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Chapter Sixty-One (TIBK)
🕑 Added 2025-08-16 12:00:40 +0000 UTCLeif knew that look from Eirik when he hit a wall. Commander probably tried to build something out there and failed, Leif deduced, seeing the residue of expended mana around Eirik.
"Leif," Eirik approached. "Olaf. Situation report. Now."
"Commander. We processed 247 refugees with another 50 reported straggling up the pass. The shelters are... packed. Tempers are fraying. The Frostholme contingent especially – they expected hearths and stew, not ice walls and starvation rations."
Olaf stomped over. "Some prisoners refused to break ice for water this morning. Mostly young Skarls recovered from the poison. One guy shoved a guard when he insisted. Took three Talons to wrestle 'em down." He spat. "Need to make an example."
"Olaf," Eirik commanded. "Bring me the prisoners who refused to work. To the south wall. Now."
Olaf’s eyes gleamed. "Aye, Commander!"
Yorick stumbled out of the workshop. He saw Eirik Stormcrow standing near the half-emptied burial pit, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran down Yorick’s spine.
What’s he planning now? He hurried forward with his map, hoping good news might avert… whatever was coming.
"Commander! The timber stands!" Yorick held out the parchment. "Three dense clusters! The largest is half a mile northwest! Perfect for… for whatever you need." He trailed off, drawn to the approaching Talons dragging five struggling, snarling Skarl youths towards Eirik and the pit. Their defiance was loud.
Eirik turned to face the prisoners. Olaf held the fiercest one, a young man with a fresh bruise swelling his jaw.
"Your oath," Eirik said. "Was it spoken, or just air?"
The prisoner spat blood at Eirik’s boots. "Oath to a you? Worthless! Kill us! We die Skarl!"
The other four echoed the defiance.
Eirik looked at Olaf. " Bind their hands behind their backs."
Immediately, Olaf and the Talons wrenched their arms back and tied them tight with coarse rope. The prisoners struggled, but were overwhelmed. Eirik stepped close to the first one, the spitter.
He placed his hand on the young Skarl's heaving chest.
Absorb.
Olaf felt the Skarl buck violently under his grip. Then… then his hands clenched empty air. The prisoner simply… vanished.
Not even a wisp of steam remained.
The other four prisoners froze, their shouts dying instantly. Their eyes widened in terror. The Talons holding them flinched back. Olaf felt a cold knot in his own gut.
Frost take me… he unmade him.
[RESOURCE ABSORPTION SUCCESSFUL: SKARL WARRIOR (DISARMED)]
[MANA FRAGMENTS +38] (Cap Reached)
[MANA FRAGMENTS: 200/10,000]
Eirik turned to the next prisoner, who was trembling violently. "Your oath?"
The Skarl flinched as if burned. "K-Kar! Kar vas!" He stammered desperately. "Serve! I serve! Oath! True oath!"
The other three instantly collapsed to their knees. "Oath! Serve! No trouble! Work! Work hard!"
Eirik lowered his hand.
"Bind them together. Assign them to heavy labor. Double shifts. Minimum rations. They live only as long as they work without complaint. One misstep..." He didn't need to finish.
Eirik turned to Yorick, who stood frozen, map trembling in his hand. "Did you see the new the timber stand?"
"Y-yes, Commander!" Yorick stammered.
"Olaf. Detail six Talons. Guard the new lumber crew. These four lead the work." He gestured to the terrified prisoners. "Get me logs. Fast."
He turned and walked back towards the north gate. The fragments were enough for the sawmill drive, and a little more.
Outside the walls, Eirik reached the icy platform and the hanging blade. He focused on the Construction Interface.
[CONSTRUCT ICE SAW DRIVE MECHANISM (F-Grade)]
[Cost: 200 Mana Fragments - CONFIRM]
[MANA FRAGMENTS: 0/10,000]
[CONSTRUCTION COMPLETE]
An assembly of interlocking ice gears and axles materialized beneath the suspended blade. A long, reinforced ice crank handle extended outwards.
