she checked a saddle blanket to make sure it was dry before draping it over Sticky’s splotched back. ”She’ll let you ride her easy enough, though she might not do more than trot for you at first. And don’t try to rush her, either.” As if understanding and wishing to underscore its mistress’ point, the horse looked at Oram and whickered.

Sticky flinched the first time or two Oram touched her, but calmed down quickly enough, seeming to take Thera’s cue that the strange man was alright, after all. Once she was fully geared up, Thera pointed to a couple water skins lying on a bench nearby. ”You know where our well is, right? Why don’t you fill those up and bring them with you. All that digging is going to be thirsty work, I imagine. I’ll walk Sticky down to the bottom of the hill. It’ll be easier riding her the first time if you only do it on level ground.”

[Oram Mednix]

Diggy diggy hole

Sticky moved along the road with a gait Oram was unfamiliar with: a fast, high-stepping walk that was not quite a trot. The jennet, as Thera warned she might, would not break into a faster gait for the hunter, tossing her head defiantly when Oram tried to urge her to do so. Later, he would learn that this gait was called “ambling.” For the time, he just mentally called it “frustrating”.

As deliberate as Sticky’s ride had been, Oram still arrived at the Outenz farm before Daltrik did with the cart. Even without the help the latter farmer had planned to round up, there were already several people at the scene, including Jurgen, who introduced Oram to the others when he arrived. Lorne Outenz was an energetic man of about forty trials with a wiry build and leathery skin. With him were a grown son, a younger son, a small daughter, and his wife. Only the oldest son looked to be big enough to help dig a ditch, but the smaller children were eager to help somehow. There were a couple other farmers present, or perhaps farm hands, all capable-looking. Oram guessed these were neighbors of Jurgen.

The traveler had expected there to follow a discussion of what to do, in which the farmers would ask for Oram’s advice. They did not do this. In fact, to his surprise -and, secretly, his disappointment- those assembled had already largely decided on a plan of action. The field closest to the hopper band was open, with only a rail fence surrounding it. It would have been too much to dig a trench along the entire length of that field; Outenz had grudgingly accepted that the crop planted there would be lost to the locust swarm. Closer in to where the group stood now, there was another field, this one protected mostly by a stone wall. Only a short section was rail fence. That, plus the area around the gate, offered a way to stem the locusts with only minimal digging.

Following the instructions Seams had given them, the farmers began to measure off the dimensions of the ditches they were to dig, counting them out in shovel-widths and then scratching the outline in the dirt. Realizing something, the wife sent her small daughter off to fetch buckets, while she asked the younger son to gather water skins, including those Oram had brought from Daltrik’s farm. Belatedly, he realized he had left his own waterskins on Mule.

There was nothing Oram could do about that now, however. It was time to dig. The hunter stripped down to his briefs and took a spade, started to help excavate the ditch running parallel the outside of the gate. The farmers had made an H-shaped outline that straddled the fence, with the crossbar going through the gate. Two men each dug the inner and outer ditches, the two legs of the H. Two more worked on the far end of the stone fence. Oram realized that they were making a ditch connecting the edge of the fence to the edge of a nearby irrigation ditch.

Looking over at the farmers that were scrambling to dismantle the section of rail fence, Oram realized that there were more people than shovels. That wasn’t necessarily a problem; it meant that folks could take turn digging. But more farmers, more eager to help than they were prepared, started to show up from adjacent farms, and most of them hadn’t thought to bring shovels, or had none to bring. Manpower would be plentiful; tools were the limiting factor.

[Oram Mednix]

The handle fell off a Spear & Jackson No. 3?!

Oram’s torso, arms, and feet were caked in dirt and sweat, as were the others digging with him. They looked the way he imagined earth spirits would look if they took human form. After about a break of digging, the hole around the gate was just over knee high on him. Someone helped him up out of the ditch and offered him a cup of water. The cup was filthy, having been handled and drunk from by any number of similarly dirt-caked farmers, yet Oram didn’t care; he gulped the lukewarm water down.

Handing off his shovel to one of the newcomers, Oram looked over the scene. The ditch that was to connect the end of the fence to the irrigation ditch was also a bit over knee high. The ditch where the stretch of rail fence had been, however, was only just getting started. The workers there had only just started scratching out the outline of their ditch. Apprehensively, Oram scanned to the east for any sign of the approaching hopper band.

He noticed the birds first; they flocked and circled over some unseen area, periodically dropping out of sight. They filled the branches of surrounding trees That was where the locusts were, the hunter realized. And that gave him am idea. He looked for and spotted Jurgen, who was also taking a break that moment.

”We should gather some chickens here,” the traveler suggested, nodding in the direction of the birds. The white-bearded farmer squinted that way for a couple trills, then nodded, understanding. He went off to talk to the Outenz family. Oram looked back at the birds. There were far more bugs in the swarm than they could eat, of course. Not even the hungriest chickens could make a dent in their total population; but they could clean up the overflow, the locusts that managed to trickle in around the gaps in the ditches they were digging and find their way onto the field behind. Hopefully, enough to save the crops planted there.

A rumbling sound from the road roused Oram from his thoughts. Daltrik had finally arrived. With him were three more able-looking farm hands. More importantly, they each had a shovel of their own, in addition to an extra that Daltrik had in the cart. After a quick conference, these new arrivals set to catch up the lagging ditch-work where the rail fence had been. Apart from Oram, there were now well over a dozen diggers, and nine shovels -eight, as one had broken recently, its failure heralded by loud swearing and a frustrated toss of the now-scoopless handle by the man who had been using it.

