The sun rose on the small swamp-village of West Harbor, which had been teeming with life for quite some time already. It was a special day in this isolated place of the Mere of Dead Men; the day of the High Harvest Fair.
The inhabitants, also known as Harbormen, celebrated this occassion every year with a big fair that would draw people from surrounding villages and farms to West Harbor. Tents of many different colors were being raised everywhere, areas for the various competitions - such as the "Fatest pig" and "Best pie" - were being finished and the planning for the Fair's main event had its finishing touches being put on.
The children were running around laughing, the women were gossiping and the men were drinking, gossiping and laughing. It was indeed a great day to be alive.
Vashard Demeron finally gave up on trying to go back to sleep. The sun was shining, and it had hit his bed through the window as soon as it rose.
"I really need to get some curtains...", he said to himself while he was washing his face.
Vashard's room was small and pretty messy. There were scrolls and books lying on his nighttable, inside of his closet, underneath his bed and there were also some put in a neat little pile by the foot of his bed. Some would believe him to be an aspiring wizard. But if one were to give the scrolls and books a closer look, you would see that they were actually all about the outside world. Books about legends and lore.
Vashard was not an aspiring wizard. He was an aspiring adventurer.
Now dressed, Vashard left his room and went downstairs. By the fireplace in the livingroom stood Daeghun Farlong, Vashard's foster father. Daeghun had a no-nonsense attitude, one that a stranger would notice just by looking at him. His face rarely revealed any emotions, not even when Vashard entered the room.
"Ah, my foster son is up and dressed, I see." he said, with a tone that suggested him being surprised that Vashard was up before noon.
"Good morning, father." Vashard said, a little drowsy. "You seem especially morose this morning".
One could tell that Daeghun was not Vashard's real father. The main difference between them was the fact that Daeghun was a half-elf, while Vashard was human. Daeghun was also shorter than his foster son, and only reached his shoulders. Vashard had quite a broad figure as well, compared to an elf. So much so that if his foster father would stand behind him, no one would be able to see him if they looked straight at Vashard.
Vashard's hair was black with a hint of brown, gathered in the back of his head and held together with three metal clasps, while Daeghun's hair was as brown as bark and kept away from his face by his long, pointy ears. The only thing they had incommon were their eyes. They both had very pale, almost crystal clear eyes. Eyes that seemed to look into one's soul and learn one's secrets.
Of course, that cold and chilling stare was something that only Daeghun used, and only on people who made him angry. Not an easy feat. Vashard had been told that his eyes were always focused on something far away. In short; they called him a day-dreamer. He didn't care much about what other people thought of him, especially not what Harbormen thought of him. Vashard dreamt of leaving West Harbor and explore the world. But very few people left West Harbor, for some reason that Vashard had never understood.
"Today is the High Harvest Fair, and the West Harbor village council requires me to man the archery competition." Daeghun said, a little irritated. "The human need to celebrate remembrance days baffles me".
"A least something productive may come out of it." said Vashard with a slight smile. "You mentioned yesterday that the merchant Galen would be at the Fair. You wanted me to bring him your furs, right?"
Daeghun nodded and pointed towards the chest by the painting near the door. "I'll be busy with the archery competition, so you'll have to handle it for me."
Vashard opened the chest and made a sound of surprise. There weren't many furs in the chest. In fact, he was sure that they'd had at least twice as many furs last year.
"This past season has been a hard one... on both tilled fields and wildlands," Daeghun said, noticing Vashard's surprise.
He walked towards the front door and opened it to leave, but paused for a moment. "Don't forget the Duskwood bow," was all he said before he left, closing the door behind him.
Vashard sighed and picked up the furs and put them on his right shoulder. He gave the house a quick look, to make sure he didn't forget anything, and then left through the front door.
The light hit his eyes and he grunted from the pain of being blinded so suddenly. When the pain had subsided and he got his sight back, he took a look at his surroundings.
West Harbor was bathing in the sun, and the sound of people, animals, insects and the small river that ran down next to Vashard's and Daeghun's house filled the air. It was damp and warm, and the many different smells that came from town made Vashard feel a little sluggish. He wasn't fond of dampness or warmth, so living in a swamp may not be the ideal place for him, but it was home.
Vashard was walking towards the bridge, when he saw his two friends waiting for him. They waved and smiled as he approached.
