You head to the walled house of the local noble. You ask to make an appointment and are told that you will be met in an hour. An hour passes and still you wait. And wait. After two full hours you are filled with irritation at the petty games of humans with power and in not fit mood to meet with the woman who greets you.
The noble woman, dressed in blue with the symbol of her house on her dress, says nothing when you are shown into her study.
After waiting longer than you expected for her to begin, you lose patience and say, "I am looking to connect a road network to the village of Brynwich, I have been told I need your permission."
You extend a scroll made of some of your precious paper to her. "The full proposal is detailed within, with a cost benefit analysis for your convenience."
The woman sniffs imperiously, and ignoring your offered scroll, says, "Is that how you address your betters? Perhaps I should have my guards teach you some manners peasant."
If you had not been waiting for twice the time you were told, if you were not already annoyed by other's refusals then perhaps you would have acted differently. But since you had and were, you respond almost reflexively.
"I have no betters. If I did, you would certainly not be among them." You say in a venomous hiss.
The meeting quickly devolves into an exchange of insults, and you are 'politely asked' to leave. Needless to say, you do not get permission to build a road to Brynwich. You are left with no one to aid you and your plans seemingly sunk for now. On the ride home you consider what you are going to do.
You are not going to allow the concerns of others to derail your plans for very long. You are going to make a high quality road for a mile in either direction of Endataurëo. When the others start to hear complaints about the travel in their sections, they will come crawling to you for a method to improve it. You will then provide it in your magnanimity, you will not even mention that you had told them so. Well, not more than once anyway.
You have a brief talk to your staff about clearing and raising the land for the road. It is going to take no small amount of time. You have the rest of the week largely free though, so the next four days being dedicated to clearing a strip of trees and levelling the land is something you are willing to do. Unfortunately, your staff is simply too busy, or unwilling to do the work in the case of the hunters. You are going to need to gather some outside help.
You have to hire some workers in order to get it done in the time you have, but thanks to your trade endeavours you now have a better idea of what that would cost. You manage to get five young labourers to clear some trees and lay them out in a road like construction for you to then turn into stone. It costs you a silver piece for their three days' work, but you consider that a cheap price. You supervise them and find them acceptable workers though hardly spectacular. They manage to finish before the last day of the week, which is fortunate because you had planned to visit Gladesville then.
Once the workers have headed off for the day, with an hour or two of daylight left, you begin the process of turning wooden trunks into stone road. It is a much easier image to keep in your mind than Endataurëo had been but having to move between the Beyond and the physical world is no easy task. You find yourself making mistakes, nearly losing several road 'sections'. Fortunately, your ability to open the 'skin' of the Veil enables you to save them. By the time the sun sets you have managed to create a stone road going for a mile in either direction from your base.
The walls are finished in Gladesville, and the time has come to search for new people to fill the village. You would also like to have the fields expanded, to feed the new members of the village. But Gladesville is a village focused on hunting already, so it is of lesser importance compared to the additional members. You head to the village to discuss your plans with those who dwell there. You travel late in the day so as to arrive after work has finished and arrive to find them preparing dinner.
You refuse their offers of joining them, you ate before you left. Instead, you inform them of your intentions to start recruiting more people for the village.
"That's all good, but why are you here? Have you already got someone?" One of the villagers, a self-appointed spokesman, asks.
"I was hoping to find out what you think the village needs." You say.
"More hands. There's so much work that needs doing." Someone different says.
"Nah, we need some real skilled guys. A blacksmith and a carpenter and one like them." Another man responds to the first.
A third man pipes up. "We could use some healers, or some of them chantry folks. They often know stuff about healin' and I ain't been to a service in months."
"Some women, gets bloody lonely out here." You give the one who said that a look of intense disapproval. "What, this place ain't gonna survive without them."
"Perhaps but your way of speech was unnecessarily crude and rude." You inform the suitably chastised man.
You take note of all their suggestions, you have a suspicion that you may not have a choice as to who you take on. You assure them you will try to bring as many of those roles as possible, but you make no promises.
"The only other question I have is where I should seek our new recruits. I assumed, for example, you do not want any Dalish in the village." You inquire of the dozen or so villagers.
"Just ask around the local villages, it's obvious." The rude one suggests. Rudely.
"No ya daft fool, they're all happy. I reckon he should look out for other bandits like us. We can't have been the only ones who have had it hard recently." A taller man suggest
"Are you mad? Do you want us all dead?" The rude one responds.
