Bill woke up early, pushing the heavy cot off of his body as he stumbled out of bed. He could hear his wife preparing breakfast in the kitchen already, and he smiled.

  At the tail end of September, the days were still warm so the window was wide open. A simple serf like him couldn’t even dream of affording glass, so the only thing separating the inside from the great outdoors were the wooden shutters. The window was narrow, a necessity during the cold winters, but he could still hear birds happily chirping outside, as the village slowly came to life.

  It was a Wednesday. A day of corvee. He, along with most other men in the village, was expected to head towards the lord’s manor and work at his liege’s pleasure. For free of course.

  Bill didn’t see it as a bad deal. In exchange, he got to live in this house. He had to build and maintain it himself of course, but along with the structure, he was also provided with a decent enough plot of land. He could farm it as he wished, feeding his family and selling any excess produce. Typically to the lord, or to one of the few traders who managed to make it all the way out here.

  Northport was an isolated village, far away in the Northern hills of the Duchy of Wantage. His liege had decided to establish a new settlement here just a couple decades ago. It was a wild place, teeming with animals and occasionally even monsters, but there was profit to be made too.

  Free people from all over the kingdom came to places such as this one in search of work. The ancient woodlands provided good timber and many other resources that were hard to find in densely populated areas of the South.

  Lord Clifford of Aunsby owned all of the surrounding wilderness and encouraged other people to come here. There was money to be made by selling or renting land to others. As the population grew, the noble decided to set up a village here, to sell goods to the nearby outposts and help ship their goods out towards their customers.

  Northport was selected as the perfect location. The stream it lay along was navigable, even if only by small boats. Still, it was much easier to send goods across the water, than to have to trudge along the dangerous forest in heavy wagons. Not to mention the fact that there weren’t even any roads leading out of here.

  The nearby hunters and woodcutters needed to eat too, so the village constructed a small watermill next to the simple dock. Grain was much more durable than flour during transport, so merchants greatly preferred to ship it in its raw form. Especially over long distances such as this one.

  Poor peasants, like Bill, often ate grain and oats directly as porridge. Frontiersmen though were already performing difficult and dangerous work, so on top of the better pay they expected better food. They preferred bread. It was easier to carry a solid loaf along for a day of work out in the field, than have to return and boil water for the gruel.

  If one had flour, it was easy to bake it on site. Many settlements were only temporary, but even then they’d at least survive for a couple of years. A simple stone oven could be quickly constructed to service the entire group. Milling the grain by hand though was a little more time consuming. Northport’s watermill made the process far more efficient.

  The soil in the area was fertile, so after a few years of importing grain, Lord Clifford decided to cut down some of the nearby woods and begin growing crops. It would be more efficient, but required plenty of labor.

  Bill was born in Aunsby, like many of his peers, but when he heard of the opportunity to move, he jumped on it. He was the fourth son of a simple serf. He had no hope of inheriting any of his father’s land for himself. The lord did not like splitting the small plots assigned to each of his workers.

  Bill’s only opportunities to advance in life, were to work at the manor, hope his lord released him from the service and move to a nearby town, or marry the daughter of a wealthier farmer who could provide him with land as her dowry. None of which were easy.

  It wasn’t easy to leave the village he had spent his entire life in either, but he felt it was the best choice he could have made. There were other benefits too. Northport only required three days of weekly labor from its peasants, rather than Aunsby’s four. Plus, with the plentiful nearby land, the plots given to the serfs were a little larger.

  Lord Clifford wanted this venture to succeed, so he was eager to try and attract many peasants to the new village. The area was dangerous, so he needed to be sure he got healthy, strong serfs that could perform their duties well and defend themselves if need be. The first few years were difficult, but at least there were plenty of experienced woodcutters in the area who helped with clearing the land of trees. The investment was expensive, but so far it was profitable.

