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West of Finmere Woods, Calon Bannorn, Drakonis 1, Menesday, 9:27 Dragon
The team of oxen plodded along as Marian Hawke walked alongside the fourth wagon, its team of six oxen trudging along as the wagon wheels rattled over the cobbled stone of the Old Imperial Highway. The wood of the yoke and leather of the harnesses that bound the oxen to the wagon rattled and creaked as the clopping of hooves against stone provided a constant distracting noise as the teams continued west towards their destination, rolling fields spreading to either side of the highway where, off to the north, glittering blue of Loch Lother could be seen in the distance, perhaps a league or two north. Small farms and cottages dotted the fields to either side of the cobbled path, farmers toiling a living from the earth with crops or livestock, a few fences surrounding their lands to mark their territory and keep others out; human or animal.
"That be th' village of Finmere o'er there." Tobias macConnell said as he walked beside her, a wood buckler in his left hand and his bearded ax resting on his belt. The older drover was walking close to the oxen in case they needed a little encouragement or guidance, a man who had done this trek for years keeping an experienced eye on things. Marian looked to her right to see a small collection of cottages and steds, perhaps a couple more than a dozen, built in a large semi-circle along the banks of Loch Lother about a league or so away.
"How d'they do it wit' so few people?" Marian asked, a little bewildered. The village of Usktarn, perhaps ten leagues west of Lothering, was about twenty dwellings with a few more buildings that served other purposes; a grainery, a fishery, an Inn, and the local Chantry. Cathing, the village south of Lothering, was around thirty dwellings. Finmere was smaller than that. Born and raised in Lothering, the young woman couldn't imagine living in such a small village. Lothering boasted well over a thousand souls living in the town proper, and probably a fair portion of that living within a league or two of it. Marian tried imagining living her life only knowing a few dozen people.
"Actually, it be a mite easier inna smaller villages th'n towns. Few'r people, few'r problems." Tobias replied with a chuckle. "O'course, few'r people generally means a mite more work wit' few'r hands t' accomplish it. An' hard times can be harder because o' it, too. But f'r some?" The older man shrugged his shoulders as he looked over to the village in the distance. "F'r some, that where th' Maker wants 'em. Guess ye have t' be born into it."
"Guess so." Marian scrunched up her nose, not at all willing to find out. Lothering was perfect for her, really; a town with plenty of people to buy and sell things, plenty of woods to go out and hunt. She didn't have to go scratch at the ground all day long to make crops, she didn't have milk cows and sheep or cut wool, and she certainly didn't have to live in some little hamlet where she was likely related to everyone. Perhaps if she had been born in Usktarn or Finmere, it would have been perfect for her because it would have been all she would have ever known, not knowing any better.
It made her wonder about Mum; Leandra Amell had been born in the Kirkwall Viscounty. Mama had told her stories about the city-state when Marian had been a little girl, about Hightown and the Grand Plaza, Viscount's Way and Threnhold's Gardens. Mama had been born to the Amell Family; Kirkwaller nobility, a family with roots going back to both Orlais and Tevinter back in the Storm Age during the Third Exalted March against the Qunari. Some ancestor of hers had won his nobility by the sword killing horned oxmen alongside Viscount Michel Lafaille, gaining a House and Title. While Mama loved her husband and children, Marian could tell that she missed Kirkwall.
The young woman never had the nerve to ask her mother what possessed her to fall in love with, run away with, marry to, and have children with an escaped Circle Mage. There were just some questions good answers would never come. Plus she didn't want to belittle what her mother sacrificed or the commitment both of her parents had for each other and their children. Marian absolutely loved her family, and having witnessed more than a few families in and around Lothering, she knew she was by far luckier than most.
The teams continued their jaunt west as the village of Finmere slowly disappeared behind them, the sun steadily lowering in the sky as the twenty men (well, nineteen men and one woman) continued to walk alongside the wagons, marching forward at the same speed as the wagons as they headed west. Marian found herself scanning the countryside from time to time, but the south was flatlands with grasses and farms dotting its scenery, only a few copses of trees standing here and there to break the monotony. Right now, anyone wishing them ill would be seen for leagues coming, unlike the Woods they had traveled through earlier in the day. The young woman didn't even have her bow strung, letting the weapon relax as she carried it by her in her left hand, the string slid halfway down the upper limb upon its loop. Farms continued to dot the landscape as they walked, the rhythmic creaking of wood as the wheels rolled over the cobbled stones of the Old Imperial Highway the only real excitement to be had save for the odd bird flying overhead or the the sight of small game rustling away from the racket of the teams.