You should probably learn everyone's names one of these days.
"We could send messages out to our families. Dunno how many are still around, but they should like the chance for a new home." A new participant to the conversation suggests.
This proposal meets with wide approval. There is a flurry of letter writing, mostly you taking down dictation for the illiterate, or people taking a small pack and leaving to go meet with their families wherever they hail from. Most of the former bandits are from no further than a day or two's travel away from Gladesville and there are high hopes of getting several family members. You depart to continue your attempts to convince others to aid you in constructing your road but intend to return at the end of the week to see what the response has been.
The response has been good. Not spectacular but far more than you were hoping. The rude one, whose name turns out to be Ovid, has been joined by his equally rude sister, her husband and their seven children. Beyond that there are sibling, parents, old friends and even a few strangers who simply heard about what was going on and joined in for a chance at a better life. You meet them all, trying to remember their various names and relationships.
One of the arrivals named Graham, who worked at a mill until the drought put him out of work, seems to have elected himself spokesperson for the group and interrogates you.
"So yer tha local lord?" He asks.
"Not legally. I simply help those I believe need it." You reply.
"Yeh? And wha's init fer ya?" He glares suspiciously at you.
"Oh any number of things, a decrease in banditry, places to trade with, minions to do my bidding. The usual things one gains from a town." You say innocently.
You know that humans in general, and particularly in this land, are unwilling to believe in the better nature of others. You may benefit from supporting this town but that is not why you founded it.
There is a moment of silence, broken by murmuring from the new arrivals.
Graham nods, "Right. Thanks fer no' killin' me boy. Right lets get ta it."
He wanders back to where the others are assembling temporary shelter.
Most of the people who arrive are exactly what you expect. They are a mix of peasant farmers and hunters. There is a pair of brothers who worked in a tannery during their youth. Among the arrivals are two people with useful specialisations and great skill in their practice. You spend an hour or two getting to know them while you help put the finishing touches to the tents, of the same kind you made for the bandits when they first arrived.
A healer and a smith are exactly what this town is in desperate need of. A carpenter would have also been nice, but you would rather have some specialists than none. You plan to talk to the both of them, first helping the smith with the construction of the framed tents they will sleep in until their new houses can be built.
"Dommic. I work the forges." Is what the short, broad shouldered man tells you when you introduce yourself.
"A pleasure to meet you Dommic. Are you exclusively an iron smith or do you also work other kinds of metal?" You ask politely.
"Iron 'n steel. Ain't much use fer others." He grunts.
"Unfortunately, we do not have any particular stock of metal right now. I am sure the problem will be resolved swiftly but in the meantime is that going to be a problem for you." You inquire.
The probable dwarf in disguise shrugs. "I'll live. Start by fixin' what we got. Mebbe buy some supplies from town."
"Excellent, I am glad you will be able to settle in without any trouble. If I may ask, why did you choose to come here?" You hold the two poles steady as he lashes them together.
"Bad times. Not much food, too many smiths. Figgered better take a risk on Damien. Never steered me wrong afore." The short man grumbles at you.
"Well I hope that Gladesville is the town you will call home for the foreseeable future." You say as the two of you finish the tent.
"Talk too much." He grumbles as you leave.
After you are done with that tent you notice that the women seem to be being organised by the midwife. Since you intended to speak with her anyway you thought you would go and help.
The midwife is an old woman, grey haired and face lined by age. She squints at you as you approach.
"And who might you be sonny?" Her voice is far steadier and stronger than her frame would suggest.
"Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?" You incline your head at her.
"Bloody hell you're tall." You almost make a joke about that being a strange name, but elderly mortals are often irritable, so you refrain. "I'm Antarra. Now shoo, go help with the tents."
"Could I perhaps be of assistance here? The tents are all but finished." You ask, biting back your anger at her rudeness.
"Quite sure sonny. Just 'cause you've been to a fancy school and talk all poncy don't mean nothing to me. You'll only get in the way." She gestures with your hand for you to go.
You nearly start an argument, your pride demanding an answer to her words. The only reason you do not is that the trouble you have gotten into earlier in the week with the noble, for very similar reasons. As it is, you settle for a parting barb in the hopes of silencing the giggles of the younger girls.
"Very well Bloody Hell You're Tall. I will stay far away from you and your very strange name."
