Core: 6/6
Inner Members: 4/20
Outer Members: 40/50
Aspirants: 39/500
Total Population: 89/576
Settlement Upgrade Available
Current Buildings:
- Clan House (Level 3)
- Water Mill, Large (Level 2)
- Sturdy Wood Wall (Level 3)
- Basic House x 20 (Level 3)
- Docks (Level 1)
- Market Stall (Level 1)
- Leatherworkers Hut (Level 1)
- Farm x 4 (Level 3)
- Water Mill, Large (Level 2)
Current Treasury:
1E, 256F
Current Allies: None
Current Enemies: The Khanclave (undeclared)
The Old Mill Town was so much more than a simple settlement; it formed a symbol of resistance, a place Mitchell had fought to make a sanctuary inside a chaotic world. From the docks to the Clan House, each building carried with it a memory and countless hours of labour. If anything, it wasn't just terrifying to watch it all go up in smoke; it was a reminder of how delicate the balance was that they fought so hard to keep safe.
Flames licked the top of the walls, a new, more primal invader compared to those who last dared to attempt to destroy what was built. This invader could not be stabbed, shot, or shocked with lightning. It could not be manoeuvred into position, nor demoralised. This intruder would spread and consume and would not stop for any man.
However, as he frantically ran through his thoughts, Mitchell was again reminded that mankind was not a collection of upright fleshy primates, but than that. They were tool-using, organised, community-centred creatures. They were smart, and resourceful, and had the determination and knowledge of higher concepts required to not flee, but stand strong before their enemies, even when that enemy was Mother Nature herself, brought and unleashed by some unknown Khanclave.
Mitchell thought as quickly as he could. To prevent the fire from spreading north would just need a firebreak, which was already present in the gap between wall and buildings. They could churn the dirt to prevent the grass from catching though. They needed to split the rest of the wall off to prevent the entire thing from catching, which would be even more difficult than usual given the enchantments Miriam had done. “John! Gather the Aspirants outside the wall and get to making us some buckets! Sarah, keep ready at the Clan House in case we have injuries, and Miriam, stick with her and get us some sort of water spell! Geor-”
“I can’t develop a spell in five second-” Miriam protested, even as John also disagreed with him.
“This could be a flush out, I’ll bring them to the Dock-”
Mitchell growled in frustration. He’d been about to ask George to range and see if there were any more of the riders in the surrounding woods, before remembering that the Ranger wasn’t here. “Miri, I know you can. You take so long because you’re cautious, but I will spend every single coin I have on MP potions if I have to, so John, make sure you bring over some lumber.”
John took off, shouting quick commands to Jack and heading to the Docks. Miriam glared at him, but Mitchell was still firing off directions. “Inner and Outer Members! Protect your home!” The flames continued to lick at the top of the wall and spread to either side. By this point the gate was fully engulfed and at least ten feet to either side was catching in the unnaturally hot flames. “Get shovels, buckets, axes - We can not allow the wall to fall!”
“Mitchell whirled about to see Dalton, face red and breathing heavily running as fast as he could.
“Advisor.” Mitchell said calmly, despite the panic slowly growing in his head.
He shouted out again. “Legion! I need a runner!”
There was a beading of sweat upon Mitchell's forehead, his heart racing, as he looked upon the now-growth of fire. Each second counted; each could be felt slipping by, precious moments lost if they did not mobilise now. Each of the panicked faces reflected his own fears outwards. But beneath the fear, Mitchell saw something else: determination—people he once considered strangers standing to fight for this place.
A uniformed Legionnaire pushed her way through the crowd - which was not milling about and panicking, Mitchell noted with pride, but were organising into actual firefighters and supporting groups.
“Sir!”
“Get to your Centurion and tell him we need at least one sentry looking over the farms. Preferably the whole tent. Go!” Mitchell rattled off before turning to Dalton. “Please tell me there’s some System method we can use to put this out.”
