Open Chronicles Restorations in the Rural Idyll

[Oliver]

He was about halfway through the strawberry patch, squat down and combing the undersides of the bushes with a small rake. Next to the row, was an ever-growing pile of dead leaves and the occasional weed, the wheelbarrow some steps away made into a graveyard for whatever hadn’t survived the Winter. It was expected that some of the strawberries wouldn’t, so yet again amidst the patch were blank spots.

Or rather — craters. Glancing at them, he made a mental note to seek new seedlings on the next supply run.

Next week? At latest — Spring was fast catching its stride, having picked up furious pace some weeks ago. He had been eyeing the garden for a good month, waiting for the snow to melt and then it suddenly had, all within the span of a couple days.

He cursed again, clapping his gloved hands together and sitting back against his heels. The sun had shifted since he begun, glare intensifying on the yard as the shadows retreated towards the walls. It was all too sharp and unforgiving.

And warm. Blowing out a breath in something like defeat, he rose up slowly, straightening carefully like some relic of a man. He had suffered lumbago a total of once, but it had been painful enough that he hadn’t the bravery to risk another one with any unnecessary sudden movements. Standing here now and leisurely scanning the rest of the work he had yet to do, he thanked his luck he had but the memory of that pain.

It had taken two weeks to heal. My how they had laughed, watching him shuffle about in tiny steps like a particularly mean toddler, or something freshly resurrected that had its vocabulary restricted to mere curses and guttural sounds of dull agony. Naturally, he could find the humour in it now.

He huffed his amusement in the air, smiling idly at the work well-done this far.

There’d still be the apple trees and gooseberry bushes that awaited cutting and if memory served, at this time of day they’d be in the shade. Perhaps he ought to slink off for today, picking up again tomorrow — where was that saw, the one he had just gotten sharpened?

Mulling on it, he bent down to pick up some of the garden debris at his feet.

 

[Syr Guernot]

The apple trees rustled sweetly over Guernot's head as he knelt in front of one of the squat little trunks. The grass was mushy, and he could feel the damp soaking into his pantleg, where his knee rested on the ground. He leaned in close, fins brushing against the branches, and tapped two webbed fingers against the apple tree's bark. Listened, then tapped again.

"Yup, this one too," Guernot said confidently. He reached for a dagger on his belt loop and slicked the slender knife out. Bracing one webbed hand against he tree trunk, he skimmed a patch of bark off. Underneath was branching lines of tunnels, and the culprit unclothed right at the center - a rotund grub with a slippery, bluish-black exterior.

"Ew," Guernot sneered as he gingerly scooped out the bug with a finger. It dropped into his palm, and he held his webbed hand up so that Edelbert could take a look.

"Yes, that's certainly another blight beetle," Syr Edelbert said. The other man stood right behind him, arms crossed, a look of contemplation quirking his scruffy goatee off kilter. "Doesn't it seem like there's more of them, this year?"

Oliver

 

[Oliver]

It appeared he had lost the saw.

Or someone had taken the liberty of claiming it for themselves, for whatever reason. He could hardly blame them, truth be told.

It’s a good saw. Even better now, with proper maintenance done. If whoever had taken it knew what was good for them, they’d take good care of it. Lest they get caught for mistreatment, at which point he’d have to petition for their prompt excommunication.

Or— something. Permanent banishment from the toolbox. Was there a spell for that?

Exhaling sharp, he picked up a stepladder and whatever spare saw he’d found lying around. It was one of not the ideal shape or size for the task at hand, let alone mended by file, but he’d make do.

The storeroom door closed in a pointed click, the saw lasing in a dejected boing as he chucked it into the empty wheelbarrow.

Though he’d sworn he indeed-yes-totally-no-way-around-it-guess-we-can’t-have-everything-huh would manage, he found himself petulantly obsessing over the missing saw the entire way to the orchard. He was positively marching, becoming aware of it only as he cleared the last archway. The halt therein was sudden, digging into the dirt.