Your barb is not a successful as you had hoped.
You spend the rest of your time talking to the new arrivals. Most of them are curious about you since you are spoken of so fondly by the original residents. You are your usual self. You do not put in much effort to come across as pleasant or welcoming, your week has been long, and you cannot be bothered. Nevertheless, your natural charisma manages to make a favourable impression and the new arrivals are generally welcoming of you. A few of the young ladies even attempt to flirt with you, though you quickly shut that down. When you leave the original residents are very pleased with the developments, though they are outnumbered by the arrivals who are much more cautious about the future.
You return from your recruitment drive when one of your guards, the unofficial leader, signals for your attention. When you have reached where he is standing, he holds up a swallow, or part of one anyway, killed by a heavy object.
Holing the bird away from himself he says, "Another one, think I saw someone running into the forest too. This is getting out of hand. What should we do with it?"
"Toss it into the forest, let the animals have it." You tell him, staring into the forest. "I think it is time I had words with the witch."
"Witch?" The guard clutches his bow closer to himself. "Like Flemeth? You know who is out there? Is it Flemeth?"
You look at the guard in confusion. "No I do not know the witch, I have simply heard rumours of their presence. Who is Flemeth?"
"The witch of the wilds. She's a monster. They say…" The guard begins.
"Whatever they say is not relevant. I mean a witch in the sense of someone who uses magic." You reassure the guard.
He relaxes slightly but is still tense as he responds. "You that you want to go meet them? If they are some kind of apostate then all sorts of things could go wrong. Also, we've been seeing signs of darkspawn about. I wouldn't recommend doing this it could be very dangerous."
His words make you pause. You are sorely tempted to investigate these so called darkspawn. Their very name suggests the working of Morgoth, and your encounter with the fear demon has you on edge regarding him. Still this witch is something you have been hearing about for some time, and you are growing concerned.
"I am certain. I will not allow this state of affairs to continue indefinitely." You tell your guard.
He shrugs. "It's your neck. You want an escort or something?"
You pause again, considering. Your first thought is that you will be more than enough, but your second is that you do not know how dangerous this witch is. In your land many witches served Morgoth in exchange for power. The witches of this land likely use magic you have never seen. Having some kind of force with you would be a comfort should anything go wrong. Then again, the witch has been leaving these dead birds by your door for some time now. They could be intended as gifts, witches are often strange folk. If there is a chance to talk peacefully then you fear that bringing a large party will be interpreted as an attack. The best option is to take Merrill with you, for the additional, literal, fire power she brings.
You find Merrill in the study reviewing your notes and making her own additions.
"Sorry to interrupt Merrill, but would you mind accompanying me to deal with the witch who has been leaving birds on our doorstep?" You say, poking your head in the door.
"The term is mage, not witch. Witches are entirely fictional. Sometimes people who aren't trained develop unusual powers and every peasant for mile loses their minds. I expect better of you." Merrill says, with more passion in her voice than you were expecting.
You take a moment, and then restate your position. "A person who uses magic has been leaving dead animals on our doorstep. I am going to stop them, are you coming?"
Merrill blushes, and starts packing up your notes. "Oh! Yes. One minute. Ah!"
You set off into the forest, searching for the witch who has been leaving birds on your doorstep. Merrill hurries to keep up with you, her legs not long enough to match your pace. You have left the horses behind for better tracking and because you do not know how far away the witch is. There was an argument put forward to have them on hand in case you need to run, but magic always complicates such calculations so the argument did not sway you.
The tracks the witch has left are fresh and easily read. You do not need to be a great hunter to follow them, even Merrill notices some. Follow them you do, for nearly two hours. You spy the witches hut long before Merrill does. It is nestled beneath two trees that have grown together until one cannot be easily distinguished from the other. The hut itself is a ramshackle building, clearly made quickly by someone with no experience. There is smoke coming out of a window, because there is no chimney, indicating that the witch is likely inside.
"What are we going to do? Are we going to burst in, take out their magic and imprison them?" Merrill asks.
"What a bloodthirsty student I have. No, I am going to go up and knock on the door. If they are willing to talk then we will talk." You reply.
"If they are not willing to talk?" Merrill continues.
"Then we go with your plan." You say, marching towards the hut.
Three sharp raps on the door causes quite the commotion inside the hut. You hear scrambling and the movement of a number of heavy things. You would also guess there are a number of magical defences around, based on the feeling you are getting from the door. Eventually the door opens a crack, it had not even been locked.