"Tobias, gots me a question." Marian asked her walking companion as the older man checked over one of the oxen. "I know that th' Drydens have been makin' this here trip f'r years, ye and me Pa have been doin' it f'r years. I know how much I'll make wit' this trip, and I imagine ye and Papa will make more. What I'm not gettin' is wit' eighteen guards, thirty-six oxen, food an' whatnot f'r th' trip… how much coin do these trips actually make? Seems we make really good coin hauling wool, food, and goods."
Surprisingly, the older man stayed silent for a long, long moment.
"Y'know, yer da said ye was smart." macConnell finally said, his voice low enough that the rumbling of the wagon wheels on stone almost drowned out his words. "Most o' th' others don't know th' gist o' it, but we transport Chantry goods. Most o' th' cargo is meant f'r th' various abbeys an' cathedrals where we visit. We go t' one o' th' major towns or cities an' deposit an allotted 'mount o' barrels, which get distributed t' th' smaller Chantries an' whatnot. We'll be pickin' up more barrels an' goods in Orzammar," that's right, they would be going to the Dwarven Kingdom!, "an' continue our trek, doin' th' same thing. Th' rest o' th' goods is because Mikhael likes helpin' out th' various people wherever we visit. Smiths ar' like that, I guess."
"Okay." It never really occurred to Marian what her Papa might be transporting while droving for the Dryden Brothers until she had helped load the heavy barrels onto the carts back in Lothering. Before, all she knew was that her father had a job that paid good coin, and that was that. Transporting goods for the Chantry was hardly the worst thing in the world. It wasn't like they were transporting anything illegal for the Chantry, after all! Perhaps whatever it was was valuable for the Church, thus the reason for all the protection. Whatever was actually in those barrels was the reason why her family did so well, and it was meant for the Chantry.
That was all Marian really needed to know.
The teams traveled for another several candlemarks of the sun before Levi Dryden called it when reaching the village of Kyless, situation alongside the Old Imperial Highway much like Lothering was. It wasn't quite exactly dusk, the sun still high enough to keep the sky blue, but the sight of the village coming closer in the west and the position of the sun meant thoughts of stopping for the night were appropriate. According to Tobias, the teams would likely camp in a nearby clearing or unused field near enough to the village to utilize if necessary. Being close to a village meant that they wouldn't be camping out in the woods in the middle of nowhere to attract unwanted attention.
Marian found herself looking at the village as they got closer to it, seeing a log palisade circling what appeared to be about forty or fifty buildings that was nestled between the Imperial Highway and Loch Lother, close enough to both to enjoy their influences. No doubt water traffic and travelers brought in a good deal of trade to the village much like it did for Lothering, and the log wall protecting the village was tall enough and sturdy enough to ward away any who thought to bring violence or woe. The young woman briefly wondered what had occurred to make the village to go through all the effort to make a wall that big around to surround the village. The Orlesian Occupation, perhaps?
"'Bout bloody time we get t' someplace resemblin' right an' proper." Broderick FitzHugh groused from a few paces in front of her, turning his head and spitting off the Highway and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as they continued walking along the teams. "Could murder me a pint right 'bout now." The unkempt-looking man turned as he walked, his sallow face turning to leer at her as she walked behind him. "Join me f'r a drink, lass?"
"I'll be eatin' wit' me father." Marian replied, doing her best to keep the scorn out of her voice. The copper-haired man frowned and muttered to himself, no doubt saying something disrespectful about her under his breath. The young woman was hardly under any illusion about Brock or his intentions, and it was a wonder the man actually had a wife. Did he even consider the fact that she went to the same Chantry as his family? No, probably not.
Slowly the village got closer as the teams plodded west, the palisade wall growing taller as Marian saw that there was a gate that was practically attached to the Old Imperial Highway to give access to the village of Kyless while at the same time protecting it from whatever might threaten it. The logs looked to be at least fifteen paces tall, setting next to one another to ring the village and bound together with rope and heavy cord, the base of the logs probably buried a few paces as well and filled with either dirt or rock for support. It was different than the wall that surrounded Lothering proper, that one a stone wall that stood as tall as a man that was also back with an even higher log palisade for additional protection.