Amie Fern and Bevil Starling. Vashard's best friends. They had been friends since childhood, and were close in age. Vashard was 22 years old, and Bevil was 21, but only younger by a few months. Amie was 19, but more mature than both of her friends put together. At least according to herself.
"There you are! Come on, the Fair has already started!" Amie said, excited. "This is our last chance to compete for the Harvest Cup... our last chance to win!"
"It's the biggest Fair in years. There's folk in from all the outlying farms, and even a few from outside the Mere... That means a... big audience...", Bevil tried to hide how nervous he was, but Vashard could read his friend like an open book. Bevil was like that; kind and always willing to help, but he is a little shy and not too sure of himself.
"A big audience, all cheering for us!" said Amie, barely containing her excitement. She was almost the opposite to Bevil. Amie was confident, self-reliant and very popular amongst the younger men in West Harbor. Not that she cared. Amie was... a little tomboyish, and never got along with other girls.
"Let's sign up, and then I have to get rid of these furs." Vashard said, smiling. "We have to talk to Georg right? By the way, who are we up against this year?" he added while walking towards Georg's tent.
"The Mossfelds won both their matches in the Harvest brawl." Bevil replied. "They'll be tough to beat."
"They couldn't beat a sheep if it was tighed down." laughed Vashard. He had little respect for the Mossfelds. "And Amie's bound to win the Tourney of Talent for us, right?"
Amie blushed, which was a little out of character for her, but then replied; "I convinced Tarmas to teach me a few new spells... and then I dug up a couple more from his spellbook when he wasn't looking."
"I hear Wyl is doing the same act as he did last year, so that should help our chances." said Bevil with a nervous and yet hopeful smile.
"Not the pixie impressions again..." groaned Vashard.
As they approached Georg's tent, they saw Orlen discussing something with Georg, both with grim expressions on their faces.
"... and the blight? You're sure it's spreading, Orlen?" Vashard overheard Georg say, with a hushed voice.
"It's no blight, Georg, it's something else. There's no mould, no rot. It's like the crops don't want to grow. Like they haven't the guts to up and face the sun..." Orlen said with a shrug and a troubled face.
Georg sighed and glanced towards the Fair, pausing to think before he continued.
"What do the druids say?"
"That's just the rub, Georg. There's no druids to be found, not head nor heel." Orlen said, worried. "Use to be they'd warn me of troubles, long before I noticed the signs myself. But this time... rotten silence..." He looked at Georg, waiting for him to speak. He then noticed Vashard and the others. "You think we ought to say something?" he said when Georg remained silent. "Everyone's gathered for the Fair and all, even from the outlying farms..."
"No, they ought to be free of cares, at least for a day." Georg said, interrupting Orlen. "Let's go 'round tomorrow, talk to the household's, one by one."
"Right you are, Georg. Tomorrow, then." Orlen nodded and left.
Vashard and his friends approached Georg, whom lit up with a smile when he saw them.
"Aha! I'd been wondering when you'd show up."
Georg Redfell was the captain of the village militia, and quite the tale teller, though most folk knew better than to listen to his wild stories.
Georg was completely bald and his skin was darker than other Harbormen's. According to rumours, his parents came from somewhere far south. He was a skilled swordsman, and he always wore studded leather and a sword, except for when it was the High Harvest Fair. He leaves his sword at home then. He trained the militia, which meant that he trained the Mossfelds and Bevil. Vashard had been asked many times to join the militia, but he preferred doing his training on his own.
"Whole militia's pulling for the three of you." Georg said. "Well... except for the Mossfeld lads, but no one pays them any mind." He laughed, whole-heartedly.
"This is our last year to compete." Amie said, smiling.
"At least for me and Bevil." Vashard interjected.
"Better make it count, then. Another victory speech from that muttonhead of a Mossfeld, and I think there'll be a riot..." Georg was hoping for their victory, of that Vashard was sure. But the way he said it, it sounded almost like he was going to punish them if they lost.
"Rules are the same as ever." Georg continued in less threatening tone. "Win three of the four events, and you win the Cup. Win all four, and the village council grants you a special prize. Nobody's done that since ol' Cormick."
"I think I remember him. Vaguely." Vashard said thoughtfully. "At the very least, I've heard of him." He knew of Cormick because he was one of those few people who left West Harbor.