  After eating his measly breakfast, which consisted of porridge, a couple carrots, and a bit of goat cheese, Bill set off towards the manor. Of course, no noble actually lived so far out in the wilderness. Northport was managed by a single magistrate, with the large building serving as his office and guest quarters in case the liege ever decided to visit.

  The serf walked in through the wide open doors and joined a small group of his peers. Ernest, Lord Clifford’s representative here, was already angry, yelling as he assigned tasks to everyone.

  “A new boat is coming by today, but all of the grain is still inside the granary!” the magistrate roared, “he’s not waiting for you, you lazy lot! I want forty bushels out there before noon. And then you’ll load everything else into the storage shed too. Now get to work!”

  The peasants grumbled among themselves, but they were used to his temper by now. Their shifts were staggered, with some of them showing up on different days to ensure a consistent level of work, but they all got to experience his orders. Most of their time was spent in the fields, but now that the harvest was over, Ernest had to come up with different tasks for them to do.

  Bill headed towards the granary and got to work with packing the grain into wooden bins. The rye was already threshed, so the chaff was separated from the seeds. The straw could be used for bedding, feeding, animals, or even burning, but it was too bulky to transport hundreds of miles South. The merchant was coming for the edible parts. At least the surplus that wouldn’t be sold to the frontiersmen.

  The serfs worked for a few hours, but the labor wasn’t constant. Every now and then, somebody left their post to deal with other duties. Their wives and children remained home, working in their own households, but there were some tasks that the men wanted to perform themselves. With the heavy exercise in the granary, they also needed to take breaks and even eat some small meals whenever their stomachs grumbled.

  Bill instead decided to visit the nearby forest along with a few others. Birds chirped overhead, giving everything a cheerful atmosphere. Now that Fall was here, the woods were filled with plenty of edible foods. Mushrooms, berries, and roots grew everywhere, as long as one knew where to look. They were an important part of everyone’s diet and many would be dried or turned into jams that could last through the long winters.

  The forest provided food, but it was also dangerous. Some peasants were more cavalier with their families, but Bill did not like either his wife or any of his children trekking through it. He believed this was a task for men like him.

  He had never seen a monster in person, but he had encountered wolf and even bear tracks plenty of times. The howling always rose the hair on the back of his neck and he knew not to stay out here too late. Even now, as he reached down to cut off a few boletes, he always made sure that at least one of his companions kept an eye out, in case any beastie decided to ambush them.

  At one point, Bill thought that he saw movement out in the distance. He reached for his knife and called out to his friends. Two had even gone ahead and brought axes with them, so it’s not like they were defenseless.

  The men stared at the area he pointed out, but when they saw movement again, they realized it was a small, childlike figure. They visibly relaxed.

  “This better not be you, Russel,” one of the peasants called out, “you know the forest is no place for kids! If I catch you, I’ll give you a threshing you’ll never forget!”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  He left his axe behind and started walking towards the bush that hid the unknown individual. Before he could make it, the stranger ran away.

  “This better not happen again!” the man yelled out his threat as he returned to pick up his axe.

  Despite the small hiccup, the rest of the adventure went without issue. Each of the peasants filled a basket with a sizeable collection of goods, enough to last for a few days at least. Much of it would have to be stored for later, so everybody stopped by their homes, passing the goods to their wives before returning to work.

  As Ernest predicted, the boat docked around noon. The bearded merchant got out and started talking to the magistrate, as the peasants loaded the grain on board. Neither cared about the serfs, which allowed Bill to listen in on some of the conversation.

  “Tell me friend,” Ernest asked as he passed a mug of ale to the trader, “any interesting news from the South?”

  “They say that King Varre’s forces have moved to Amesbury,” the merchant said, as he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, “they’re taking those rumors about goblins very seriously.”

  “Preposterous,” the magistrate scoffed, “even if those miserable creatures got here somehow, the wolves would swallow them whole. This whole thing is a fool’s errand!”

  “Careful friend,” the trader chuckled, “a lesser man than me, might have just assumed you were insulting his majesty.”