Marian had been told by some of the older folken that there hadn't been a wall prior to the Orlesian Occupation, when Lothering fell to the Legionnaires and chevaliers back during the beginning of the Blessed Age. There may have been truth to that, the stones making the wall didn't look so weathered or covered with moss as some of the older stone fences used to separate property lines that were seen in and out of her home town. Perhaps the village of Kyless had put up a wall for much the same reason that the Whorlesians had; to prevent the town from coming under attack by the Golden Prince himself or his mother, the Rebel Queen. This far away from Arl and Bann, perhaps the threat of bandits and raiders was more a concern. Still, she could see why the Drydens would wish to stop in Kyless with such a well-made wall to protect the teams from any external threat.
Wouldn't hurt that there might be cooked food to buy as oppose to setting out the camping gear to get a cookfire going and making their own.
The lead team was the first to reach the gate as the sun started reach a position in the sky where stopping for the day was a consideration, the three men who walked beside the first set of oxen-and-wagon approaching the gate as the lead drover Willard Mikkelson tugged on a rein to get the oxen to halt on the first team, the other teams slowing down thanks to the herd mentality that bovines had. The wagons rattled and creaked to a stop as Marian slowed herself down as well, looking ahead to see both Master Levi Dryden and her father Malcolm Hawke approach the opened gate where it looked to be two watchmen standing guard, armed with spear and buckler and wearing padded armor under what looked to be chainmail with a tabard draping over their chest with what was no doubt the Bann of Calon's colors and coaterie.
The archer watched with some interest from where she stood as Master Levi spoke to the guards, pointing to the team waiting before the gate, indicating that they wished to enter. Her father, for the most part, seemed to remain silent, standing next to Master Dryden while he talked. Marian was too far away to hear what was being said, but the body language between Master Levi, her Papa, and one of the watchmen, the conversation didn't seem to be going all that well. After a few moments of what seemed to be an argument, Master Dryden waved off the guardsmen and then turned to the team.
And motioned for them to keep traveling.
"Bloody ashes." Brock FitzHugh spat out, his curse loud enough for Marian to overhear as she moved over to the oxen, prepared to thump one of the leading bovines in the rump to get it moving as Willard took a strop to the lead gelded bull to get it moving. "Bloody watchmen gots their knickers all inna bunch, an' th' old man called their bluff. Nows we walkin' t' Caer Calon."
"What actually happened?" Marian asked the copper-haired man. He might be a sore sight and his manners could use improvement, but he had been with the Drydens on at least a couple of trips before. He had more experience than she and might have an idea.
"Pr'bly asked f'r too much coin or wanted a slice o' th' pie that ain't theirs f'r th' sharin'." The man hocked up another wad of spittle stained with hemp juice onto the Highway. "Lil' peckerpole town like these make their money off o' commerce, an' th' guard make their coin 'collectin' taxes'." Brock rubbed his fingers together to indicate bargaining, bartering, owing money, or… bribery? "Boat comes in wit' goods? Cap'n will pay a dock fee so no one looks too close at what bein' brought in. Same here." That had Marian mull over what she heard as she gave one of the oxen a good slap in the rump to get it moving, the castrated bull mooing in protest as it began to walk, the rest of the team following its lead as the team began making way. Tobias had mentioned Chantry goods, but what Brock suggested was that… the Drydens didn't want the guards looking at what they were transporting?
What in the Makers' name were they moving?
The sun was starting to get rather low on the horizon when Marian spotted the caer getting closer, the teams having to pull off of the Old Imperial Highway and take a well-traveled road to reach Caer Calon. The stone-built fort and the seat of the Bann of Calon was situation on Loch Calon, a small loch just to the north of its stone wall surrounding a stone-made longhall with a thatch roof. Along the stone wall were several buildings that were no doubt inhabitants of the caer who lived outside the stone palisade due to lack of available space, about a dozen in all.
There was perhaps less than a candlemark of the sun left when the Dryden Brothers Merchant Company started to reach the village proper of Caer Calon, the road leading right to the stone-arched gate in which the buildings outside the protective wall were lined along it. There were easily fields to use around the village for the teams, and it looked like the buildings that stood on either side of the road were more for commerce and trade instead of houses and barns.