"Now, that boy was a legend!" said Georg, and by the look on his face, he was about to tell them a story. "Oh, I'm sure there's a hundred Cormicks in a city like Neverwinter, but for this town, he's as big as folks get."
"Didn't he fight your brother, Bevil?" Amie asked Bevil.
"Yeah... Lorne." Bevil replied, a little taken aback. "Cormick fought him in the Brawl."
"And some story that was! But I don't suppose you have time for stories, just now." Georg said. "The Tourney of Talent should be easy enough to win as you've got Amie on your team."
"Thanks, Georg!" Amie said with a radiant smile.
"Just the truth, young lady!" Georg said with wink. "And your foster father's running the archery competition, Vashard. Seeing as you're his son, you should be able to at least hit one target."
"Yeesh, thanks..."
"And I also managed to convince Tarmas to supervise the Knaves' Challenge. I guess that one will be your toughest event." Georg continued, and then grunted. "Though the Mossfeld boys might say otherwise as Wyl and his brothers have won the Harvest Brawl three years running. It'll be tough to dislodge them. But remember... you only need to win three events to claim the Cup."
"I think we'll try to make it four wins, this year." Vashard said, grinning confidently.
"I can't give you any advice, since no one's ever seen you fight." Georg said, a little disappointed by that fact. "Just remember to keep an eye on Bevil, and don't let the Mossfelds get him riled. That's how they always beat him in the practice field."
"Yeesh, Georg, I'm right here, you know..." Bevil groaned.
Vashard and Amie laughed as the three friends waved goodbye to Georg and walked towards the rest of the Fair.
"If you have any troubles, you know where to find me!" Georg called after them. "And good luck in Brawl!"
As they walked towards Galen the Merchant's tent, they saw a, by now, drunk Pitney Lannon talking with Lazlo Buckman.
"You're not getting any more mead, Pitney." Lazlo said, flatly.
"There's a place in the hells just waiting for you, Lazlo..." Pitney slurred and wobbled away from the kegs.
Lazlo shook his head. He then noticed Vashard and the others coming his way.
"Oh, no! No, no, no! Not you lot!" he almost shouted, waving his hands in protest. He turned his gaze towards Amie. "Got that Fern girl with you, too. I haven't forgotten what happened last year, young lady. Even if you have!"
"Uhm... maybe we'd better go..." Amie said, eager to leave before hearing about something she'd forgotten about.
"Aye, that business on the roof, with the swinging hips and the vulgar song," Lazlo continued. "Not this year, young lady! On your way, now. All of you!" He held out his arms, as if he trying to protect the kegs.
"Ha, ha! She's blushing! Look at her cheeks go red!" Bevil laughed and pointed at Amie as they left Lazlo and his kegs.
"You two told me you'd made that up..." Amie said, barely able to belive what she had just heared.
"Sounds like you planned the wrong act for the talent show." Vashard teased.
"Knowing this town, you're probably right..." Amie was more than a little embarrassed, which was unusual for her.
Vashard could see from Bevil's face that he was remembering that day; he was grinning like an idiot. Bevil had been a little tipsy, and Vashard himself had been more than a little drunk. But Amie... The memory of her, standing on the roof, smiling and singing and dancing... Vashard knew he was grinning like an idiot, as well.
Galen smiled as the three friends approached his tent.
"Ah, you're Daeghun's ward! And you have my furs, I can see!" He was very pleased. "Always the highest quality furs from old Daeghun! You can't imagine the demand in Neverwinter! Er... relatively speaking"
Vashard unloaded the furs into the arms of Galen's two grumpy guards.
"I haven't forgotten his Duskwood bow! I always come through... you tell Daeghun that!" Galen said and gave Vashard the bow, as well as a few gold pieces. "The bow was a bit pricey. But it's fine worksmanship! I had to sneak across the Luskan border." He was bragging a little bit.
"You bought the bow in Luskan?" Vashard said, a bit excited about the outside world.
"No, no, no! From a village called Ember. Mighty fine bowyers, they are." Galen said. He then looked at Vashard, sizing him up like Orlen does a contest-pigs. "Say, my boy... What's your occupation?"
"Ehm... I... don't really have one." Vashard said, surprised. "I go hunting with my foster father sometimes, but I wouldn't consider that my occupation."