  “Very funny,” Ernest couldn’t help but crack smile, “luckily for me, it’s not like you’ve got any witnesses. Who’s gonna take the word of a peasant over mine?”

  “Fair enough,” the merchant agreed, “but you won’t find me complaining. Plenty more mouths to feed down there and they pay a premium too. If you ask me, they can stay as long as they’d like!”

  The serfs spent the first hour unloading everything from the boat. The shipment brought expensive tools and textiles, mostly as ordered by the nearby outposts. The next two were spent loading the vehicle with bushels of grain, along with several packages of cured hides, jars of mead, and even a few baskets of dried herbs.

  Despite their low quantity, the tools and textiles were far more valuable, so the magistrate had to throw in a large handful of silver coins to make the deal worthwhile. The merchant meanwhile sat around, haggling with the local peasants in case anyone had any surplus they wanted to sell while he was in town.

  Bill’s wife was one such person, carrying a basket filled with produce and a few freshly made jams. The harvest was good this year, so the family ended up with more than enough food to make it through the winter. Rather than waste it, it was better to sell it to the trader for a few silver thalars. Much of which came from Ernest just minutes before.

  Once the boat left, the peasants had to carry the delivered goods back towards the manor. Since most of them were ordered by the nearby outposts, they would be stored in the manor, until the customers came to pick them up. After that, the serfs’ duties for the day were over and the men returned home.

  Their families greeted them with warm meals, often consisting of stews. The workers deserved something more filling after a hard day’s of work. The village grew it’s own chickens, goats, and even a few pigs. Hunting was forbidden without Lord Clifford’s explicit permission, so it was a realm reserved for the free men living out in the wilderness who could pay for the privilege.

  After dinner the peasants were free to act as they wished. It was still light out, but the wolves were beginning to stir. It was too dangerous to go into the forest looking for wood, or more edible goods again. Instead, they either focused on repairs around their home, or met with their neighbors.

  Bill watched as one of the other men chastised his son, Russel, for ignoring his orders. The boy was known for sneaking out into the forest, so no matter how much he swore up and down that he stayed home today, no one believed him.

  The evening was peaceful and eventually the men retired to their huts. Bill noticed that the birds chirping had disappeared. It often meant there was a storm coming, but the sky appeared clear. Still, in the foothills, it was common for the weather to change rapidly. The animals knew better than he did. Just in case, he made sure to latch all of the window shutters around the house.

  The whole village went to sleep, until the loud barking of dogs woke everyone up. The animals were vital to the safety of the settlement. Wolves tended to stay away from people, but if something decided to approach, the dogs would be able to warn the inhabitants in advance.

  Bill sat up immediately. He put a reassuring arm on his wife’s shoulder and picked up an axe. Sometimes, the hounds liked to talk to each other, or whine if they were filling sick, but this sound was different. Something was out there. Something that scared the animals.

  After a moment, the first of the dog went quiet. Then the second, began to mewl in pain. Then a third. Within less than a minute, the whole village turned silent. A terrible, dangerous sign.

  His children started crying out, realizing that something was wrong, so he tried to quiet them with a gesture. Bill had no time to deal with this. He left that for his wife, while he rushed towards the door and checked what was happening outside.

  The whole village was surprisingly well lit. Fires came from every direction, bathing the huts in a warm glow. He had to rub his eyes to realize what was going on, before he noticed crowds of people standing just outside of the settlement.

  They brought hundreds of torches, as if trying to surround the village with a wall of fire. Then, as one, the whole crowd started marching forward. The loop was closing.

  More of Northport’s peasants began to wake up. The men popped open their doors and walked outside, staring curiously at the approaching strangers. It didn’t look friendly, but no one knew what to do. No one had ever seen crowds as large as this one. The locals were so shocked, they didn’t even question the small size of these mysterious invaders.

  They marched at a relentless pace, covering their entire bodies with large, wooden shields. They approached from all directions. It was only a matter of time until all of their forces met in the center of the village, flooding every available inch of space.