The teams moved off the road and into a grassy field to the left of the village, the oxen huffing a little with the added difficulty of pulling wagons over grass as oppose to hard-packed dirt or stone roads, but thankfully they wouldn't be going very far. The lead team pulled ahead and began going in a circular motion, bringing the teams up into a circle to unhitch their oxen and lead them into the middle into a corral as well as leaving easier without having to turn the wagons about, Marian knew from her father. When all six wagons were set in a circle, they stopped.
"Alright. Let's unhitch 'em oxen an' get 'em rubbed an' fed." Tobias called out as the three drovers of the fourth wagon got to work. Marian slipped her unstrung bow onto the wagon seat along with her quivers, getting them out of the way so she could work without them banging into things as she moved to the rear set of oxen. The young woman began undoing the straps that tied the yokes to the tongue, the ox on the right being on the inside of the circle while the one of the left would have to be led in.
Once the straps were undone, Marian grunted as she pulled the yoke off of the first ox, the one on the right, shouldering the heavy leather harness and setting it upon the tongue. She moved the ox away from the wagon, guiding it with a gentle hand along its muzzle to face it where she wanted it to go and nudging it just behind the jaw to have it go a few steps away. She slipped an easy rope around its thick neck, feeding the line into a simple slipknot, and then tying the other end to the wagon so the bovine wouldn't wander too far. She then went to the other oxen and repeated it again, loosening the leather straps from the second yoke before pulling it off of the other oxen and setting it on the crosspiece just behind the first one she pulled off. Giving the ox a gentle pat around the shoulder, she slipped a rope around its neck and led it past where Tobias and Broderick were still working, nearly finished with freeing their oxen as she took the second ox to where she had her first at, tying it off.
"Lass, go ahead and get rubbin' 'em down." Tobias called out as he pulled his first oxen to where she had hers. "We'll get supper started."
"Sounds good." Each team was responsible for its own chores, its own supplies and equipment, and the care for both its animals and its people. Marian was to inspect the oxen's hooves for any damages or splits while also looking over the flanks and necks of the bovines for any hot spots, tender spots, or signs of laming. Oxen, thankfully, were a bit easier to care for than horses; taking care of six horses would take much longer than taking care of six castrated bulls. No doubt one of the men would be getting buckets of water and feed for the oxen while she looked them over and rubbed them down while the other would get a small fire going for their own food. The sun would no doubt be fully set before she was finished, so Marian was going to use the last remaining light of the day to complete her task.
The young woman went to the drovers' seat of the wagon and lifted it up, where a small cache of supplies and equipment were kept. In it were extra leather straps for the harnesses, extra shoes and nails for the oxen if necessary, feed bags (which she pulled out since she was already there), and some cloth and brushes for the oxen. Marian was by no means a rancher or had a great deal of experience raising livestock. The family mule, Grady, was generally a part of her chores when she was a home, using the horse/donkey hybrid for help whenever she brought in a fair deal of kills or to move some heavier things to the market. Taking care of an ox was almost similar to taking care of a mule save that ox were much heavier, ate more, and had horns, so thankfully Marian knew what to look for and what to do.
First, the young woman inspected each of the oxens' hooves, standing in front of each leg and lifting each of them up to look for cracks, chips, splits, rocks caught in the frog, and the straightness of the hooves. Aye, the hooves had been gone over before they had left, trimmed properly and shod properly by a farrier. But laming a beast of burden was just as much a detriment as it was for laming a horse, causing weeks of healing, perhaps even months depending on the season. Marian inspected both the shoes and the nails to make sure they were flush and proper while also looking at the hoof walls for any crack, bulges, or penetration. She also inspected the underside as well for any injuries, potential abscesses, any sign of thrush, or any dirt caught in between shoe and hoof. While it didn't take long to inspect a hoof, forgoing would all but ask the Maker to have something go wrong, so Marian did all twenty-four with a critical eye.