"Who's there?" A cracked, reedy voice asks.
You put on your best smile and bend down to be more easily seen. "Greetings sir or ma'am. I am Nelyafinwë, from the building that was recently built. I have noticed that you have been leaving dead animals on our doorstep, and was wondering why."
"It's you." You take a step back at the words, preparing to draw your sword as the door flings open and the witch rushes out.
You were not ready for them to fling themselves at your feet in supplication. "Your humble servant greets the Herald of the Maker."
The man has shaved his head bald, and they wear ruined robes that might once have been yellow. They certainly never fit him and his time in the forest has not been kind to them. Merrill was rushing over, a spell ready to be cast, but she slows to a stop when she sees what is going on.
"Forgive me sir, but I do not know of what you speak." You tell the kneeling man.
"I always had faith. I knew the Chantry was an instrument of the dark ones. When they came from me I ran. Then I saw you, in my dreams. I saw the maker's light in you and I knew you were the one. Then you made the temple appear and I took it as a sign. I knew the maker would send his true prophet to destroy the chantry." He looks up at you with eyes filled with hope. "How can I be of service?"
You fight back the urge to curse. This is not what you were expecting. It is clear that, as Merrill mentioned, this man is a mage and has interpreted your appearance in the Beyond to match his twisted worldview. At least it tells you the birds were likely meant as a gift. Now you need to decide what to do with him.
No reputation change with Gladesville. No problems with the new arrivals.
You resist the urge to sigh. Being mistaken for gods is not a phenomena you have experienced personally, but there are stories of it. The unfortunate truth of mortal's limited perception of the world beyond tends to result in wildly off base conclusions. That this man is clearly suffering from an affliction of the mind is only thing preventing an outburst aimed at his stupidity. You briefly consider attempting to cure said affliction, but you know far less of that then of battlefield wounds and disease, so you refrain. Further, given everything you have done you are uncomfortable being called a herald of the Allfather, however obliquely.
"Please, stand. I am not someone you should kneel to." Even Noldorin kings are not knelt to usually, your people do not need excessive obeisance to be shown to them; it has unpleasant associations with Morgoth. "I am afraid that you have made a mistake. I am no messenger of the One, nor am I one of the Ainur who serve his will. The light you have seen is but a reflection of a reflection. He has not sent me, or rather he has not sent me to perform any acts in his name."
The man sits back on his haunches, to your relief.
He looks at you consideringly for a few moments and then asks, confusion colouring his voice. "You say that you are not a Herald of the Maker, but you also claim to reflect his light and call him by names I have never heard before."
You could kick yourself sometimes, you really could.
"The one you call the maker is known to me as Eru Ilúvatar, or the One, Father of All. I reflect not his light, but that of his servants, who were assigned to watch my people from our birth. You would know them as spirits."
You see Merrill making gestures to stop talking, but you ignore them.
The hermit's eyes light up and he says, "Spirits serve the maker? The chantry lied about them too? Thank you! I'm going to…"
You clamp your hand on his arm. "Stop. Though some spirits serve the One, some have fallen from their purpose. They will come in fair form and whisper sweet lies to destroy you. You cannot rush heedlessly to follow them."
"Then what should I do? How can I know who to trust, who to follow?" The man looks up at you with eyes wide and desperation in his voice.
"I will teach you. I know them all well, for I saw them as they should be and know them when they are fallen. Come with me to my home, you will be safe there."
There is a moment of hesitation as the madman looks at you, much like a child. "You promise? You'll help me."
"I will help you, I already said that." You reply.
"No!" he hisses. "Promise me, promise the maker."
You hesitate. You do not want to swear an oath, you are wary of even making a promise. Yet you look at this man, so lost and desperate, who needs your help. You clench your left hand.
"I will help you. I swear it." You say, quietly.
"Swear to the maker." He says.
"I will help you, my words hear thou Eru Ilúvatar." You whisper.
This week sees the trade continue without any undue problems. You have to spend some time preserving the food you do not eat, but you have something of a stockpile going now, which is always a comfort. You actually spend some time talking to the merchants about the prices of items and start to consider whether or not you should be paying your staff. Since you provide food, shelter and medical services it will mostly be a token payment, 10 copper a day. You also make a note that if you do not pay them you are going to need to start acquiring clothes for them.