Dalton shook his head, catching his breath. “No, not that, just-”
“Then tell me after!” Mitchell cut him off with frustration and ran down to the pier, skidding to a halt when he saw the almost miraculous sight of John straining with effort, though the reason was clear.
Mumbling in amazement, one by one, people paused to watch in awe as John came forward, his muscles straining under the impossible weight of the boat filled with water. Distorted with effort, every step was a Herculean challenge as he fought against both gravity and fatigue. The people around him held their breath, and some even reached out, as if their will could help lift the burden. A picture of desperation, of hope; one man pushing the limits to protect their fragile haven.
On each side he had one of his Legionnaires keeping the vessel steady, but from the way his legs trembled and his halting steps, he was struggling. Considering that weight should have been impossible to lift, let alone keep the stress from snapping the boat in half-
Mitchell buried his thoughts and ran underneath the boat, taking as much weight as he dared onto his own shoulders, and the two pushed past astonished glances and scrambling shovellers to bring the load of water to the blaze. Clan Members with axes chopped away at the un-burnt sections of wall, trying to stop the spread. With a splitting crackle, the gate fell from its hinges, and a cry of pain echoed through the clear dawn air. A trio of men dashed forwards, dragging a woman out of the heat, each of their skin raw with burns from being too close to the blaze.
“Mitchell!” Dalton all but screamed. “You need to declare war on the Khanclave, now!”
“Why?!” He screamed back, effort making his voice tight. It was getting difficult to hear anything over the crackling of flame and the blood rushing in his ears, but he didn’t dare let go of the boat, even as it worked together with gravity to crush both him and John.
“Because your team is still out there, and when you’re at war, Just do it!”
“How?!”
“Just it!”
“I declare war on the Khanclave!”
Are you sure you would like to declare war on a higher levelled faction?
“Y-Yes!” Mitchell shouted, and the notification was replaced.
War declared! All enemy units within your faction's perceptive range will be Spotted and their locations known to all other faction members within 15m (5m x Settlement Level). Upgrade your Clan House for further benefits.
With the declaration made, an oppressive silence made its presence known for a moment, relieved only by the crackling of flames and shouts of effort. Mitchell felt the weight of his words settle upon his shoulders: war meant they weren't just fighting a fire but also an enemy set on their destruction. The battle for survival had increased in intensity, and this was now personal with deeper consequences. Not merely leading people against flames, he was defending their life, their future, against a hostile world that wished them dead.
With that, Mitchell lowered his head and got to work, sweat and curses falling equally silently as they fought to contain the blaze.
It was hellish. Heat rolled off the wall in waves, singing the hairs of any who approached too closely, though that didn’t stop a single soul. Occasionally there was a crack like a gunshot as a reinforced log split, and splinters flew, and the only thing that happened was a collective flinch, a half-crouch, then everyone straightened and got right back to it. Runners returned from the farms with hoes and shovels which were distributed quickly based on Strength. They made it to the wall with the boat, and John directed them to the east of the blaze, some ten feet away from the edges of the fire. Mitchell didn’t know why, but he followed the man’s lead. He distantly remembered that John had been a volunteer firefighter as well during the Before.
The small group at the docks were wading through the river, looking for anything that could help. A woman ran over with a woven basket from her home, and that apparently triggered something, as tens of Clan Members - from the Inner to the Aspirant - ran to their dwellings and emerged with a hodgepodge collection of vessels. From pots and pans, to cloth and cups and even Jack had collected a wooden chest from his own house and soon they were all filled with water, being passed back and forth along a fire-line and being thrown atop the blaze. It wasn’t enough to put it out, but it helped slow things down and reduce the heat of the main blaze.
Miriam watched from the porch of the clan house, nearing furious. “Who does he think he is? Miri, make a spell for this. Miri, enchant the whole town. Miri-”
“Miri, I understand you’re having issues, but either hit yourself with a Calm spell or channel it. Our is burning. We had enough trouble getting here with just five - do you think we could protect refugees?” Sarah stressed.