After the hooves were done, she then went over the legs. As her Papa always told her, start from the bottom and work ones' way up, so she started checking the shins, calves, and thighs of each of the oxen, making sure she was in the front of the leg she was checking to avoid spooking the bovine and being kicked. Good hoof care meant good leg care, avoiding laming muscles or causing limps, but she still went over the legs to feel for knots, hot flesh, signs of quivering or spasming, and any sign of injury or disease. As she inspected the legs, she gave each a good rub with a cloth, massaging the muscles before giving it a good brushing; like horses and mules, a little pampering was like a reward to the oxen, not to mention ensuring their usefulness. After looking at the legs, she did a quick check of the flanks and backs, giving each a good rub and brush before moving to the last bit; the neck and head.
Marian went to each of the bull necks of the bovines, looking at where the yokes had been set forward of the shoulders, looking for any rub spots where the hair had been worn down or abrasions on the flesh. She used her hands just as much as she used her eyes to look for any kind of worn patches or marks where the yoke caused a rub burn, giving the oxen some tender care as she ran her hands over their necks. She then went to their head, looking at their horns, their nostrils, and their mouths, looking for signs of sickness or over-exertion. By this time, Brock had come back with buckets of water and was filling the feedbags with hay, dried corn, dried barley, and flax.
Tobias had tied off the tongue of their wagon to the back end of the wagon in front of them, making a corral to keep the oxen from wandering, and had dug out a small plug in the ground and filled it with grass, branches, and rocks for the supper fire, a small brace of wood holding a small black kettle for the stew he was making hanging over the cheerfully-burning fire. It was getting to be late dusk, only a soft glow of light in the sky in the west while the stars started to appear overhead. Already Meneis was giving off its pale glow, the moon only half-full while the constellations began to become more apparent.
"Stew should be ready inna lil' bit." macConnell spoke as he stirred a tin ladle in the iron kettle, having put dried pork cuts, beans, corn, onions, and dried mushrooms into the water. Thankfully, after years of experience traveling, Tobias knew how to make a good supper quickly.
"Oxen are rubbed an' grubbed." Marian called out as she wandered over to the simple fire, the fire plug keeping the embers from accidentally catching anything on fire as well as funneling the heat more towards the kettle as oppose to everywhere. The rocks in the pit would also heat up and keep the supper warm in case any of them wanted an extra bowl later on once the lid was put on and the kettle set in the pit. The night was a bit on the chilly side, it was early Drakonis, after all, but there was no wind to cut through their clothes and bring a chill to their bones. For that, Marian was grateful. "Ye payin' a visit t' Caer Calon?"
"Nah, no need." The older man replied as Brock slid towards the fire himself, the oxen munching in their feedbags. "Second team's got th' watch tonight, so bed down when ye want, lass. I know ye've gone huntin' inna woods 'round Lotherin', but take a care an' make sure ye pull off 'em boots an' take off that armor. After a few days, ye'll never know how grateful ye'll be." Tobias had already taken off his thick studded leather vest along with its wide leather belt, opening up his thin leather jerkin and padded gambeson to air them out.
"Alright, I will." Frankly, it was good common sense, but Marian didn't mind. No doubt there were dozens of tricks for long-distance traveling that she didn't know of, so she wasn't about to pretend that she wasn't grateful for each and every tip. She stood to undo the double-buckle wide leather belt that went around her waist, first undoing the cord that kept the leather leaf tassets in-line with her legs before undoing the looping ties in her belt and pulling it off. Marian set down the belt-and-tassets beside her as she went to the leather ties on the sides of her armor, what kept it snug against her flank and belly, undoing all four ties, two to each side; one set by her hips, and the others set under her arms. She then undid the cord to her boiled leather spaulder that was riveted upon her left shoulder that kept it tight to her arm, undoing the loop and loosening the cord so she could feed her arm in or out of it.
The young woman then split open her heavy boiled leather cuiress, opening it back and front to where it came off like a doublet, slipping her arm out of the spaulder and her head through the neck of the armor. The boiled leather cuiress came off and the young woman rubbed at her neck under her padded doublet where the high-neck came up halfway from her shoulder to her jaw. Seeing how both Tobias and Broderick had taken off their padding shirts or opened them up, Marian did the same, undoing the simple leather cord that went through the eyelets of the padded wool shirt to open it up and pull it off.