Clicking his tongue in thought, he scanned the trees for a starting point, shoulder rolling as he adjusted the ladder carried upon it. In short order, he spotted not only shrubs that needed tending, but two other figures, ones he did recognize even from this far away. Remaining in his standstill, he keeled his head.

Now — wouldn’t it had been a whimsical coincidence if another had taken upon the task he’d assigned for himself today. While it would explain the saw, he let the though go rather quickly, releasing it into the spring gust that blew past. It caught the voices of the two others, making their conversing indiscernible.

Go ahead. Find out.

Drawing in a breath, he shrugged and resumed his way, steering towards the pair. Or rather, the larger tree close-by, next to which he parked the wheelbarrow. The ladder gave a wooden clack as he leaned it against the apple tree’s trunk.

“ Gentlemen. “ He greeted, brandishing his usual smile as he took to approach in quick succession. It was given a conspiratorial edge as he arched one brow, regarding Guernot who’d just been kneeling by the tree.

“ I don’t suppose you’ve taken to pruning? Would've beat me to it. “

Syr Guernot

 

[Syr Guernot]

With a gloved hand, Syr Edelbert scooped up the grub and deposited into a jar, where several other grubs of a similar hue squirmed about against the glass. He shook the glass and peered at it contemplatively, until the rattly sound of a wheelbarrow interrupted his thoughts.

"Oliver!" Guernot called out in greeting, leaning back on his haunches. He shaded his red eyes with a hand as he looked to the approaching orc. "Didn't expect you to be out and about in this kind of weather."

"Not pruning," Edelbert chimed in to actually answer the other pursuant's question. "We're looking for blight beetles before they burrow too deep into the heartwood." He produced a cork and squeaked it atop the glass jar, sealing the grubs in. "Well, Guernot's doing all the looking."

A huff left the kivren. He rose and dusted the bits of grass off his knees, took a few steps away so that the three of them formed a sociable triangle. "Yeah, and I'd rather be doing anything else. It's a better day for a swim, than all this garden work."

When one thought of corrupted beasts, the imagination conjured up images of giant wolves and spiny bears, but even the smallest of creatures were affected by the Eldyr Tree's curse. Blight beetles were nasty little critters that burrowed under the skin of trees and, instead of chewing at the wood, drank their very lifeblood. It was also nearly impossible to tell when a tree was infested, until harvest time came. Cut into a blighted trees fruit, and what lay within was a spongy, flavorless pulp.

Oliver

 

[Oliver]

Not out in this kind of weather indeed.

Acknowledging the truth in a mere hum, he bounced his look to Edelbert in turn. The man explained, all the while he found himself drawn to stare at their findings, now encased in glass. Suddenly grim for it, he nodded and turned halfly to watch the rest of the orchard.

It was meant to be inspectorial, but all he could manage was a fond sadness. A sinking feeling overtook whatever fight he’d meant to have, a inclination to surrender in the face of something one wasn’t sure how to defeat. Some of these trees he’d known for two decades.

They’d survived similar adversity before, of course. And would anew, with some help.

“ You can sometimes tell, should the beetle have burrowed in above ground. They leave behind holes and a little pile of wood dust. “ He spoke belatedly, rekindling his pleasant expression and folding his arms thoughtfully.

“ Unless, of course, they went in without having to dig. Some trees were affected with sunburn a year ago, which we tried to remedy, but— “ A shrug of the shoulders, as his attention landed on the few trees still bearing remnants of whitewash on their trunks. It didn’t always work, but sometimes.

“ It needs be said your help is much appreciated, talented as you are — can’t say I’ve ever actively looked for signs of the blight. Beyond my abilities to spot, in their sublety. “ Despite his smile that was for the both of them, it was with an air of defeat. To his shame he found he didn’t much enjoy having to take a step back in a matter as this.