Miri swore, her mind beginning to jumble up and catastrophize. Sarah was right, the wall would burn down then the coyotes could come right back and pick them off during the night. Then they would lose people, people she’d grown to like and respect, people that she had reluctantly sworn to protect, and look out for the best interests of. It would be her fault too, because rather than actually come up with useful, castable spells, she’d just spent her time theorizing on the bigger, better spells she would one day be able to cast, the inefficient, hundred-array monstrosities that she’d likely never be able to cast now because it was all going to burn down and they would scream Miriam how could you and-
Miriam’s hands clenched into fists, her mind racing with half-formed spells and theories that had never seemed so inadequate. Every shout from Mitchell was another reminder that she’d stayed too long in her theoretical bubble, and she cursed herself for not focusing on simpler, more practical spells. Her chest tightened, and a small, gnawing voice of doubt crept in, whispering that she wasn’t ready for this, that she was just pretending to be smart and capable. But just as that voice began to rise, a sharp sting snapped her back.
Stars flashed across her vision and her hearing rang for a moment before she blinked herself back into coherence.
“-breath in, breath out, Miriam, stay with me, stay here with us.” A hand snapped its fingers beside her ear and she flinched away from the sound. “Hey, you up? You good?”
Miriam nodded shakily, finally taking the Healer’s advice and casting Calm on herself. Most mental spells were simple to cast on yourself, though her tome had recommended against overdoing it as it could affect your brain long-term. “Yea, I’m good. You like slapping people, eh?”
Sarah shrugged. “It works. Now, from what I get, you’ve been working on aspects, right? Like adding fire to your darts and stuff?”
Miriam nodded, grateful that Sarah was taking the lead in staying productive. She had been researching exactly that and believed she’d figured it out, but in her studies she’d had a stroke of inspiration with her self-referential arrays and had been trying to come up with a dart that would read the target and determine the most useful aspect to colour the dart with, all automatically. In hindsight, it was a silly spell, a useless, wasteful creation. “Yes, and I think I have it, but I have no idea what the aspect-array for water is, so that won’t help.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Sarah nodded. “But you know fire, right? And you can kind of… move things between enchantments and spells?”
Miriam’s eyes widened. “Shit, Sarah, you’re a genius!” She knelt down in the dirt and began drawing with her finger. “I’ve already isolated the runes within the Durability enchantment into function, though which rune does which function is still something I’m figuring out. Should I replace a rune or change it to deal with fire or add a new one, is the real question? It’s not like my main class, I’m still supposed to be finding the diagrams and learning them that way, so I’m not sure on the rules too much.”
The healer raised her staff. “I’m here to heal. Brute force it if you have to.”
Miriam looked up hesitantly. “I know you can heal but it will still hurt if I end up burning myself.” A chill ran down her spine as she imagined the heat, the burn of raw, unrefined magic surging through her. It wasn’t fear of failure that gnawed at her – it was fear of the unknown, of what she might unlock or unleash if she pushed herself too far. But the sight of flames in the distance reminded her that failure here wasn’t an option. Swallowing hard, she gathered herself, knowing she’d have to harness her own fire to save everyone else.
“More or less than it will hurt to be eaten by coyotes?” Sarah retorted.
Miriam knew it wasn’t about the coyotes. It was about everything that could, and would happen if they lost the settlement. She swallowed once, allowing her fear to reign for a split second, then shoved it into the back of her head where the Calm spell held it even as it kicked and thrashed and screamed to be heard, to be indulged. She could process it- no, defeat it- later. Instead, she returned her head to the dirt and continued scratching esoteric shapes and lines, however this time her voice was ice and her expression steel. “Get me some wooden plates.”
Sarah smiled, glad she’d been able to help. “Yes ma’am.”
George didn’t know who these people were Before. He didn’t know who did and did not have the counter-identify that had revealed them. He didn’t even know what language they spoke. All he knew was that they’d completely skipped any sort of diplomatic step and had gone right to shooting at them with arrows, and therefore as Mitchell would say: they were not compatible with the Old Mill Town way of life.