Cool air hit the cotton laced sleeveless tunic that she wore underneath, slightly sweaty from her travels, as Marian rested her gambeson upon the wagon behind her to let it air out and dry out while keeping any critters and bugs away from it. She also set her leather cuiress and her tassets upon the wagon's bench to keep them from getting dirty as well as any insects that wanted to find a home in them. Marian went to her knapsack hanging off the side of the wagon where her hobnailed sandals dangled from her pack, pulling them from where they were laced around one of her shoulder straps. She went back to the campfire, and sitting on a nearby log, started undoing the buckles of her leather chevalier boots at the top of her calf and then at her ankle, slipping the straps out through the looping ties before pushing them through the iron loops to loosen the leather belts and pull them off her feet.
Tobias was right, that does feel dandy, Marian thought to herself as she wiggled her toes and stretched out her wool sock-covered feet, giving them a good rub with her hands to work out any soreness in them. The young woman then pulled off her socks and slipped her feet into her sandals, sliding the socks' opening onto the tops of her boots to air them out while keeping any bugs from entering into her boots. Within a few moments, the older drover guard announced that supper was ready, stirring it a few times and giving it a taste test by sticking a wooden spoon and slurping a little at the contents. Their mess kits were by the fire as Tobias dipped a tin ladle into the kettle and gave several good helpings to each of the wooden bowls.
After a good day's walk, supper smelled divine as Marian accepted her bowl, stirring its contents with her wooden spoon before retrieving a mouthful to eat. Perched on a log with her sandaled feet to the fire to give some warmth to the somewhat cool night, a bowl of hot stew in her hand, the young woman said her graces with her prayer beads in her hands and let off a sigh of content as she began to dig into her supper.
"As good as home, Tobias." The young woman complimented the older man as both Brock and Tobias ate as well; Tobias was sitting on the ground with his back against a small log while Broderick sat upon a flat stone big enough to seat him. The both of them were eating heartedly as Marian was grateful for the size of her portion, big enough to fill her up as she scraped her wooden spoon to free her bowl from whatever contents escaped when the wooden receptacle was full of stew, getting every last bit of pork, bean, corn, onion, or mushroom before taking the bowl to her mouth and draining it of its remaining liquids. Content and with a good hot meal in her belly, Marian went to one of the nearby buckets that still had some water in it to wash out her bowl and spoon before drying them off with a wetted linen cloth and putting them back in the mess kit.
"Well, I'll be off." FitzHugh announced after finishing his own supper, washing his bowl and spoon and stashing it in the mess kit. "Goin' t' check out this here town an' grab a drink. Either o' ye joinin' in?"
"We're good, Broderick." Tobias coined, still finishing his bowl as the copper-haired man shrugged and began making his way to the market portion of Caer Calon, leaving the circle of wagons and oxen to head towards the gathering of buildings set in front of the circular stone wall. "Lad better not get hisself inna any trouble." Marian could see a few other members of the teams also making their way to the market.
"Any ot'er miracles ye be wantin' t' be askin' o' th' Maker?" Marian replied sweetly, making the older man grunt and chuckle. "I'm gonna check on th' oxen then patter wit' me father. Need anyt'ing?"
"Younger knees." That had Marian laugh as she bade the drover a fair night, rising from her log seat and wandering over to where the six oxen were tied off to the wagon, checking their canvas feedbags and seeing that the bovines were doing well. Satisfied, the young woman circled the wagons to the third wagon in 'front' of hers, where the lead wagon was. The wagon was much like her own in almost every regard; the oxen tied to the wagon and eating from their feedbags, the tongue tied to the next wagon with a hank of rope to make a corral, even the campfire with a kettle still hanging from its crosspiece.
Where it was different was that there were five men surrounding it; the lead drover Willard Mikkelson, master wheelwright Oliver Torwell, Master Levi Dryden, the owner and financier of the company, Master Mikhail Dryden, who was a smith and Master Levi's younger brother, and her father Malcolm Hawke, who was the master carpenter of the company. Her Papa was sitting on a log, puffing at a pipe in his mouth while Oliver and Mikhail were playing Bran Dubh, the wheelwright contemplating his next move as branán as Mikhail's numerically-superior pieces tried to block Oliver's chief from reaching a corner of the board. Willard was playing cards, Solitaire by the look of it, while Levi was holding a flatboard with a candle placed upon its holder in a corner with a grease pencil in hand, doing sums for the trip most likely.
