A Journey to a Farm

[Vilirok]

Vilirok had visited many a hamlet like this one on his journeys over the past few years. The village was simple enough - twenty or so small huts arranged around a couple of larger buildings, with small plots of farmland shared between the villagers in order to feed themselves. The orc very much doubted the villagers were able to do much other than feed themselves off of the poor farmland, and noted he saw very few such villagers around - it may have been late, but he still would have expected the farmers to at least still be finishing up their day's work. He didn't ponder for too long as he made his way to one of the larger buildings at the centre of town. From the warm light emanating from the building, as well as the boisterous laughter, he guessed this was the local tavern and, with any luck, they'd have a common room he could spend the night in.

As he made his way to the structure he noted the looks he was given - those few orcs he saw seemed wary, even afraid, at his presence - but paid them little heed. Entering the tavern, most ignored him as they spent their evening enjoying themselves but the leery looks persisted, he made straight for the bar where he inquired as to whether he could stay the night.

"Aye, y' can stay here when these lot 'ave cleared out. Help me clean up and I'll let y' stay for free - not like it'd be costing me anything." The barkeep paused, "Suggest y' not go exploring. People 'round here won't hurt y' or nothin' but we've had trouble with your sort."

Vilirok raised an eyebrow, "My sort?".

"Strangers with big axes. Couple years past somethin'...tragic...happened. Not been the same 'ere since." He frowned, "Y' seem friendly enough, mind! People just not as quick to trust these days."

The shaman nodded, "I won't be causing any trouble. There be anywhere I can leave my pack for the time being?".

"Aye, leave it with me and I'll put it in the back room." As Vilirok handed his things to the orc he paused, "Eh...s'ppose I should warn y' lest y' get a fright. Though lookin' at y' I don't imagine y' would..."

The shaman looked at the tavern-keep intently, "Yes, what is it?".

The other orc looked almost embarrassed, "People been talkin' about strange noises lately in the old Wastetamer Farm. Best avoid the place."

Vilirok smirked, "I'll be sure to do that."

The barkeep, having delivered his warning, nodded firmly. The two spent some time speaking, during which Vilirok learned the incident leading to the village's distrust of outsiders was a visit by a squadron of Kor'kron while Hellscream was still Warchief. They had demanded food from every farmer and those unable to give anything for fear of starvation were publicly flogged for their 'defiance' and their meagre crops taken regardless.

After learning the lay of the land, it was arranged that they would meet again once the tavern was less busy and Vilirok had bought any supplies he could manage to find at the local trader.

The shaman, though, felt for the people of the village. He was no stranger to the cruelty of the Kor'kron - it was his own intention to right the wrongs Hellscream had wrought. He spent a time looking around the village, noting with a frown the apprehension of those he saw as he did so. Who could blame them for fearing armed strangers? And yet, he wondered. It had been over three years since the fall of Hellscream. Perhaps these strange noises emanating from Wastetamer Farm were heightening tensions. The orc stopped for a moment to think. The village had suffered enough, and though it was normally the spirits Hellscream had tormented he dealt with, he resolved that all of his victims must be assuaged.

He looked back at the tavern, as busy as ever, and resolved he still had a fair amount of time before he needed to return to assist the barkeep. Vilirok turned and began to make his way toward Wastetamer Farm.