“ How bad do you suppose it is? You’ve found an alarming plenty, seems. “

Syr Guernot

 

[Syr Guernot]

Syr Edelbert gave the orcish man a bemused look as he spoke his part regarding the beetles. The Death Pursuant was not used to being listened to when it came to the minutia of the blight, let alone by someone who knew what they were talking about. Even Guernot, who was actively helping, had a bad habit of zoning out.

"How bad do you suppose it is? You’ve found an alarming plenty, seems."

Nodding his head solemnly, Edelbert squinted through the sunlight at the other man. "I'd have to dig through the old records, but I do worry that their numbers are increasing." He raised the jar of beetle grubs one more. Their black forms squiggled across the glass, and over each other. Some of them were turning to liquid, forming a slime at the bottom of the jar that seemed to twitch with the legs and eyes of individual bugs. Edelbert shook the glass, and the slime reacted, clenching up into a ball, very unlike a dead liquid.

"Damn, they're coalescing already," Edelbert said. He seemed surprised by that, but not worried. "Excuse me, I should dispose safely of these before they break through the glass." With an urgency to his movements that he didn't have before, Edelbert wrapped the glass jar in a length of cloth. He tucked the blighted package underneath his arm and turned to leave.

Guernot was left behind. He was unbothered, busy cleaning the sawdust and blight goo off his knife with the corner of his shirt. "Something on your mind, Oliver?" he asked, sheathing the blade and looking back to the sturdy gardener. "You seem a little distracted."

 

[Oliver]

— Increasing?

Further discouraged, if hardly surprised, Oliver gave a sharp nod. His morbid curiousity wouldn’t allow him to look away as the man rose the jar, watchful of the contents that seemed to be— shifting. Like that wasn’t disturbing enough, Edelbert was quick to thenon take off with not half as many words that he would’ve liked and significantly more haste than he could’ve ever been comfortable with.

Powerless before it, Oliver drew in a deep breath and turned, hands on his hips. Dramatic or not, in his heart of hearts he was already preparing to bid farewell to the entire orchard.

Just burn it, set fire to it all. Would that help? The wood would spit, splinter and sizzle, screaming in its way, but at least the horror within would also perish, surely—

He snapped back to the present in a quick turn of his head when spoken to, meeting Guernot’s eye.

Distracted? An understatement, if not entirely false. Dispersing his frown, he tried to smile, embarrassed by how affected he found himself to be.

“ It is the things I do not know how to defeat that preoccupy me like no other. This time — the blight and as it manifests in this garden. “ The smallest horrors within that jar. He glanced begrudgingly at the direction Edelbert had disappeared to, unable to keep a facade.

“ I am aware it is not an actual apocalypse upon us — but I find it frustrating regardless. That one should’ve fought, only to accept the thought of impending defeat. “ He shrugged aimlessly, as he often did once he found himself contemplating out loud.

“ My pride is no factor, but them— “ He gestured at the trees. “ I’ve grown fond of. So I worry. “

 

[Syr Guernot]

At Oliver's words, Guernot gnashed his teeth together, just once. An old habit of his; a gesture that meant something else below water than it did above.

He did, however, still dedicate a polite length of time to contemplating the orchard that Oliver waved at. The trees themselves did not stir much in Guernot. The were bits of shrubbery that stuck out of the ground at odd angles and needed a lot of water and attention to produce. But he considered too, the monastery grounds that lay beyond the hill, which was surely meant to be included, in a metaphorical sense.

The polite moment passed, and Guernot crossed his arms over his chest. Red eyes looked to the other Pursuant, and gills flared. "Well then, what's keeping you from fighting?"

 

[Oliver]

“ I do not quite know. “ He muttered, fixated on a leaf adrift in the passing air. “ Nothing, one needs suppose. Save for myself. “ An idle turn upon a heel and a couple meandering steps like he meant to leave, but yet lingered like a man struck by some geriatric amnesia. Unsure what to begin towards, if anything.