"Hey, Papa." Marian sat on the log next to her father, who had been relaxing while smoking his pipe, mostly watching Oliver and Mikhail play. "So, this is what it be like bein' on th' road."
"More or less." Malcolm replied as he took another puff of his pipe, content to sit and relax. "Today was an easier day than most; the weather was good, it didn't rain on us, and there wasn't any wagons broken down on the Highway or trees fallen in the way." That was some of the reason for so many drover guards, as Marian understood it. Sometimes one needed the manpower to deal with such things, such as hitching up a wagon and changing a damaged wheel, or dragging a tree that had fallen along the path. Of course, there was the more obvious reason too, the wagons loaded with good and someone with a greedy soul and not a lot of sense in their head. The young woman had been told by her Papa that they actually didn't need that many oxen for the trip, but sometimes an animal got sick or injured, and it was certainly better to have too much than not enough. "When we start getting towards Highever, it will be raining most every day for several candlemarks a day. That always slows things down and makes things miserable."
"Ain't that th' truth, Papa." Marian had been on many a jaunts in the forests near Lothering when it rained; drizzle to downpour. Even a light misty rain eventually made one's clothes heavy and one's skin cold, threatening the boots with mud and the lungs with the cough. "Still, I'm excited. We'll get t' see Redcliffe tomorrow, right?"
"Barring any incidences, yes." Her father replied with a smile, knowing full well that she wanted to travel and see the kingdom. "Redcliffe's a nice city to visit. Got a nice market square that's bigger than Lothering's, sits right upon Loch Calenhad where you can see real ships moored or sailing." That had Marian grinning. One part of traveling, the big part honestly, was about visiting and seeing new places. "There's this tavern there, the Gull and Lantern, that has good food and drinks. It's definitely worth a visit."
"Lookin' forward t' it, then." The daughter replied with a smile, thinking of another reason why she was doing this; spending time with her father, seeing him for the man he was. She was an adult now, and while her parents had raised her right and proper, there was certainly a difference between seeing how it was done and doing it ones' self. A part of this trip was to make the coin that she would need to see to her goals, another part was to learn at her fathers' side with actual practical application involved. Plus, just spending time with her Papa without the dozen interruptions and distractions of home and Lothering.
"Today was an easy day, but I recommend turning in and getting a good nights' rest while you can, sweetheart." Her father advise, taking a puff at his pipe. "Trust me when I say there will be days you will be bone tired and you'll have to sleep with rain pattering on the tent with a watch shift, to boot. It's a nice enough night, so use it while you can."
"Alright, Papa. I will. Sleep tight, yerself." Marian replied as she leaned over to give Malcolm a hug good night.
Author's Notes: Marian's a bit of a Daddy's Girl. And also a tomboy.
Yes, the Dryden Brothers are smuggling lyrium. Now, what I don't understand is why it's smuggling when the most powerful organization in the world (the Southern Chantry) is in need of it for not one but two groups (both Templars and Mages). I get why a Carta is needed, but with the exception of theft, why the secrecy? This is Orzammar's lifeblood and the Chantry certainly needs it. It's not like they're smuggling fentanyl or heroin.
Threnhold's Garden? - Perrin Threnhold was the former Viscount of Kirkwall who went head-to-head with Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard and lost (his head, literally, as I think she executed him) in 9:21 Dragon and installed Marlow Dunmar to replace him.
Loch - Scot Gaelic for 'Lake'. As Ferelden was suppose to be like the British Isles, I used some names from the various locations to give flavor. Lakes in Ferelden are now 'Lochs' (such as Loch Calenhad instead of Lake Calenhad).
Caer - Welsh for 'Fort', but this word can also be found in Cambric and Pictish. As there are two castle-like forts with this name (Bronach and Oswin), all forts and castles in Ferelden are named 'Caer' much like they were named in the game. So Fort Drakon is now Caer Drakon, and even the secret mage prison is known as Caer Aeonar.