Oram gulped down one more cup of water and began scanning the crews. Most of these men were well used to field work, but a couple clearly were not, nor did they have Oram’s tolerance for heat. The traveler tapped on the shoulder of a digger who was panting heavily and working slowly. He persisted when the man initially tried to wave him off, eventually taking the spade from his weary hands.

The hunter had been back at digging for about another half-break when one of the smaller Outenz children, who had been sitting on the stone fence gazing eastward, called out and pointed. She had spotted the locusts. The farmers who weren’t digging, and a couple of the ones who were supposed to be, thronged to the fence and looked where she pointed, marveling and dismayed at the sight. Oram, who had already seen the hopper band, and who understood the need for urgency, kept digging. They would all get to see the locusts soon enough.

Where in the Beneath was Professor Seams?!

[Oram Mednix]

What Seams to be the problem?

As if in answer to his thought, the sound of galloping hoofbeats came up from the road. Seams had arrived, followed by a pair of large, powerfully-built men on similarly large and powerfully-built horses. Elements, Oram realized, squinting at them through dirt-filled eyes. They dismounted, and the little professor bustled up to the group, nodding his head sheepishly as he approached.

”I took longer than expected, sorry!” he explained. ”I had hoped to find a defier I knew among the fire troopers. She could make a ditch as big as you like in a snap.” The Sev’ryn snapped his fingers. ”She wasn’t immediately available, though, so I brought these instead.” He indicated the two earth troopers, who stalked up with their own shovels. They immediately took charge of the digging work, focusing their efforts on the ditch at the former rail-fence. The other ditches, around the gate and the gap between the fence and the irrigation ditch, were all but finished.

And just in time, too, Oram thought, as he clambered out of the ditch to peer at the dark line of locusts now near at hand in the adjacent field. The hopper band inched across slowly across the planted land, eating everything in its path as it did so. It was perhaps a couple hundred paces away from the far end of the ditches. It would be upon them in half a break, the hunter guessed.

Passing off his shovel once more to drink some water, Oram conferred with Seams and Jurgen. ”What happens now?” he asked.

”We wait and watch,” Seams answered.

The elder farmer looked over the fence skeptically at the hopper band. ”You reckon they’ll just pour into these ditches?” he asked skeptically. ”Just like that?”

The professor nodded. ”I’ve seen this before,” he assured. ”They aren’t very bright. You’ll see. And once a good number of them have fallen into the ditches, you can start burying them with the loose dirt.”

A panicked thought flashed through Oram’s mind just then, and he looked at the piles of dirt. To his relief, most of the earth was piled on the near side. Jurgen, following the hunter’s gaze, grinned knowingly. ”You don’t have to think of everything yourself, young man,” the farmer told him. ”We farmers have ideas, too.”

Just then, a large, strong hand rested on his shoulder. Oram turned to see Daltrik there. Although the farmer had not been present for most of the digging, he had taken a turn with a shovel, and had his share of dirt on him. Daltrik smiled. ”I’m about to bring the wagon back to the farm to pick up my chickens. Why don’t you come with, bring back sticky, have some dinner and a bath?”

That sounded very good to the hunter, but he looked uneasily around at all the others doing work, then out at the locusts. He felt guilty somehow, leaving now, even though he knew the work was already nearly done, and moreover now in hands at least as capable as his.

”They’ve got this, I think,” said Daltrik, as if reading Oram’s thoughts. ”If you really want to, you can come back with me when I bring the chickens. We can bury some bugs then. Or not. Mule’s probably wondering where you are, and Sticky wants to come home, too.”

Oram started to refuse, looked at Seams, Jurgen, the Elements, Outenz and his family, and realized he would at this point only be sticking around out of curiosity. While that was tempting, it was not necessary. He needed food, a bath, rest more than he needed to watch, and more than anybody needed him to stay around. Sighing, and nodding gratefully to Daltrik, he gathered his things and took his leave from the others.

[Doran]

Oram:

Knowledge:
[Engineering] Digging a proper ditch can take a number of man-breaks.
[Hunting] Locust hopper bands.
[Hunting] Sometimes the best trap is a simple pit.
[Leadership] Knowing when to let someone else take charge.
[Logistics] Make sure you have enough tools for your manpower.
[Mount:Land] Some equines have an “ambling” gait.

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: 10, for helping with the locust problem.
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10

- - -

Comments: I have to admit, I’m always curious as to what kind of entertaining headlines you have come up with for your posts. There’s something about them that makes me smile!

The start of the thread where Professor Seams and Oram were sitting atop a hill and watching immediately made me curious. I wanted to know what exactly they were seeing and why it wasn’t good!

I still remember the crops crisis thread with the glowing chickens. That was a creative solution in my opinion. You conveyed the sense of urgency when Oram and Professor Seams realized that the locusts were back very well. I appreciate that you involved the farmers!

It’s a pity that the Defier wasn’t immediately available, but digging ditches is a simple and effective solution in my opinion, and I like that you suggested using chickens to clean up the overflow. Will some of them glow?

Also, I like that Oram’s mule is literally called “Mule”!

Enjoy your rewards!