Why does it feel like there is grass touching my face?
The hell?
I thought I died. Maybe I'm in the hospital. Phew that was a close one. That damn horse came out of nowhere- I mean seriously why would there be a charging horse in the middle of a damn city?
Realm Of Bannerlords.
A young man, barely touching his 20s lays in the middle of a recently sown wheat field, a simple cloth tunic and torn pants adorn his body, long ragged blonde hair seems to merge with the cut wheat around him, his eyes flash open, blue and full of life.
Fuck my head is killing me.
His thoughts echo hollow words, something is off to him immediately, one the voice in his head, its different? And two, the sky, its beautiful, magnificent even.
Um.. Where the hell am I? He stands up and looks around, his surroundings are utterly and completely unfathomable, a wheat field. How did he end up in a wheat field.
He looks around, his mind still fuzzy. A distant smoke pile from a chimney rises over the hill, the days light beats down on him, despite the cold air the sun warms his body. He looks down at the unfamiliar clothing, especially the crude leather belt sinched just above his waist.
What the- this is a lucid dream right? Alright I'm just gonna fly away
He jumps up in the air, landing back down with a wet crunch of his hide shoes.
Fuck this is real
He covers his face with his hands and screams internally, not knowing what's going on at all.
"Jacos! Come help with the threshing!"
An older woman calls out over the hill, the young man looks around for someone else, but there is no one there.
Me? Does she mean me? Well that cant be right that's not my name.
He walks forward, breaching the hill and looking down, his breath falters slightly at the picturesque view of a high medieval village. Small wooden cottages with thatched roofs, horses tied up all around and chickens and hogs wandering down the streets,
Did I wake up at a ren fair or something.
"JACOS!" The same voice again, an older woman stands outside of a small cabin. 3 sacks of wheat are set before her, the woman is aged about 40, old haggard skin and eyes all tell the story of her harsh life.
He walks towards the woman, who looks at him expectantly.
She was talking to me, damn..
With head lowered the woman gazes at him harshly
"When I call boy, come running. If you weren't so big I would beat you! Now grab the threshing stick and get this wheat here processed, the miller needs the grains by dark."
What is this hag saying? Thresh wheat? The hell is that?
He grabs the large polearm looking device, a stick with a small banded leather piece at the end tied off to another small chunk of wood.
Ill just hit it, I guess.
He raises the threshing implement and brings it down on a bag, the old hag walks off to tend to other business/
Fuck this thing is heavy!
After striking a flew blows down on the sack of wheat he is already breathing hard, his small and lithe frame does not do him any good in the task of using strength.
I'm beat from whacking a sack with a stick.
As he stops and breathes after striking a few more times something catches him off guard, nearly causing him to stumble back and fall on his ass.
[One Handed:0] [Two Handed:1] [Polearm: 0]
[Bow:0] [Crossbow:1] [Throwing: 0]
[Riding:0] [Athletics:0] [Smithing: 0]
[Scouting:0] [Tactics:0] [Roguery:0]
[Charm:-10] [Leadership:0] [Trading:0]
[Steward:0] [Medicine:0] [Engineering:0]
A yellow and grey menu pops up.
What the- this looks familiar? The hell is going on. Why is my charm -10 the fuck?!
He looks at a small notification in the corner, indicating he has gained one point in two handed.
So this is like some game? Am I trapped in a vr game or something? If I die in the game do I die in real life?
He holds the threshing pole tightly.
So, if I just keep swinging this damn thing ill get stronger? But I'm tired.
He sighs.
I don't have much a choice in the matter anyways, that old hag will come and nag me if I don't do this, Ill beat this wheat up then figure out this shit later.
He continues thrashing the wheat, many common folk walk past him throughout the day, other peasants beset by their daily tasks, most men have finished their threshing for the day already but Jacos' stamina is not granting him the ability to complete the task quickly, his two handed skill has already ticked up to 4 but the exp seems to come slower with each rank up, he has been stuck at 4 for hours now, he even threshed the 3 bags of wheat only for 5 more to be dropped off. A truly hellish job.