Heraldry - There's a huge investment in heraldry, as this was extremely important in the old world, and to this day, every country has a coat d'arms/heraldry (including America, the Great Seal bearing the Bald Eagle armed with arrows and laurels). Coat d'arms is generally the colors and 'animal/seal' that you see on a shield or on a tabard/coat. The actual heraldry will include a shield that will have multiple icons upon it generally surrounded by animals and a motto (like the Great Seal, this is America's full heraldry) while something like a national flag would be closer to a coat d'arms (like, say, the Irish colors with a silhouette of a harp [the stringed argent or Azure Harp] or a shamrock upon it being on a shield). Here I call it coaterie, not to be confused with the Coterie criminal/smuggling organization seen in DA2. Ferelden's coat d'arms is known as the Lions Rampant; the same colors and animal as the RL royal coat d'arms of Scotland (not it's blue-and-white national flag known as Saint Andrew's Cross).
Yokes usually brace a pair of animals, but I used singular yokes (bracing a single animal to a crosspiece or tongue).
I go into some equestrian care, which I know a little bit thanks to a livestock Veterinarian friend of mine. All the things I mention should be, for the most part, factually correct (though yes, it was more for horses than cows, but much of this still remains the same, especially hoof damage). Shodding (past tense of 'shoe') is quite important as bad hooves can lame a horse, and that generally means putting a poor pony down. Horseshoes are used for built roads and rocky country, but the practice was used for just about any traveling horse to prevent wear-and-tear of hooves.
For some reason, the smaller second moon Satina (in which the holiday Satinalia is named after) has a name while the larger moon, which is much like our own, does not have a name. The name 'Luna' is Roman (Roman Goddess of the Moon) and in Greek times it was Selene (for the Greek Goddess). I imagine that just about every culture had a name for the moon (Khonsu, Sena, Chandra, Metzitli to name the God associated with it or the one pulling it along) but for some reason we just call it 'Moon'. Here I name it Meneis after 'Mene', another name for Selene, Greek sister of Eos (Dawn) and Helios (Sun).
I know I really haven't mentioned armor that much, but I'm trying to make this realistic with realistic armor for professions that do a lot of traveling. Full metal armor was for knights on steeds (those that could afford it) but most everyone wore cloth or leather armor with perhaps a metal piece here and there (like a shoulder pauldron on the shield side). Something like a brigandine (metal 'cards' sewed or riveted into a leather vest or jerkin) would have been a bit more of the upscale armor for more well-to-do men-at-arms, soldiers-of-fortune, and poorer knights. And weigh a lot less for those fighting on foot. Remember, most full armor knights died tired and beaten to death inside their own armor. Here, I make the armor a bit more simplistic/less complicated; a few ties, a belt or two, a couple of leather straps at most. Remember, the more complicated the armor, the longer it takes to put on.
Chevalier/Cavalry Boot - Around the Tudor period, thigh-high boots became the new 'wow' for horsemen, knights, royalty, and equestrian activities. Mind you, shoes back then were hand-made by cordwains (who made new shoes) or repaired by cobblers (who could only repair or repurpose old shoes) and the process could take days for more complicated footwear (the process of sewing sole to weld, the stitching of the sole to the strip that connected to the upper part could take literally all day). The Calvary boot is the origin of what we think of when we think of boots of the modern era, especially knee-high boots. Unlike the shoes of that time, the sole was thick and stiff (medieval shoes were more like moccasins, soft and flexible) and the toe and 'body' treated for stiffness (as riders would be sticking feet into metal stirrups). Plus it shows off my pretty ankles.
Bran Dubh or Brandubh - "Black Raven", a northern European board game played by Scandinavians ("tafl") whose rules have been lost but more-or-less reconstructed (much like the Roman board game Latrones). More similar to backgammon and checkers than chess, this Irish board game was a 7x7 board where the attacker had eight men and started at the edges while the defender (branán, or 'chief') had five and the objective was to get the chief to one of the corners while the attacker attempt to capture defenders and the chief by surrounding them.
Medieval Games - Card games, board games, and dice existed well into antiquity, confirmed during the classical Greek era thanks to some writings and references (in Plato's Republic, Socrates' opponents were known as shitty strategy game players) and, thanks to the Greeks, we even have ideas of what the Ancient Egyptians might have played (predecessors to checkers and backgammon, which is approximately 5,000 years old). "Cups" was an old Roman dice game (probably similar to Hazard or Craps where men gambled on the outcome of the dice, the rules and even the name long since lost to time) and dice-like equipment have been found in archaeologist sites going back even as far as Mesopotamia. Sadly, any ancient card game has been lost to time until about the 14th-15th century, the most famous of them being Tarot (the poker version, not the divination version).