He’d harried and ambushed the tracking party, successfully slowing them though it was hard to tell if that was more due to him or due to the other two hiding their tracks so successfully. It was a difficult time but he had quickly gotten over his reluctance and had started shooting at the horses.
Every bit of media he’d ever consumed had explicitly painted the act of targeting mounts as cruel. A Knight's tourney, cowboy flicks, fantasy - even in Tolkien’s movies, the horses been targeted, but that was to make the enemy seem more evil and irredeemable. What he didn’t know - that someone like Mitchell vaguely, due to his history enthusiasm - was that this was a modern take that came about during the rising of the western film, with the famous heroes and their trusty sidekicks.
In history, it was very much a valid tactic to deal with the horses first. Horse armour was invented for a reason. It just wasn’t as popular of a method, as letting your enemy keep their thousands of horses would also stress their supply lines - all those animals needed a of food.
George didn’t know this. George didn’t even think in those terms. George just sighted down his arrow, lined it up with one of the -creatures, shoved down his self-disdain, and let loose.
Something about it felt wrong, but with every bit of self-disgust that came up, he squashed it down. Two of the beasts had fallen, and the party of ten was still after Kyla and Ezekiel though they had to share mounts. If he could take out four more, it should slow the hunters enough that he could break off and catch up. Nimbus bounded silently through a higher branchway, keeping easy pace with the Ranger as they moved ahead to a knot of brambles that should slow the pursuers long enough to perform another ambush.
His opponents weren’t stupid, though. They were dividing up directions to watch from, and after the last ambush had also dedicated two of them to searching the branches. He’d already been spotted twice, but speed and misdirection had allowed him to turn the tables against the one who had chased him and lose her. He’d still taken a glancing blow from an arrow despite his skills and familiarity with the terrain.
Now, though, he found a nice spot high in the branches, a bird’s nest above helping to break up his silhouette. Then, a notification:
Your faction is at war with the faction known as The Khanclave! Encounters with members of the enemy faction will provide boosted experience gain!
Enemies are nearby.
George swiftly changed his priorities. Now, the forest felt different—the trees no longer just shelter but staunch allies, tenebrous beings cloaking him, and every creaking branch a murmur of his imminent strike. His breathing steadied into slow, cold exhalations, sharpening his gaze and concentrating years of survivalist instinct into a calculated will of ice. They had threatened his people, his land, and in that one instant, he was no longer a defender but a hunter. He would make them wish they had never stepped into his domain.
The time for harrying and slowing was done. No, those 10 riders picking their way through the forest - forest - were no longer a true danger. Some switch had flipped in George’s mind, his instinct drawing him to a conclusion when he could not have recalled the reasoning to get there if you had given him 8 days and enough lined paper for an auto-biography. George just knew, deep down, that there was a fact that was true.
He was the Master Hunter, and these people who had tried to kill him? Who had tried to kill his new friends?
They were prey.
Baatar grumbled to himself even as slender arms wrapped around his waist. The woman who’d let her horse be killed was clinging to him and looking around fearfully. It was unbecoming of a Warrior, and he made note to inform the Khan of her cowardice. As a Horseman, he would never dare allow his mount to come close to death, and if the worst ever happened, his level 20 skill would allow him to absorb injuries from his mount and apply them to himself instead. With his high HP, he would be able to bring his loyal mount back from near-death twice, and with the issued Health Potions in his Saddlebag, could keep it up for quite a while.
However, he had done most of his work on the plains. Running down the wolf pack, encircling the Raccan invaders, the small skirmish with Jonesville which had ended in a total victory - all of this had been done in the grassy fields. Not in the thick trees, where he couldn’t get up to full speed and had much more trouble shooting accurately from horseback. So a hint of caution crept in where there was typically only brash confidence.
He found his caution warranted, the hunting party having lost two horses since they entered the treelines. Losing a mount was bad, but returning to the camp having failed in their goal would be worse. They had to keep going now, could not cease.
