Image Copyright Harvey Taylor 2024

Traditional Perfidian Stories, many recovered from School Books

These stories are mainly moral tales designed to teach school children something of Kentomirto's philosophy, or fictionalised incidents from Perfidian history.

THE STORY OF THE LANTERN KEEPER

In a small, often misty village near the mouth of the Danfel river, there lived a Lantern Keeper named Weija. Her job was to maintain the lanterns along the riverbank each night, ensuring they stayed lit to guide the boats safely through the fog. Weija lived a simple life, tending to the flames with steady hands and a quiet mind.

One evening, a stranger arrived in the village, a wealthy merchant from the far city of Danfelgor. Seeing Weija tending to the lanterns, the merchant sneered and said, “Why do you waste your time with these small tasks? If you were like me, wealthy and powerful, you would not need to serve others.”

Weija, wiping soot from her hands, calmly replied, “And what do you serve?”

The merchant laughed. “I serve myself. I’ve made my fortune and gained control over my life. I bow to no one.”

Weija looked out at the flickering lights along the river. “Do you believe you have control?”

“Of course!” the merchant said proudly. “I have men to serve me, ships to carry my goods. The world bends to my will.”

Weija nodded thoughtfully but said nothing. That night, at first a fog rolled in, and then a fierce storm followed it. The merchant’s ships, caught in the violent winds and blinded by the fog, crashed upon the rocks - his wealth and goods were lost to the river. Furious, the merchant returned to Weija, drenched and trembling with rage.

“Why didn’t you stop it? You knew the storm was coming!” the merchant shouted. “You could have saved my ships, lit more lanterns, warned me!”

Weija, sitting by the riverbank with his lantern, quietly answered, “I tend to what I can control. The rest I let flow.”

The merchant’s anger flared. “So you do nothing? You just accept this? That’s madness!”

Weija looked into the flickering flame of her lantern and said, “There is peace in accepting what cannot be controlled. I light the lanterns to guide those who seek the way, but I cannot force the river to calm, nor the fog to lift. The world does not bend to anyone’s will. Not yours, not mine.”

The merchant stared at her in disbelief, his mind racing, still clinging to the idea that the world should obey his desires. But as the storm raged on, something in Weija’s words began to settle him and exhausted, he sat beside the Lantern Keeper, watching the lights flicker against the darkened sky.

For the first time, he noticed the rhythm of the river, the way it moved regardless of the storm. He saw the steady glow of the lanterns, untouched by the merchant’s wealth or power, simply existing for those who needed them.

In the quiet that eventually followed the storm, the merchant turned to Weija. “Perhaps the world doesn’t bend, but we can guide others through it,” he said softly.

Weija smiled, her eyes still on the lanterns. “Perhaps.”

The Queen’s Ring and the River Nymph

The Danfel river that flowed through the village of the Lantern Keeper was ancient, older than the stones that formed the village walls. It wound through forests, past mountains, and into the kingdom of Danfelgor which was ruled by a wise and kind Gorak, whose queen was named Aira. The Gorak had inherited the kingdom from his father, a king known for his conquests and riches. But he and Queen Aira valued peace and harmony over power, and under their reign, the kingdom had flourished.

Among Queen Aria’s most treasured possessions was a ring—passed down through generations—which held a rare emerald. Legend had it that the ring symbolised the spirit of the river itself, blessing the kingdom with prosperity and Aira wore it every day as a token of the bond between her people and the river.

One day, while walking alone along the bank of the Danfel, Queen Aira removed the ring to dip her hands in the cool water. As she leaned forward, the ring slipped from her fingers and disappeared beneath the surface. She gasped, her heart sinking as the current swallowed the precious jewel. Desperate, she waded into the water, searching frantically, but the river seemed to pull it deeper into its depths, as if reclaiming what was always meant to be its own.

Distraught, Aira returned to her palace and summoned her council. “The ring is lost to the river,” she told them. “Without it, our bond with the waters is broken. We must find it, or the kingdom may fall into misfortune.”

Her advisors suggested divers, magicians, and even enlisting the help of creatures from other realms. But an old woman, the palace’s historian, stepped forward and spoke softly, “Your Majesty, there is one who might know where the ring is—Ziana, the nymph of the river.”

The queen had heard legends of Ziana, the water nymph said to live within the river, but no human had seen her in generations. The legends said that she knew the river’s secrets better than anyone.

With no time to waste, Queen Aira set out alone the next dawn, following the river upstream, and after hours of walking, she reached a serene pool where the river widened and the trees grew dense, their branches hanging low over the water. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Aira called out into the twilight.

“Ziana, spirit of the river, I come to ask for your aid.”