"Hmm... Well, you're perfectly built to be a warrior." Galen said, and then added with a smile: "Or even better! To be one of my guards!"
His two guards looked at each other, then at Vashard. They did not look pleased.
"Sorry, we'll keep him with us, thanks." Amie said and pulled Vashard away by his arm. "Bye!"
They had put some distance between themselves and the disappointed Galen before Bevil spoke.
"That was weird, huh? I mean, who asks a question like that, all of the sudden?"
"Whatever, those guards didn't seem to like the idea." said Amie as they neared the Tourney of Talent. "Right, Vashard?"
"If it hadn't been for those guards, I might have considered it." Vashard responded. "Anyways, time to win an event!"
Retta Starling, the head of the Starling house and Bevil's mother, saw them approach the Tourney of Talent and hurried over to them. Her hair was white as snow and tied tightly in the back of her neck. She was soft spoken and almost like a mother to everyone in West Harbor, always taking care of everyone and giving people food when there was a shortage. No one spoke ill of her, and she spoke ill of no one.
"Quick, quick! They're all waiting for y-" She stopped in the middle of the sentence, stared, and then smiled. "So you're finally honest with each other, eh?"
"Honest? What are you..." Amie then realized that she was still holding Vashard's arm.
"I'm so glad!" Retta continued. "Now, after the Tourney of Talent, please tell me about the confessions and whatnot."
"You've got it all wrong! This is-" Amie tried to protest, while she was being pushed into the Tourney of Talent area.
There were already a lot of children there, but when Amie entered, almost everyone gathered around. She looked nervous, but also excited.
"Looks like she's enjoying herself, eh?" Vashard laughed and turned to Bevil.
"Mm-hm..." Bevil muttered. Vashard just rolled his eyes and elbowed his friend in the side. "Ow! Why did you do that for?"
"Stop pouting." Vashard said with his arms crossed. "Your mother was just teasing her, nothing more."
"I... I don't care about that!" Bevil said, red like a tomato. "I was just... watching the show! I'm not pouting!"
"Whatever." Bevil's crush on Amie had gotten worse every year, if not every day. And to think it all started with a dare from Vashard to Amie, for her to kiss Bevil. And she did. But on the cheek! Still, after that Bevil was hooked, and Amie's carefree nature and being quite dense didn't help. Not that Vashard didn't enjoy the entertainment, but he felt it was time for his friend to confess, sometime soon.
"Well, I won!" Amie said as she was almost skipping towards the two boys. "Enlarging Tarmas sure made the crowd go wild, right?"
"Ehm... yeah..." Vashard said and shared an embarrassed smile with Bevil. "You were great as always, Amie! Right, Bevil?"
"Oh... Yeah! Better than last year!"
Amie gave both of them a smack in the back of their heads, then smiled.
"I'll just practice my enlargment spell on your little brother next time." She said to Bevil with an evil grin. "And maybe I'll practice my fire magic in your room, Vashard... Hm?"
"Well, I'm not the one who'll get angry with you for burning down the house." Vashard rebuttled. "Now, let's go see if my skills with the crossbow will impress anyone."
Vashard handed over the Duskwood bow to Daeghun without a word. He looked at the bow in silence and ran his fingers along the bows wood, nodding approvingly.
"A fine bow. You may keep whatever is left of the gold," Daeghun said and put the bow away. "But you're here for the archery competition, are you not? Just take one of the crossbows and ten bolts."
With little enthusiasm, Vashard readied a crossbow. "The rules are the same as last year... ten shots and ten targets." Daeghun pointed towards the ten bottles set atop some crates a short distance from where Vashard was standing. "Five is the best score so far. You should be able to do better."
The remains of the first bottle hit the ground before Daeghun had finished talking, and the second one shattered when he had finished. Vashard was quite confident in his own marksmanship. By the time the ninth bottle was destroyed Amie was clinging to Bevil, so excited that she could barely contain herself.
He took aim, breathed and fired. The bolt hit the crate with a loud thud! and Amie let out a disappointed groan. Vashard put down the crossbow and walked away.
"That score should hold, right?" Bevil said hopefully.
"Probably." Daegun replied dryly.
As his foster son and his friends left, Daeghun took a closer look at the last bolt Vashard had fired. It was in line with the bottle, but a few inches beneath it. If he had aimed the crossbow a little higher, Vashard would've hit it.
