Legend of Ransera

The furrowed brow of the farmer betrayed his distrust of the larger cities. The din of carts and mercantile efforts brought to him a wildness reminiscent of a cornered dog, always on edge and counting the seconds until the time to escape. Everyone that drew near was given a nervous, cursory glance that lingered just a bit too long for social comfort. It had taken him hours to locate Willowby street in the first place and the stress had rendered the poor farmer into a mental flurry of doubt and self contradiction. To top it all off, by the time William had arrived he found himself unable to find an open spot to sell his goods. Quite a few merchants he had attempted to sell to offered their spots for extortive prices he could not afford. Glaring down Vendor's Row, William could feel the distaste rising in the back of his throat, bubbling with a grossness almost akin to the urge to vomit.


The previous year had been quite productive for the rabbit breeder. Two of his star does had birthed incredible litters, the sizes of which would normally be curtailed by maternal negligence. In these particular cases however, the does had fared quite well. Several seasons in a row, these two, in addition to his other does produced a grand total of over 50 kits per season. By Final Solstice, William had managed to make a pretty penny selling the meat to local families. The meat itself was no issue to be rid of. What he did not sell he either ate or smoked. The pelts however, those posed an issue. The average doe has three to four seasons per year, and with no less than 50 per season, William currently held over two hundred pelts and just as many luck charms on his back. Each charm was a simple dehydrated foot tied in knotted cord to then be strapped to packs and saddles. At first he felt good with all this luck on his back, but creeping doubt brought on by this morning's misfortune made him question just how effective foot magic really was. Wrapped in leather bindings the pile stood over him, casting a shadow that thankfully shielded his face from the sun when his back was turned to it. Ever the superstitious sort, William had panicked at first, believing he would have to waste his valued bun pelts. Such a thing would devastate Will, who had made quite the lifestyle out of being as frugal with his harvests as possible. Hope for some form of profitable disposal came in the form of a friend back home who had suggested William could perhaps be rid of them here, in Zaichaer.


Having no means to travel the distance from home to town at ease, William had been forced to place his remaining does in the care of a close friend and to traverse the side of the travelled paths, following directions from merchants bound north and huntsman seeking fortune in Zaichaer as well. His already tanned arms had been burnt into a crusty olive bronze from sun exposure. His normal scruff had developed into quite the fledgling beard as well. Were it not for the signature tiredness to his eyes and the red tinge of his nose tip, Will could pretend he was a stranger to himself next time he discoursed with a pond reflection (which occurred more often than he would ever care to admit).


No trees. No shade, the thought repeated in his mind. Two options presented. One, Throw them down and go home... This line of reasoning prompted the farmer to frown. He did not hesitate to harvest or accept the rather gruesome affair of raising animals for meat, but to waste any portion of his creatures he had raised from kits would feel like a betrayal. Two, Rent a room and be here first thing in the morning. That too only deepened the furrow in that sunburnt brow. Ma had often warned of the dangers of staying in the city. What if he were robbed? Or worse, what if he brought home some parasite or sickness with him? To stay in an inn would certainly ensure he would be getting no sleep the entirety of the night. Perhaps the guards would be kind and neglect to harass a man sitting on the streetside? Suppose that makes it three options presented... The street seemed the better option anyway. Slinking from the alley, William found for himself a quiet corner within line of sight of Vendor's Row and removed his pack. With a heavy sigh he dropped it next to a wall and fell atop it. Back to the wall and leaning atop soft pelts, Will was awarded a much neglected past time. People-watching. There were so many types of people here in Zaichaer, and nearly half of them were entirely unknown to him. Sure he had heard of them all as a child in stories or in the occasional tavern story, but to see them! What a treat that was. Most were human, for sure, but for the random few who were not, William was certain to get his fill of them. There was more than one occasion he had to remind himself there was no need to interrupt their days; the very urge to do so making him feel like a backwoods hick! He had so much curiosity for each of them. How they lived and what they did in the big city. It was enough to remove a bit of the gloom from his day. At least, until he saw a nicely dressed merchant shoving what William could only assume was an elf unfortunate enough to be in his path to the side. The elf had fallen of course, and though William had risen to help, by the time he had done so they were up once more, looking as feral and wild in the eyes as himself. Some of the nearby merchants joined in laughter at the sight of the elvish victim flinching at every sound. By the time Will had sat back down the stranger had made their way down the street, fists clenched and trembling.

That was no one-off... I guess this is common here. The thought chagrined him, but with nothing else to occupy his time, William simply continued to watch the comings and goings of Zaichaer.

Such sights as these were equivalent with the story books and novels collecting dust on the shelves of the well read back home.
The entire experience of being here, in Zaichaer was something magickal for William in and of itself. Back home no one made such troubles, mostly out of necessity. How could one be prejudice and expect to survive when town consisted of only a few families after all? It would be social suicide. Here in the big city, he supposed, it must be much easier to disappear socially when needed. William nodded in approval as the stranger righted a clear wrong. The stranger was like no other William had ever seen. Will made a guess at what he was, concluding with goblin, for obvious reasons. There was no animosity or fear in the rabbit breeder's heart over this, though. A curiosity of other peoples had always found itself a right home in William. Unbeknownst to the hobgoblin, a mighty first impression had been made that day. Perhaps in the future, William would visit a goblin village and try to sell his pelts there. Humbly rising to a standing position, William found himself enamored with the man. The rabbit farmer deftly plucked one of his charms off of himself, thinking to himself just how sheltered he had lived his life until now. Holding out the charm in one hand, and offering a handshake with the other, he beamed with the most professionalism he could muster, "Aye, it is. Here, take one."

About the foot of this and every charm was a string attaching a note. This note, written on simple parchment bore only a few lines of text: HENRIETTA, BRAVE, MOTHER OF SIXTEEN.