Well folks, I decided to take another shot at writing a serial for Stonehearth. I have already written the first three chapters, as well as I have developed a rather complex plot, with a lot of “discoveries” along the way. I intend to release a part ever Friday.
Feedback is greatly appreciated. Also try and guess the significance of the things introduced in this part.
If someone could build the “Valley” as described in part 1 (using this seed 1255928283) it would be greatly appreciated.
With no further ado, enjoy.
Part 1
I grew up in the farm country. Rows of corn, wheat, potatoes, pumpkins and flowers all filled the valley floor and my earliest memories. Six generations of farmers had worked this valley. There was always work to be done, and there were always things to explore. There were three villages along the valley, Deep Barrowroot was situated at the mouth of the valley, Cavetown was tucked against the mountain and New Runningdale was settled along the banks the Running Mill Lake. It was in New Runningdale where my story begins.
Although I worked the fields most of my early life, I still had the some free time where I would relax on a particular oak tree at the edge of the Running Mill Lake. I would sit on a fork in the branches and watch the mill spin, or the worker’s in the field, or the ripples on the water, or Old Sips fishing in his little boat and anything else that might be happening.
My name at the time was Micah and my surname Tenter. Around my 6th year my father had become a slave to the drink and my mother gave up being a slave to his tantrums. She had left him. Although she was rough looking another man married her, her new husband’s name was Sanin Hunterton, from Cavetown. She was happy for a time, or so I’m told. One day, about three months after her marriage, she was found dead at the edge of the mines, her head had been bashed into the stones, and deep cuts were found in her skin. Her death shook my young mind beyond description, and I began to spend a lot more time with myself. I knew it was Sanin that had murdered her, but I was a child and my voice was not listened to, and it was generally assumed that she was killed by a wild animal. The incident was soon forgotten.
I was now stuck living with my father. He would beat me when he was drunk and when he was sober. I would often listen by the door to make sure he was asleep before I entered the house to go to bed. Then I would wake up before him and leave for the fields. All the money I earned working as a farm hand I hid in a pocket in the great oak by the lake. I was miserable, but I didn’t know any other way to be.
Because of my unnatural strength and the rough looks I got from my mother the other kids kept their distance. I doubt I would have made it through these tough times without the innkeeper Sean Mont and his daughter Trillia. Trillia was many years older than I was. The first time I had come to the inn barefoot and hungry I aroused her empathy. She had given me a warm soup and a little beer to wash it down. She then combed my hair and gave me a little money. From that point on Trillia was like a mother to me.
Perhaps uncommon for some one of my age, I had a big picture plan for the future. I knew that I would need to buy a field and work it respectively. I was determined that my children would not suffer the same fate as I had. So I saved all my money for them. Living off a pittance of the money I earned.
My story began late in my seventh year, I was climbing the great oak when I heard a disgusting sound of breathing. Even now I remember the exact sound. It was not the deep and even sound of a town hearthling’s breath, nor the slightly rougher sound of a field worker’s breath. No, this was a gasping, choking, snorting, cruel breath. I froze in mid climb, my two hands were secured on the branch above, and one of my feet was still locked in a fork in the tree. The breathing got a little louder, and then I heard a thrust in the berry bushes below. The berry bush’s tough limbs fought with whoever was below, and a low grunt was audible. I heard the scrape of iron against leather, and then the chopping sound as the branches of the berry bushes got snapped. I worked up the courage to peek around the tree, I slid my face against the bark to be as hidden as possible. As my eye rounded the tree I froze…my life was in danger…