The river shimmered under the fading light, and from beneath the water, a pale, graceful figure emerged. Ziana, the nymph, rose from the pool with long, flowing hair like reeds, her eyes the colour of the deep water. She regarded the queen with a calm but knowing gaze.

“You seek the ring,” Ziana said, her voice like the sound of water rushing over stones.

“Yes,” Aira said, bowing her head. “It is a symbol of my kingdom’s bond with the river. Without it, we fear misfortune.”

Ziana tilted her head. “The ring has returned to its rightful place. The river has held it long before your people came.”

Aira’s heart sank. “Then you will not help me recover it?”

The river maiden considered for a moment, her eyes lingering on the queen’s hands, which were calloused, not softened by luxury. “I will help you, Queen, but first you must understand the nature of what you seek. The river is not a thing to be possessed. It flows freely, and in that freedom lies its power.”

Just then, a great heron appeared, landing gracefully on the shore beside them. Its long bill dipped into the water, and with a swift movement, it pulled a single fish from the river. Ziana gestured toward the heron. “The river provides for those who respect its ways. The ring might return to you, but only if you understand that you do not command the river—it gives, or does not give, of its own will.”

Aira watched the heron in silence, understanding slowly. The river was not something she could control - it was a force of its own, and her role as queen was to guide her people in harmony with it, not to possess its power.

Ziana smiled faintly, sensing the change in Aira’s heart. “Come to the river tomorrow at dawn and the heron will guide you”

The next morning, Queen Aira returned to the riverbank as instructed. The heron was waiting, standing tall and still in the hazy sunlight. It spread its great wings and took flight, flying low over the river’s surface. Aira followed it, her steps steady, her mind clear, and after a short distance, the heron landed on a rock in the middle of the river - there, glinting beneath the water, was the queen’s ring, nestled among the stones.

Wading into the river, Aira reached into the water, but was unable to retrieve the ring, as the current swept it away once more.

As she stood, the heron flew off into the sky, disappearing into the clouds.

Queen Aira sat on the bank, and after a while she smiled - although she had not retrieved the ring, she had come to understand the wisdom of letting go.

The Huntsman and the White Deer

In the kingdom of Danfelgor, just beyond the river’s edge, there was a vast forest, so dense and ancient that few dared to venture deep into its heart. The villagers spoke of strange creatures and ancient spirits that guarded the forest, warning travellers to stay clear, but to the huntsman Roan, such tales were just whispers meant to frighten children. Roan was a man of skill and bravery, and no forest—no matter how old or vast—could make him turn back.

One crisp autumn morning, a forester told Roan that a white deer had been seen in the deepest part of the forest. The forester claimed it was a magical creature that could only be hunted by those brave enough to enter the forbidden woods. So, driven by pride and a desire to claim the legendary creature as a trophy, Roan set off into the forest with his bow.

The deeper into the forest that Roan ventured, the thicker the trees grew, their branches twisting overhead to block out the sky. He followed faint tracks, hoping they would lead him to his prize. Hours passed, but there was no sign of the white deer. The forest began to change around him, the air growing cooler, the trees older and more gnarled, yet Roan pushed on, determined not to turn back.

Just as dusk began to fall, Roan heard a sound—a soft rustle in the underbrush. He crouched low, his eyes scanning the trees, and there, through the shadows, he caught sight of the white deer. Its coat gleamed in the fading light, and its antlers were like branches dipped in moonlight. Roan’s breath caught in his throat as he slowly drew his bow. Before he could release the arrow, a small white bird fluttered down from the canopy above, landing on the branch of a tree nearby. The bird chirped, and its tiny voice seemed to echo through the forest like a warning. The deer lifted its head and locked eyes with Roan and for a moment, time stood still. Then, as swiftly as it had appeared, the deer leapt away into the deeper woods - Roan cursed under his breath and rushed after it. He chased the creature through thickets and over streams, his heart pounding as the white bird followed overhead, its voice growing louder and more insistent.

Night had fallen by the time Roan realised he was lost. The tracks of the deer had vanished, and the forest now seemed alive with shadows and whispers. The white bird flitted from tree to tree, still watching him, as if urging him to cease. But Roan was stubborn and would not leave without his prize. Suddenly, the forest grew silent as the air around Roan thickened, and from the darkness ahead, something stirred - a great shape, ancient and fearsome, emerged from the shadows. It was Cerna, the spirit of the forest, taller than any man, with huge antlers and eyes that glowed like embers. His voice rumbled like the earth itself as he roared like a stag in rut.