"He did it on purpose...?" Daeghun muttered and watched as his ward approached Tarmas and the Knaves' Challenge.
"Enjoying the Fair?" Tarmas asked Vashard sarcastically. "Packs of feral children set loose to find trinkets, grown men braining one another with clubs..."
Tarmas could rant for hours if given the chance. He was standing by his tent, beads of sweat on his bald skalp and his clothes sticking to him. He didn't look happy. Even more so than usual.
"... need anymore encouragement." Tarmas finished his rant, for now, and gave the three a sizing look. "Come to think of it, I don't believe any of you has the skills to compete. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But you'll need to find someone who can pick pockets, and break locks, and search for hidden trinkets, if you-" Tarmas was interrupted by a small boy, who came running towards them with three coloured feathers in his hand and a big grin on his dirty face.
"I've got the feathers! I've got all of them!" he shouted and handed the feathers to Amie. "I got the feathers for you, like promised, Amie."
"Thank you, Kipp." Amie said and accepted the feathers, then smiled at Vashard's surprised face. "May I introduce our teammate. This is Kipp. He just finished the Knaves' Challenge for us!"
Vashard shook his head in confusion. "When did he...?"
"While you were busy not watching the Tourney of Talent, I found out about the Knaves' Challenge." Amie explained. "I realized that we needed someone with... certain skills. So I found Kipp and recruited him to our team, and asked him to take care of the Challenge for us."
"It was a breeze! The rhyme that the ol' wizard told everyone as a clue basically told me exactly where to look," Kipp said with a crooked grin. "And the trap was just embarrassing! A blind slug could've-"
"Isn't that the boy who stole my basilisk eyelash? An not once, but four times?" Tarmas interrupted while staring at the young boy.
Kipp crossed his arms and looked defiantly at Tarmas. "That's right. My frog needed eyelashes. Then I got him a sweetheart, and she needed 'em too."
Vashard would've loved to see how the conversation would play out, but he, like Tarmas, was anxious to get away from the damp air and the heat. Amie gave the feathers to Tarmas, who threw his arms in the air and sighed in relief.
"Thank the gods! The Knaves' Challenge is won, and I can go someplace dry." He started gathering his things, then stopped and added: "I'd kiss all of you, but no one appreciates an affectionate wizard."
As Tarmas left with hurried steps, Amie turned to Kipp and thanked him.
"Hey, hey! What about our promise?" Kipp asked expectingly.
"Fine, fine..." Amie sighed and leaned down and kissed the boy on the cheek.
Bevil's jaw dropped and Kipp turned red, then smiled and ran off. "Your suiters are getting younger, Amie." Vashard laughed.
"Well, what can I say?" Amie said with a wink. "I'm just that desirable."
"The Morninglord grants a fine day, even for a Brawl." Brother Merring said with a smile as Vashard and the others approached him, standing by the Brawl area. "He likes you Harbormen, I think."
"Well, they do say he has a sense of humor" Vashard said with a slight smile.
"And a good one. Lathander delights in contests of physical skill. People forget that. Though I must admit... few contests are as... enthusiastic... as the Brawl."
Merring was always calm and collected, and never raised his voice. And he always had a slight smile on his face, like he always saw something amusing in his surroundings. Brother Merring came to West Harbor five years ago. He was the village's priest and healer, though not many Harbormen were followers of Lathander, the Morninglord. Most prayed to Chauntea, the Earthmother. Which made sense, considering the fact that most of the villagers were farmers.
"Why are you running the Brawl this year, Brother Merring?" Bevil asked.
"In truth, I volunteered." Merring shrugged. "Otherwise I'd be racing from the church at every bout, mending cuts and setting bones to right. Better that I'm on hand to do Lathander's work, and to see that all is fought in fairness."
"I take it that the Mossfelds have been busy...?" Vashard asked and Merring nodded.
"Poor Garth Lannon..." Merring sighed. "Luckily, broken bones are easily mended, by the Morninglord's grace. Not so for broken pride..."
"Maybe it's time to give the Mossfelds a lesson in humility..." Vashard said with an evil smile. "We're ready to fight."
"Very well." Merring said and picked up three clubs from the barrell beside him, and gave them to the three. "Your first opponents will be the Lannon twins and their elder sister. Do you need to hear the rules?"