It looked primitive and utterly dependent on human muscle.
Moments later, the first work crew arrived, led by Talons and prodded by the terrified Skarl prisoners. They dragged the first massive pine trunk, freshly felled with scavenged axes, up onto the ice rollers. The log was easily three feet thick.
"Position it!" Olaf roared. "Under the blade!"
The refugees and prisoners strained, rolling the heavy trunk into place beneath the shimmering ice saw.
"Crank it!" Olaf pointed at the ice handle. Two burly refugees grabbed it, throwing their weight into turning it. The massive ice blade began to spin, emitting a high-pitched, keening whine. Olaf shoved the log forward using a long ice-pole lever.
SCREEEEE-CHUNK!
The blade bit into the pine. Frost-enhanced ice met dense wood. Shards flew. The sound was deafening. The spinning teeth chewed through the trunk. It took five minutes of back-breaking cranking and careful levering. Finally, with a heavy THUD, the first huge plank slid off the rollers onto the snow.
A ragged cheer went up from the refugees.
It works. Eirik watched as the crew positioned the next section of the trunk. Wood. Steady supply started. Shelter heating can begin.
But the cheer was short-lived. Yorick approached, wringing his hands.
"Commander... the ration distribution. We're down to hardtack crumbs and boiled bone broth for most."
Eirik closed his eyes to focus the Kingdom Core’s awareness. He pushed beyond the familiar contours of frozen earth, beyond the lifeless stands of picked-over shrubs.
He sought warm-blooded, sizable prey.
North-northeast slope. Deer. Small herd, bedded down in a dense pine thicket. Sheltered, partially hidden by a rock outcrop. Roughly a mile and a quarter. This is good.
He shifted his focus and spotted moutain goats out west, hugging the base of the sheer cliff face. Also viable.
He opened his eyes to find Yorick still hovering anxiously.
"Leif," Eirik’s voice snapped out. "Best archers. Now. Minimum ten men. Talons only. Experienced trackers preferred."
"Aye, Commander!"
"Two targets. North-northeast slope, and west cliff base."
Leif’s eyes widened slightly, and barked orders.
"Olaf," Eirik continued without pause. "Prisoners secured?"
"Secured. Ready for shit work," Olaf grunted.
"Not them. Yet." Eirik scanned the milling refugees. "Yorick. How many able-bodied civilians? Men and women. Can handle a knife, skin a carcass?"
Yorick flipped frantically through his ledger. "Uh… s-seventy-three, Commander? Roughly?"
"Detail them. Organize butchering stations. Inside the main yard, near the kitchens. Prep fires, sharpen knives, lay out clean ice slabs. As soon as game comes in, the processing starts immediately."
"B-butchering stations… knives… ice slabs… yes, Commander." Yorick scurried off.
"Olaf," Eirik turned back to the big man. "Your job. Guard the butchering stations. Keep order. Anyone tries to steal a scrap before it’s divided, breaks line discipline? Deal with it. Harshly. Hunger makes fools brave."
"Aye, Commander. My pleasure. Keep the maggots in line."
One immediate need addressed. But hunting was precarious. It could yield bounty… or nothing. They needed a more reliable influx, and fast.
A caravan.
"Fisk!" Eirik called out.
The alchemist appeared from his ice workshop doorway. "Commander! First batch of Frostfire!" He held up one carefully sealed flask.
"Excellent," Eirik stated, taking the flask. "How many did we have left?"
"You mean my stash, or everyone's? My previous batch were all on the hands of your Talons. If you ask these back, it'd at least have another fifty units!" Fisk puffed his chest out.
"Good. I'll order my men package all their units securely for transport. Mark them clearly." Eirik’s mind was already assembling the trade mission. "Yorick!" The scribe hurried over, panting. "Compile the Skarl loot inventory. Weapons, armor, furs, jewelry. Everything not immediately needed."