My throat is so dry. All I've done is whack, and whack and whack. The old hag gave me some water in a crusty bucket, it was warm and tasted like the taint of an earthworm.
The sound of thumping hooves makes Jacos look up from his task. 3 men on horseback ride through town, not peasants.
The man in front bears a red banner embellished with a golden cup, his mail armor and nasal helm clink against him as his horse trots, behind him 2 men in mail shirts also with helmets of cheaper quality follow. As Jacos gazes at them some popups appear on their heads, almost like name tags.
[Vlandian Knight Tier 4]
[Vlandian Houseguard Tier 3]
[Vlandian Houseguard Tier 3]
Knights? Vlandian. That name? Isn't that from that Warband game or something? Or it could be something else, I don't remember. This isn't good. If there are knights than that means there is a war right? And that means villages getting plundered, that cant be good for me.
The knight and his underlings trot through the village, riding along the common dirt path into the forest, the hooves of their lightly armored horses imprinting into the ground.
Jacos turns and continues his work, dwelling on the troops and their fearsome visage.
The old hag comes around the corner, covered in flower and other food particulates.
"Boy, you have done enough for now, come eat."
Almost the instant she finishes he drops the threshing pole and lets out a sigh of relief.
"Yes ma'am"
He follows like a lost puppy into the tiny cottage, before him lies some freshly baked whole wheat bread, some roasted meat of some kind and cheese, lots of cheese.
"Eat, all that threshing tires a boy out."
She sits down and gestures towards the rickety stool at the other end of the short and low table.
"Baron Osmund is deploying his troops, some other local Baron a few towns over is fighting him. Something about the right to a patch of land."
The hag speaks as she eats.
So that's what those knights were doing then, going to fight another lord of the same kingdom? I wont ask any stupid questions like, where am I, who am I, who rules us. It will make me look like a crazy person. I just need to shut up and listen, gather all the information I can.
The hag looks up from her thin soup.
"Not talking today? Are you that tired? What did I buy you for you damned brat."
Wait. Am I slave? Surely that just meant she hired me. Right?
"I will be done by the end of the day ma'am"
She scoffs "Damned well you shall be."
He eats with fervor, the food tastes incredible, fresh and light. After working many hours with no reprieve even dog feces would taste good.
Supper goes on without any other interactions. The hag stands up and retrieves all the dining wear/
"Back to work."
She opens up the door, letting light peer in, ushering you out of her house. Back to the threshing.
Heave-ho! Heave-ho!
The sacks of grain shutter with each strike, after hours of back breaking work all the grains are separated from the main wheat plants, now he simply needs to filter the chaff out and sack the grain.
Far over the crested hills of the village, miles down the trodden path 2 small armies meet in the field.
At the head of the opposing army a man in shiny mail and a gold lined ridge helm trots on a broad white pony. On the side of Baron Osmund is Osmund himself, his armor comparable to the enemy lord but instead he wears a much simpler nasal helm, behind him the red banners wave in the wind. His small retinue of 50 stands ready, all of them mounted with lances held high.
"Cease this transgression! Toss your men forth onto the warpath of my lances and be destroyed or capitulate this land, that is rightfully mine!"
Baron Osmund's voice is righteous and powerful but the enemy is not phased, his force of 80 heavily armored footmen do not waiver, their armor varies, mail, simple woolen tunics, ridged helms, nasal helms, some have 2 handed axes, others spear and shield, longseax and shield. The most elite have helms with face like visors inlaid with brass and scrolled with the images of mustaches and other warrior like features. The enemy barons banner is a simple broad axe, yellow on a red background.
The enemy footmen march forward, raising their shields and weapons high, the enemy baron cackles.
"Come Osmund, crash yourself upon my housecarls, they seek enemy blood, I shall grant their request with indifference!"
This small skirmish albeit insignificant, will lead to higher tensions among the already close to shattered Vlandian kingdom, the battle of Pendraic in the last few years had heightened tensions among the barons, nobles and their king. Some argue what side they really should have fought on and others argue if they should have fought at all. With bannermen and knights swearing only allegiance to denar a standing army was impossible to keep if the imperial factions decide to wage a war their kingdom may fall into enemy hands.