“Why do you trespass in my realm?” Cerna asked, his gaze piercing through Roan. The huntsman, though brave, felt his legs tremble, but he straightened himself, trying to hold his ground. “I came to hunt the white deer. I did not mean to trespass, but now I seek to leave this place.”

The forest spirit’s eyes narrowed. “The deer you seek is not to be hunted - it is a guardian of the forest, a creature bound to the land. Those who seek to harm it harm the balance of all things.”

Roan felt the weight of Cerna’s words, but he could not admit defeat. “I meant no harm to the forest,” he insisted. “Only to prove my skill.”

Cerna’s voice grew deeper, like the roots of the earth pulling him down. “In your pride, you have forgotten your place, huntsman. You believe you can bend nature to your will, but you are a part of it, not its master. Now you are lost, not because of the forest, but because of your own heart.”

Roan lowered his bow. “If I am lost, then guide me. Show me the way out, and I will leave the forest in peace.”

Cerna loomed over him, considering his words. “There is a way,” it said, “but it is not the path you think. You must follow the white bird. It will guide you, not where you want to go, but where you need to be.”

With that, the forest spirit lowered his huge head, tossed his antlers and snorted, melting back into the shadows and the trees. Roan stood alone in the dark, the forest still and quiet - above him, the little white bird chirped, its eyes reflecting the moonlight. Reluctantly, Roan followed.

The bird led him not through familiar trails, but deeper into the heart of the forest, past ancient trees and forgotten ruins, until they reached a clearing bathed in moonlight. And there, standing in the centre of the clearing, was the white deer. Now, however, Roan did not see a prize to be hunted but a creature of the forest, a part of the same world he lived in. The bird fluttered to the ground beside the deer, softly chirping. Roan knelt, laying his bow and arrow on the ground. “I understand,” he whispered. “I have no claim to this forest, nor to you.” 

The deer stepped forward, its great eyes meeting his once more. Then, with a gentle nod, it turned and disappeared into the trees, the white bird following close behind. Roan remained in the clearing for a moment, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He rose, knowing the forest spirit had given him more than just a way out. The next morning, Roan emerged from the forest - although he never spoke of the white deer, nor of Cerna or the bird, those who knew him saw that he had returned a changed man.

The Princess and the Mouse

A traditional story of the Court of Gorak Baldan

Muenli, the Princess' mouse is a great favourite of children, who are often given figures of Muenli as toys.

In the royal palace of Danfelgor, during the reign of Gorak Baldan, his daughter Princess Pellae  had a pet mouse, Muenli, who was her trusted friend and confidant. Swift and small with alert, black eyes, Muenli knew every crevice, corner, and corridor of the palace. No secret stayed hidden for long from Muenli’s inquisitive nose, and whatever she discovered was soon shared with the Princess.

One chilly evening, Pellae nestled Muenli in her lap beside the hearth and listened as she told her of a gathering she’d witnessed. “There’s been whispering among some of the nobles,” she squeaked. “A faction around Lord Tandrel and Lady Ismira met in the West Hall, speaking of taking estates from the merchants.”

“Really?” Pellae’s brow furrowed. Lord Tandrel was known for his ambition, but Lady Ismira had always been loyal to her family and the crown. The thought of any hidden dealings unsettled her. “What else did you hear, my dear?”

Muenli wiggled her nose and continued, “They mentioned the next council meeting. Tandrel is planning to push through a grand remonstrance, leading to a requisition of land from the merchants’ country estates, ostensibly in lieu of outstanding taxes, and in the name of the crown, but of course he aims to keep part of it for himself.”

Pellae bit her lip, fearing this would cause great discord in Danfelgor and unrest amongst the merchants, which could lead to open disorder. Most of the elite oligarchs amongst the merchants retained their own militias to guard their estates, so armed conflict was all but certain. Also, it was difficult to predict how popular opinion would react - would the citizens support the nobles or the merchants?

Muenli was the Princess’ most loyal confidant, so she had no hesitation in acting upon her findings. So it was that next morning, she asked Muenli to listen to more conversations amongst those who tended to support Tandrel. Muenli, who loved the Princess more than anything in the world, set off eagerly, darting through shadows, concealing herself behind curtains, and slipping under tables where the nobles gathered for their meals.

Over the days that followed, Muenli reported discrete plotting. Tandrel had gathered support, and he was recruiting guards officers to join him in requisitioning land and houses - they had, of course, been promised great rewards. Pellae, armed with Muenli’s information, quickly decided upon a plan - on the day of the next council meeting, the Princess swept uninvited and unannounced into the chamber in her full regalia and with an even greater air of authority than usual, surprising Tandrel and his allies. She confronted them with Muenli’s discoveries, though she attributed them to her own intuition. Tandrel’s face turned white as he realised how far ahead of him she was.