“ The part that speaks it be in vain. But then again— “ Self-conscious for his grim sentimentality, he mustered a smile and met the man’s eye. “ If our goal was some eternal preservation, all would be so, no? “

Regaining some of his forgotten spirit for the sake of his company, he banished the apologetic downturn from his expression. It was replaced by the crisp edge of genuine curiousity, one that regarded Syr Guernot carefully.

“ Like I said — My lot be cluelessness for the occasion. What do you suppose be done, if anything? “

 

[Adjantis]

To shovel soil instead of acting as stalking sword to the wilds. To strike the earth instead of communicating to the beasts that lurked in dominion thick thicket bound. Such was the order of the day, for it was a free day, and Adjantis took much peace from tending to the gardens that were tended so. In his heart there was a balance between appreciation of the wild born leaf explosion of growth without master as well as the ones that took root from humanoid hand's direction. So with shovel gripped as if half-swording, did Adjantis find a quiet plot of land to dig into.

One might think the fellow could use his powerful paws to do the digging. But such would resemble the dog, the hound that buried things. His bestial mind would not have any party to such betrayal of his resemblance, though he was unwitting as to the reason for the rejection of his own paws to be used as spades.

He stared at the ground.

Stared at it some more.

Then struck it, as if planting a flag in enemy territory.

Mine.

The orichalcum armour creaked gently as his limbs set about the work of removing the soil. He had seeds to plant, along with a calcium pill to prevent blossom end rot in what fruit he wished to harbour from time and labour and dutiful attentions.

He looked over to the others, and his ears flicked away flies that lingered too close. He caught fragments of words passed between comrades.

Again the shovel did excavate. The armour gave small cracking sounds as it reshaped itself.

Valborast thinks I can't grow fruit because I don't eat it. I'll show him.

There wasn't even a bet. Just a challenge that was idly and flippantly offered yet seriously taken by Adjantis. He was used to tending the wild gardens, not these agricultural plots. While he had rescued some particularly exotic flowers and tended to them, tending to the more mundane with thought to please the pallette was another.

He placed the calcium pill into the soil.

I wonder if a strawberry would taste good.

I wonder if there's a spell that would make such things enjoyable to a meat eater.

He leaned against the shovel and blinked slow as he stared at the hole he had made. He was often want to wait and think, to daydream but with a serious mindset that made him silent and wise to most things. The clouds passed shadow overhead. Another ear twitch.

Wonder if those two have any advice on how many seeds to plant, the distance. I'm just guessing. Could use a spell to find out. But that feels like cheating.

He left his shovel and approached the two in conversation, and simply pointed a hand to his shovel.

"Strawberries. How many seeds in the ground should I lay out? I'm...new at this fruit business," he said flatly.

 

[Syr Guernot]

He let Oliver wander his response out, watching as the other man stepped some heel-steps away before coming back. A bit more mororseness, and then a question that barely brightened the mood. Guernot would take it.

"What, about the blighted beetles?" he responded, uncrossing his arms and shifting his weight to one hip. "Dunno. That's Death stuff. Better ask the one who keeps things in jars about that. But I do know this -- if you see a bug, you squash it. If you want vegetables, you dig in the dirt. And if there's a fire in your heart, you stoke it!" He pumped an energetic fist up into the air, in a rallying movement. A toothy smile stretched across Guernots face, and he squinted cheerfully against the afternoon sun. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Oliver. I bet you're already fighting."

The orchard was busy that day. Another approached them then, and Guernot recognized the long, golden mane of the lion Adjantis. At the lion's gesture, Guernot regarded the shovel with a curious tilt of his head. It took him a moment to understand.

"Hm? Adjantis, my fellow sharp-toothed wyldling, you won't get a single strawberry out of seeds planted in the ground," came Guernot's gentle reprimand. He may not have been much for the miniutia of gardening work, but he didn't always zone out when others were talking to him. A vague idea of how one prepared more ground-fruits for planting flitted through his mind, though the picture was incomplete.

