Swords and Plowshears

[owain]

Once a symbol of life, new beginnings and opportunities, the stone and plaster farmhouse now sat empty, devoid of any joy or happiness. Just a few weeks ago, the house was filled with laughter, the patter of little feet and the essence of a simple yet blissful life. It was the place where Owain decided to start anew, leaving behind his past filled with regimented violence and embracing a future of simple mundane happiness that most people enjoyed.

Owain felt he had earned this simplicity, having spent his formative years fighting for the realm and preserving the same simple freedoms the commoners lived for. He wanted to be free from the carnage and violence that came with being part of the Royal Britannia Guard.

For a while, he was free. All remnants of his former life were tucked away meticulously in a meter-long foot locker. His chain mail folded such that the links would not tangle, sword sheathed and sealed with wax, and finally his axe oiled honed sharp and heavily oiled to prevent rust. Although he could have sold his belongings for some much-needed gold, he couldn't bear to part with them. Instead, he chose to keep them hidden away, never to be seen but never forgotten.

Life on the farm was everything Owain had hoped for. It was quiet, slow and mundane. The weeks rolled by, turning into months and then to years. His biggest worry was the yield of his crops, but even a poor harvest was better than a horde of orc raiders.

Years passed, and Owain married a local woman named Ysabel. Shortly after, they welcomed their daughter Brynne into the world. She became the heartbeat of their home, bringing joy and life to the previously quiet homestead.

Eventually, all good things come to an end. Owains peaceful life was no exception…


To be continued…

[owain]

*three weeks ago*

Owain and his family had heard of the goings-on in Yew Proper, stories of disease and plight affecting the farmers.  His home was far enough out, nestled in the shadow of the mountain to the south. So much had gone awry in the last year; a new governor, the removal of any Royal Guardsman from the region, "protection taxes" and now this.

Although the years of farming had softened them, the strings of duty tugged at him now, he felt compelled to do what he could to assist the people of Yew in whatever way he could.  He had some sheep ready for market, that he could part with for next to nothing if it would help.  

It would be a three day round trip into Yew, a slower tour than typical, but sheep were stubborn animals and did not make for fast travelling.  Owain loaded the wagon and his pack, only the bare necessities for the trip and making camp.  There would be no time for Inns or even a pint at Kents this trip, while this was a trip of compassion he did not wish to get present any opportunity to be engaged with anything besides the immediate task at hand. 

The journey to Yew was uneventful.  The air in the outlying farms of Yew proper was still, where he would expect bustling activity he saw only quiet fields with only the occasional farmhard busying themselves with whatever menial task they were using to pass the time.  The fields looked bare, with only the most hearty of crops showing signs of growth.  The livestock pens were scarcely populated where the herds should have been plenty.  Most unnerving of all, was the lack of childrens sounds when he reached the town square.  It would appear the rumours were not unfounded.

The town square was busy, but not as he was used to.  No one was stopped to engage in banter or gossips, the patrons of the shops conducting business quickly and moving on, many holding a square of cloth over their noses and mouths as they scurried through the streets.  Owain took little time in finding a buyer for the sheep, half to the local butcher and the other to the farm just east of the town square.  It was no surprise as the price he had set would have seemed a paupers purse in normal times.

Eager to be off and away from the town, Owain concluded his business in town with a visit to the provisioner.  Ysabel would have boxed his ears should he have returned without the items on her list.  He headed south, to camp on the edge of town by the water before making the journey home.  The woods were too dangerous to travel at night.

The morning came and went, and the afternoon sun rose high.  It was hot when he reached the farmstead.  The land was quiet, the faint smell of sulphur on the breeze, so subtle that one might not even notice.  
Everything was quiet, too quiet...

*to be continued...