"No magic, no arrows. Only clubs and fists." Vashard held the club in his hand. A shameful excuse of a weapon.
"Right. And no gambling!" Merring added as the three friends entered the ring with their opponents.
The elder sister gave Vashard a shy smile and a discreet wave. Vashard smiled back and winked at her, then watched her blush.
"Hey! Focus, you ladies' man!" Amie elbowed Vashard in the side with a grumpy look on her face. "We're suppose to fight them, not flirt with them!"
"Okay, okay..." Vashard said and rushed one of the twins. Caught by surprise, he was unable to defend himself, and Vashard knocked the boy unconscious.
Bevil got hit on the shoulder by the elder sister, whom then got hit in the back of the head by Amie. At the same time, Vashard punched the other twin in the face, and he went down.
They left the ring and Merring ran past them to take care of their opponents. Amie did a little victory dance and cheered.
"Yes! Yes! We did it!" she cried excitedly.
"They didn't put up much of a fight..." Vashard said while watching Merring take care of one of the twins' nosebleed.
"Well, what did you expect?" Bevil grinned. "They're just teenagers."
"And you were almost beaten by only girl in their team." Wyl Mossfeld and his two brothers, Ward and Webb, approached Vashard and his friends. "Look who it is, brothers! Everyone's favorite for the Brawl! Looking to beat the champ of three-years running? You must think you're Cormick!" The brothers laughed like a pack of mules.
"Stow it, Mossfeld!" spat Amie. "You're not smart enough to be funny!"
"Who asked you, you ratty little orphan?" Wyl almost shouted. "Always tagging after Vashard like a blood-fly, singing his reekin' praises! It's a shame those demons didn't burn you up along with your parents."
Amie gasped and Bevil opened his mouth in anger. Vashard didn't say anything. He just punched Wyl in the face and jumped him. The fight didn't last long, as Georg came with half the militia and pulled them apart.
"Save it for the Brawl, you two!" he said with a commanding voice. "Get into the ring and fight it out there!"
Vashard gave Wyl a vicious stare and then nodded. Wyl, with his hand on his bleeding nose, nodded as well, and they all went into the ring.
A lot of people had gathered around the ring, and most of them cheered for Vashard and his friends.
Amie looked at Vashard as they waited for Merring to give them permission to start the fight. Vashard didn't look at her, he was focused on Wyl. His heart was beating hard and wildly.
Amie didn't say anything. She just touched his arm.
"Start!" Merring shouted, and Vashard rushed towards the Mossfelds. He didn't wait for Amie and Bevil. When he reached the Mossfelds, Webb and Ward were standing in front of Wyl. Vashard lashed out with his elbows and hit them both simultainously in the face. As they fell down, he leaped from the ground, club held with both hands, and crashed down on Wyl, who tried to ward off the attack with his own club, but failed to do so.
Wyl went down, blood flowing from his scalp and down his face.
The spectators went wild and applauded and cheered! Vashard turned around, and saw that Amie and Bevil hadn't moved from where they were standing when the Brawl started, and they were staring at him with mouths wide open.
Vashard smiled and scratched his head. "I guess you can see that I don't just slack off all the time...!"
They had won all of the events, and thus won the Harvest Cup, which was presented to them, along with three Harvest cloaks, by Georg at the stage in the middle of the village. The entire village was there and they all applauded the young ones' victory. One of the most popular topics of conversation afterwards was the Brawl, as it had been the first time anyone had seen Vashard fight. Georg tried to get him to join the militia for the entire duration of the Fair, and Bevil asked Vashard for advice on how to become a better fighter.
Amie enjoyed many compliments about her performance in the Tourney of Talent, and even Kipp was congratulated many times. Retta kissed Bevil on the cheek and told him how proud she was, which made Bevil's face turn red.
Vashard, despite his longing for the outside world, almost wished that the day would never end.
Almost.
As night approached, the Fair ended. And the people of West Harbor went to bed. For even though it had been a day of celebration, the following day would still be normal day. Everyone would get up early and feed the animals and take care of the fields. Kipp would steal something belonging to Tarmas. Retta Starling would reprimand her youngest son for feeding the dogs with her pie. Bevil would get beat by Wyl at the practice field.
Everyone would do what they always do.
Had it not been for the strange figure, watching the village in cover of darkness, this peaceful monotony would probably have gone undisturbed.