A snort from a horse snapped him out of his thoughts, and he held up a hand, calling for a stop. “Tallo, report.”
Their Mounted Scout stopped still and raised his nose to sniff at the air. “They came through this way, but I also smell fresh blood, 20 degrees sunward.”
“Ignore it. We ride after the rabbi-”
A loud crash and the sounds of panicked horses came from behind him, and he urged his horse to turn, but he was panicking and wanted to
Baatar lowered himself down and whispered in his mounts ear, soft, soothing sounds, and eventually the beast turned.
Baatar cocked his head to the side. There was some sort of… spiky corpse? Carcass? It looked like a smaller version of a Spinebear, though many of the protruding spines weren’t the venomous quills but arrows. The impact had splattered blood all across the nearby riders and their mounts. The Horseman frowned. The forest archer had dropped the creature there on purpose, but to wha-
“Retreat!” Bataar called out, but it was too late.
Splintering trees. Pounding footsteps that shook the earth. A deep, angry roar, and then a colossal beast was upon them, biting and rending and shredding.
Even high up in the tree as he was, George froze in fear, the path forward presented by his instincts grinding to a halt with an overwhelming need to run, hide, get away, be somewhere that wasn’t here. And yet, he watched with morbid fascination as a fully grown Spinebear tore through the riders ranks. He observed with a clear line of sight as the behemoth crashed through a tree, snapped a man in half - literally in half - with a clamping of jaws, and almost without effort impaled the horse the recently deceased man had been riding. In a flurry of blood and splinters and matted black fur, the man and his horse died without even time for a scream.
To their credit, the riders rallied quickly, but it was clear their tactics didn’t work too well within the forest. Circling the bear just kept them within range, and the beast was much faster in a straight line than a horse was - whether by virtue of its own speed or the fact that it could just go whatever was in its way, three more riders and their mounts fell before a man called out in a language he didn’t understand, and the rest of them scattered back the way they came. George finally let himself breath a sigh of relief.
It had been a gamble on multiple fronts. First, that he could kill the nearby cub in time. Second, that the mama was still around and close enough to scent the blood. Third, that he could even lift the cub so that he could splatter some of the riders with blood and make them easier for mama to track. And the fourth was that the Spinebear would be strong enough - that last one was well and truly proven.
George had just watched 5 men and 5 horses die, having killed two of the horses himself. Now he had a choice:
Did he pursue the fleeing riders to the edge of the forest, securing the terrain and causing fear in their hearts?
Did he follow Ezekiel and Kyla, regrouping and heading back to Old Mill Town?
Or did he test himself, here and now, to see how far he’d come and gain the levels he would need to stand against what had become their first true enemy?
It was not a difficult choice, and George unstrung his bow from his back. From up here in the branchways, he would be safe from the claws and jaws and spines and other deadly bits. Nocking an arrow and drawing it back, he took a deep breath, then released.
At the sound of the bow twanging and the arrow taking flight, the bear jerked aside, its eye tracking up into the crown of the tree where George stood, amazed, as a 12 foot bear dodged an arrow after it had been shot. The Spinebear roared, the sound so loud that it caused a slight pain in his eardrums, then the bear charged for the base of the tree he was in and bulled right through the trunk, knocking George off balance.
“Shit.” He cursed as he arrested his fall by jumping to a nearby tree, but his target was smaller and less grown than his usual targets and the branch snapped beneath his weight. The sudden loss of footing sent the Ranger sprawling through the branches and he flailed out, grasping at anything he could. Something -slammed into his back, pushing off a moment after, and his fingers caught a thick enough branch that he swung instead of slipping, and he tucked in his legs to sway his momentum upwards. His eyes flashed across 4 different destinations until locking onto one, and he finished the improvised swing by planting a foot on the trunk and pushing off, transferring the rest of his horizontal motion into vertical.