"Weapons?" Yorick blinked. "But Commander, surely our future recruits would have use for them?"
"Weapons don’t fill bellies."
"Uh… y-yes, Commander!" Yorick scribbled furiously. "Who do we send?"
Eirik scanned the assembled Talons, and landed his gaze on Harkin. He’d proven steady, loyal and pragmatic. And crucially, before he became a guard, Harkin had been running goods between Stormkeep, Frostholme and Flint’s Hold.
"Harkin!" Eirik called.
The old guard detached himself from the group near the gate. "Commander?"
"You lead our caravan. Take ten Talons. Experienced fighters." He glanced towards the gate. "Take Jorgen. And others you trust."
Harkin nodded slowly. "Destination?"
"Frostholme. Closest market. If the price is too low there, or if Lord Varn’s men cause trouble, head for Flint’s Hold. Avoid unnecessary risks. Your cargo is fifty flasks of Frostfire. Plus all the marketable Skarl loot Yorick compiles. Handle them like newborn babies."
Harken’s eyebrows rose slightly. "Aye."
"We need food. Bulk food. Grain, salt meat, beans, dried vegetables. Whatever fills stomachs cheaply and doesn’t spoil fast. Then haul it back. Fast." Eirik locked eyes with the veteran. "Every silver talon spent needs to stretch."
"Understood, Commander."
"Good." Eirik said. "Take some of the Skarl war ponies. They're hardy in the cold. Go."
Harkin saluted sharply and moved with sudden purpose, yelling for Jorgen and pointing to likely candidates among the Talons. The caravan unit formed.
Eirik walked to the raised foundation stones near the base of the central keep, a natural vantage point overlooking the main courtyard. He turned, planted his feet firmly, and drew in a deep breath.
"ATTENTION!"
Heads snapped up. Even the bound Skarl prisoners flinched and stilled.
"Listen. Closely." He paused. "You are here. Abercrombie is reclaimed. But shelter is not comfort. Walls are not food. Today, we stand on the edge of starvation."
A collective ripple of fear ran through the crowd.
"We have," he stated flatly, "five days of rations. Less. Hardtack crumbs and boiled bone broth. That's the reality."
Murmurs started.
"Solutions are in motion," he continued. "Right now, our best hunters are tracking game north and west. If they succeed, we eat meat tonight."
He gestured towards Yorick and the huddled civilians near the kitchen. "Butchery teams are standing ready. When the game arrives, you work. Swiftly." His eyes swept the civilians. "You follow orders. Any hoarding, any disruption? You forfeit your share. Understand?"
Nods.
"Secondly," he pointed towards the wagons. "A trade caravan leaves within the hour. Loaded with valuables taken from our enemies in exchange for bulk food. They haul it back as fast as the roads allow."
He saw shoulders relax slightly.
"But our resources are thin. Your labor is not optional. It is your payment for the shelter, the protection, the chance at food. Everyone works. Talons. Refugees. Prisoners. You contribute, you earn your place. You contribute, you might survive."
He let the stark equation sink in.
"This is not some lord's cozy hall. This is Abercrombie. We will rebuild and survive by being harder than the winter and sharper than our enemies. We work together, without complaint, without hesitation, or we die."
He didn't wait for cheers or affirmation.
"Back to work." The command was simple.
He turned and walked away from the stone platform and checked the Kingdom Management tab back inside.
[Settlement Progress: Tutorial Quest #7]
[Time Remaining: 14 days, 9 hours]
[Objectives:]
[- Defined Borders - COMPLETE]
[- Habitable Structures - 26.8% Complete]
[- Population 1,000 - 32.4% Complete]
[- Income Source - 25.1% Complete]
[- Basic Defenses - 46.8% Complete]
[Mana Fragments: 0/10,000]
[Daily Absorption Cap: 2000/2000 MF]
The clock was ticking.
Comments
JW Saxby
Tyftc 🍻
CircusMaximus
nah she didn't die she'll appear soon!