He had no idea how she had obtained such knowledge of his plan, but decided to cut his losses. Fearing that the Princess’s intervention would lead to exposure of his intentions, he kneeled and declared his undying loyalty to the crown and to her personally. Pellae instructed him to repair to his own estate, and await her pleasure.

"I advise you, Lord Tandrel, to take more interest in farming your estates, and perhaps do some hunting and fishing. To the rest of you, understand that all estates of the realm - The Crown, nobles, merchants, craftspeople and the common folk - must work together to ensure harmony in the Baldanfelgorvik. Any further attempts to disrupt society will have serious consequences. I hope you all understand." And with that, she turned abruptly and left the chamber.

That evening, Pellae rewarded Muenli with her favourite seeds and praised her as her best councillor and a champion of the truth. Muenli squeaked with pride, nestled once again in Pellae’s lap, knowing that her sharp eyes and ears had maintained order in the kingdom —sometimes the smallest allies are able to render the greatest service.

The Innocent Traveller in Danfelgor

In a small village near the great Danfel  river, there lived a young man named Kian. He was known for his kindness, open heart, and a curiosity about the world beyond the forests and fields he had grown up in. The stories of Danfelgor, the great city of stones—a place where merchants from far-off lands gathered, where palaces reached the sky, and where life pulsed with energy—had always fascinated him. One day, Kian’s desire to see this city could no longer be contained, and with his parents’ blessing, he set off to seek his fortune.

The journey was long, and by the time Kian arrived, the sun was setting. He marvelled at the towering buildings, the endless market stalls, and the river of people flowing through the streets. The city buzzed with life in a way he had never known.

But soon, Kian found himself overwhelmed. Everywhere he turned, there were unfamiliar sights and sounds. People spoke quickly, moving with purpose, their eyes darting from one task to another. He wandered the streets, clutching his small bag of coins, unsure where to go or who to trust.

As night fell, Kian approached an inn that seemed welcoming enough, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. A man outside smiled at him. “You look lost, young traveller,” the man said warmly. “Let me help you find a place to stay.”

Kian, relieved by the friendly offer, followed the man inside. The innkeeper greeted them both with a nod, and the man introduced himself as Darik, a merchant who often helped new travellers settle in. “You’ll be safe here for the night,” Darik said, his eyes glinting.

Grateful for the assistance, Kian handed over a small handful of coins for the room. But as he lay down that night, exhausted from his travels, he didn’t notice Darik slipping back into the inn, speaking quietly with the innkeeper.

The next morning, Kian awoke to find his purse of coins gone, stolen in the night. He rushed downstairs in a panic, but the innkeeper shrugged. “Thieves are common in the city, boy. You should’ve kept a closer eye on your things.”

Kian was devastated. With no money and no way to return home, he wandered the streets, trying to make sense of what had happened. For the first time, the city that had seemed so full of opportunity felt like a maze of shadows.

As he wandered, Kian came across a small stall run by an old woman selling bread and tea. Seeing the troubled look on his face, she called out to him. “Come and sit down. You look like you’ve lost more than just your way.”

Kian hesitated but then went over to the stall, sitting on a low stool. He told the woman how he had come to the city with hope but had been tricked and robbed on his first night. The woman listened quietly, her hands moving steadily as she poured him a cup of tea.

“You’re not the first to be fooled by Darik,” she said softly. “He’s known to prey on newcomers, but the city isn’t all bad - there are still good people here.”

Kian sipped the tea, feeling the warmth spread through him, and a sense of calm returned.

“Take this,” the woman said, offering him a piece of bread. “And go to the market square. There’s a man there who might help you. His name is Leo - he runs a stall and he has a good heart. Tell him I sent you.”

With the woman’s kindness giving him a glimmer of hope, Kian made his way to the market square. Danfelgor pulsed with energy, but finally, he found the stall—a modest place filled with carved wooden animals, strange stones, and silver bracelets that glittered in the sun. A man with greying hair and kind eyes stood behind it, talking with a customer.

When the man noticed Kian, he smiled. “What brings you here, young man?”

Kian introduced himself and explained his plight, mentioning the old woman from the tea stall. Leor nodded, almost as if he had expected him. “Ah, old Sera can always tell when someone is in need.”

Leor listened to Kian’s story, shaking his head when he heard of Darik’s trickery. “The city can be cruel but not everyone here is out to take advantage of you. Some of us have simply learned how to live among the wolves.”

Leor offered Kian a place to stay in his modest home above the shop. “You won't get rich here, but I can offer you steady work and a bed to sleep in for a while until you find your feet.”