His Instincts screamed at him so he again followed what his intuition said was the right course - rather than grabbing onto the branch, he kicked off the trunk again, a split second before a bone-white spine impaled the tree, cracking the top half off which began to slowly topple. That spine likely could have punched through steel, George thought to himself.
“Shit.” George cursed again. The Spinebear below took a deep breath, and a volley of three spines shot out, tearing towards where George hung in the air between jumps. There was no way he could- the skill!
The Ranger activated his dodge skill, and his body twisted midair, almost flipping entirely upside down as it managed to weave in between two of the spines and take only a glazing slash from the third.
Warning! You have been poisoned!
George willed the notification away as he bounded higher and higher into the branchways, a growing sense of nausea in his gut. This was not a fight he could take and win, not without severe danger. He wasn’t expecting the bear to be so… he wouldn’t say smart, but it had instincts like his own, and that made it a much more dangerous quarry. This beast was not prey, it was a predator.
Which made George the prey, so with a quick series of leaps and trunk-taps he bounded back towards the plains, the bear hot on his heels. He would need to lose it before he could head back to the others.
Six hours.
It had taken them six hours to quell the blaze that had been started in seconds.
At first, it had seemed like their efforts at funnelling water from the river had been enough. People worked until they collapsed, were dragged back, and Sarah was dropping Adrenal Response on any volunteers who wanted to get back to the fight. The ground had been soaked, and the fire refused to move further into the town, largely due to their efforts. The boat had made 12 trips before the men were too tired to haul it, and then the Legionnaire’s had banded together in an inspiring display to move it thrice on their own. By then, the wall between the south gate and the river bank was lost, and all efforts were spent attempting to slow the easterly spread.
But the fire was too hot, and wet wood only caught slower, it was not immune to fire. Log by log, they had fought through exhaustion and sweat and fear and heat, but they had fought. One by one, the Aspirants fell back, away from the dangerous flames, the heat too much to bear. The Outer members were next, though they pushed far past their own limits - a woman had lost all of her hair, dunked her head in a bucket, then immediately turned and tossed the still steaming bucket on the fire and sprinted off to refill it on her own.
The turning point had come just after noon, when a tired, burned, sweating, but triumphantly smiling Miriam had stormed out of the Clan House with a knife and carved a symbol into the eastern gate, pressing her hand atop it once complete and firing a firebolt into it. Mitchell watched in amazement, his legs shaking - he was unable to see it, but he was running on his last 3 stamina points - as she revealed not just a new spell but a new enchantment, filling his heart with pride. His mind almost seemed to tell itself. He was proud of her, and proud of himself for trusting her, and proud of Sarah for helping her.
She made her way towards the fire, etching the symbol into each log, firing the same Fire Dart into each and nodding in satisfaction before moving on once again. There was a brief panic as she stepped past the line, into the space where the heat would begin to dry your lungs and burn you from a distance, but her gait only faltered for the briefest of split-seconds and she continued, head held high and robe quickly beginning to steam.
She was sweating, and the heat was evaporating that sweat, and Mitchell stumbled forwards on wobbling legs, horror in his gaze, when a gentle tap on his shoulder spread a feeling of numbness and relaxation through his body and he all but collapsed onto his knees. Even so, he pushed himself shakily to his feet and made to move forward, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“She did it.” Sarah had told him with an angry glare. “She shouldn’t have had to, but she figured out the Fire Dart, and she figured out Fire Durability, and then she figured out Fire Resistance. That’s two spells and an enchantment in 5 hours. Is that enough for you?”
Mitchell had just turned and brushed Sarah’s hand off his shoulder, his hand getting singed as the metal was still radiating heat. “Yes. She still needs help.” He took a step, before realising something important needed to be said. “I believe in her completely, or I never would have asked. Just like you. John. George.”
The glare turned absolutely furious for a split second before softening and voicing something she’d just realised herself. “You too, Mitch. Let’s put this thing out. Just promise you won’t run in and try to punch the fire.”
He let out a tired laugh. “I would if I thought it would work.”
Sarah sighed. She supposed that would be the best she got for now.