  Robb, one of the peasants who lived in the furthest house, decided to act first.

  “Stop right there!” he called out, as he walked out into the middle of the street, “who are you?!” He was prepared to stop the strangers with his own body if needed. He gave them plenty of time to comply, but when it became clear that he was ignored, he had to ramp up the threat.

  The serf stepped forward and tried to smash his axe into the first shield he could reach. Everyone heard the loud thunk as the metal hit the planks, but there was no effect. The weapon became stuck, and the formation quickly opened.

  Several small creatures poured out and threw ropes around the confused peasant. Robb panicked and tried to throw them off, but there were simply too many. They pulled him down to the ground and he soon disappeared as the formation continued walking forward, over his twisting body.

  The men of Northport finally realized the nature of this threat. Goblins had come to their village.

  A few brave serfs tried to charge forward, but it was hopeless. They could not rescue their friend. The enemy brought hundreds of troops and could easily push the defenders back, no matter how much they pretended to stand their ground.

  The peasants tried to change their tactics instead. They instinctively stuck together, and occasionally stepped forward to attack, trying to break down the enemy’s shields. But this was dangerous. While the goblins preferred to take the humans alive, they clearly didn’t have to.

  When a powerful hit from one of the defenders broke one of the shields, the invaders reacted instantly. The nearby warriors quickly charged forward, piercing the serf with several spears. They were crude weapons, but it didn’t take much to break through a simple linen shirt.

  Soon, the village turned to chaos. The onslaught was unstoppable and the men began to retreat into their homes. Cries of women and children rang out as goblins broke inside the first huts, kidnapping or killing whoever they could.

  Bill tried to do the same. He closed the door and tried to hold it shut with any furniture he could reach. His wife ran around the house, panicking and trying to usher all of the children into the bedroom, as far away from the entrance as she could.

  Soon, loud knocks rang out, as the enemies tried to break inside. The barricade held, at least for now. The goblins were numerous and coordinated, but they lacked the strength to get in. The peasant breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped back, thanking every god he could think of that he had enough heavy objects nearby.

  His celebrations were premature. A loud noise erupted from the bedroom and he rushed inside.

  The door was fortified, but the invaders could simply use the window instead. They ripped the shutters out and started climbing inside through the narrow opening.

  His family wasn’t going down without a fight. The wife started kicking at the first goblins she could see, keeping him away from the youngest children. The older boys, almost teenagers by now, used makeshift weapons instead. One grabbed a nearby stool, while the other reached for a broom. They tried to defend their home, but that only made things worse.

  One of the goblins, infuriated after getting hit in the head with a chair, decided to counterattack. He stabbed forward, piercing the boy’s stomach.

  Bill roared as he grabbed the axe in both hands. He rushed forward, uncaring that the front door was already breaking down, and he threw himself into the midst of battle.

  The goblins were surprised by this sudden flank attack and they couldn’t reposition in time. They abandoned their shields to climb inside, so they could do little as the axe cut into their flesh.

  The peasant killed the bastard who wounded his son and managed to get one more, before a spear pierced him in return. Then came another. And then three more. He collapsed to the ground, groaning, as debilitating pain spread throughout his body.

  He understood there was no more hope for him. He tried to reach towards his family, desperate to save them as a whole army of goblins started pouring into the room. He was too weak. He was forced to watch, bleeding out as the invaders captured everyone inside and left him to his fate.

  In a last ditch attempt, he tried to push himself up, but that only brought the enemies’ attention back to him. A sneering invader came closer and stabbed down, aiming straight for the man’s neck.

  In his final act, Bill shut his eyes, hoping that everything was just a bad dream. Unfortunately, it was not. He never opened them again.

  Within minutes, all of the villagers were either dead, or captured and taken away. Even if anyone survived and hid indoors, the goblins made sure to set everything on fire. Northport was lost.

  The peasants toil for their lord and have to care for themselves.

  How will Varre react to these revelations?