"Edelbert's always growing cuttings of things in little pots in our quarters. This time of year, there's barely room left to set anything down. You need..." He held his webbed fingers out, and waggled them, feeling around for a certain word. "..what do they call 'em? Starts?"

Adjantis Oliver

 

[Oliver]

Death stuff. He gave but a nod at that, feeling a little silly that he should’ve asked. And that he’d let the situation just discovered get to him as it had, all the while there’d yet be trees in the world. This wasn’t some end of all things.

At Guernot’s effort towards rekindling a better atmosphere, he could hazard a smile. While it was a little awkward, mainly in his part for having inspired it to begin with, he couldn’t deny appreciating the honest enough attempt. Despite all, he could allow himself be tempered by it.

“ Hmh. Try is all we can do. “ A shrug of one shoulder as he averted, standing in tune with his company to see someone approach. Before he had the time to speak in greeting, the fellow garden enthusiast already stated their business. It was in question.

He found himself nodding along at Guernot’s response. At the end, having waited for the man to finish, he picked up the subject.

“ Starts, seedlings, shoots. “ He begun neutrally, not terribly draconian when it came to the semantics of the whole business. It was little plants borne from the larger one all the way down. “ With strawberries they are called runners, as they propagate by growing little stalks that sprout roots whence they touch the soil. It is a rather cute word for it. “

Properly smiling now, he keeled his head at Adjantis.

“ We’ve some new plants grown from such things in pots yet, waiting to be planted wherein old ones died. “ The gaps in the rows. “ You could do with five, to start. That should give a proper yield for yourself at least. “

For effect, he gave the wyldling a measuring look.

“Where are you of the mind to put them? “

Syr Guernot Adjantis

 

[Adjantis]

Adjantis heard the news that his efforts were misguided with a drooping of his jowls, a souring of his features.

"Oh."

He planted a paw on his hip and stared at the empty hole as he heard the advice.

Stared at it some more. Wondered what to do with the lone strawberry he had. Such a small thing. It did not spark hunger in him. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he pondered why he was trying to make more of these unsavoury things.

Then Valborast's smug face came into his mind.

Adjantis considered just tearing out Valborast's throat and dumping the body in a bigger hole instead of indulging in this fruit business. Would be easier than this lark.

"Okay. But I only need one. Yet if you say five. Five it is," Adjantis replied.

More work.

"Runners then. And I was going to put them in Valborast's smug face."

Oliver Syr Guernot

 

[Syr Guernot]

He had a certain amount of sympathy for Adjantis, as the big wyldling mulled over the puzzle of the plants before them, clearly unfamiliar with the work. For while Guernot had nothing against fruits and vegetables, he'd always much rather be chewing on seal blubber than whatever was being served at the knoll.

But he didn't get a chance to comiserate so, as Edelbert came down the orchard rows towards them. The Dusker, clad in black even in the warm weather, stopped before everyone in much the same state of worry as he had initially left.

"Oh, hello Adjantis--" Edelbert said abruptly, but spared the lionman no further attention. He seemed perturbed by something else, wholly occupied by events outside the orchard's periphery as he took Guernot by the arm and pulled him aside.

'Aside' wasn't very far at all, just a couple of trees down, and the other two could still hear the pair perfectly fine.

"Dear, could you come help me with the blight beetles?" Edelbert said in hushed urgency.

"What, why? I thought you were just going to kill the things."

"Yes, well, that's the problem. It's not dying."

"It," Guernot repeated, chewing on the singularity of the word. He sighed, which let out a strange click in the back of his throat. "Alright, I understand."

Before he let Edelbert drag him away, Guernot turned back round to the other two. "Sorry lads," he said in apology. "I'll have to help with the strawberries some other time."

Oliver Adjantis