Over the next few weeks, Kian worked at Leor’s stall, learning how to trade and haggle - he grew sharper but also kept hold of the kindness that had marked him out. In time, Kian also found friends in the market who recognized his honesty and good nature.

One day, as Kian was helping a customer, he saw Darik passing through the square, his sharp eyes darting left and right on the lookout for another target. This time, though, Kian didn’t feel anger. Instead, he simply watched the man move through the crowd, his life a constant dance of trickery and deceit.

And Kian felt Darik's emptiness.

Leor, noticing Kian’s gaze, placed a hand on his shoulder. 

The Farmer, the Soldier, and the Innkeeper

Winter came early that year, fiercer and colder than anyone could remember. The rivers had frozen solid, the wind whipped through the trees, and the fields were buried under thick snow. In the village by the Danfel river, food had become scarce, and many feared the worst as supplies dwindled. On the outskirts of the village lived a farmer named Bram - a hardworking man who had always trusted the land to provide, but now his barn was nearly empty. Every day, he ventured out into the cold, hoping to find something to forage, but the land seemed as barren as the sky was grey. One evening, as the wind cut through the village, a knock came at Bram’s door. Opening it, he found a man in a soldier’s cloak, his face gaunt and pale from the cold. The man introduced himself as Orin, a soldier returning from a distant war. He had been travelling for days with little food and no shelter, and the cold had nearly defeated him.

“Please, sir,” Orin said, his breath visible in the frigid air. “Could you spare a bit of food, or even just a place by the fire. The roads are treacherous, and I have nowhere to go. I can pay.”

Bram looked at the soldier, seeing the fatigue and hunger in his eyes. Bram had little to spare, but he couldn’t turn away someone in such need. He told Orin to come inside, offering him some of his bread and a bowl of soup.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Bram said, though he was worried about how long his own supplies would last.

As the two men sat by the fire, Orin spoke of battles he had fought, comrades he had lost, and hardships he had endured trying to get back home. Bram listened quietly, grateful for the company despite his concerns.

The next morning, the two men rose early - the cold was as unforgiving as ever. With little food left, Bram suggested they go to the village inn and together, they trudged through the snow, their breath freezing in the air as they walked. When they reached the inn, they found the door barely open, a sign of how difficult the winter had become for everyone. Inside, they were greeted by the innkeeper, a stout woman named Elina, whose inn was now as quiet as the snowy landscape outside. There were few travellers now, and fewer still who could afford the price of a meal.

“I don’t know how much help I can be,” Elina said, her voice heavy with worry. “The winter has left us all hungry. But come in, and I’ll see what I can do.”

She led them to a table near the fire and went to the kitchen. When she returned, she brought out a small plate of bread and some vegetable stew, which was all she could offer. They all sat in silence for a moment, Winter pressing down on them.

“There’s so little to go around,” Elina sighed. “We're all suffering, but - I don't know - perhaps if we help each other we can make it through.”

Bram nodded, looking at the bread and stew. “I have only a little left at my farm - maybe we can share what we have and get through till Spring.”

Orin, the soldier, leaned forward. “I learned in the war that it is not just your weapons or strength that keep you alive, but the bonds you form with others. Soldiers that don't look out for each other soon die.”

Elina agreed. “I have a small store of potatoes, vegetables, flour and some dried herbs. It’s not much, but if we can gather more from the village, perhaps we can feed everyone for a few days.”

The three of them decided to go from door to door, asking the other villagers to contribute whatever they could spare— a handful of grain, a few root vegetables, or even just firewood. At first, many villagers were fearful of parting with their meagre stores, but when they saw the determination in Bram’s, Orin’s, and Elina’s eyes, they began to offer what they had. Some, however, refused to contribute, saying they had nothing to give. Orin said that only those who had given something should be invited to the communal meal that evening, but Elina over-ruled him, and told everyone to come to the inn later that day. That evening, they had collected enough for a simple supper, and the inn was filled with the smell of warm bread, and stew cooking in a large pot over the fire. Villagers arrived in dribs and drabs, their hands and faces pale from the cold.

That night, the villagers shared bowls of hot stew and warm bread. It wasn’t a feast by any standards, but in the depths of  that Winter, it felt like a banquet, and there was still some ale, which they mulled and drank hot. Laughter and conversation began to fill the inn, and there was warmth not just from the fire and the mulled ale, but from the lifted spirit of the people. As evening drew on, Orin, the soldier, stood and addressed the room. “I have never fought a harder battle than this winter, but our strength lies not in any one of us alone, but in the hearts of us all. Together, we can survive this.” 

The villagers raised their mugs in agreement and Bram smiled, feeling his earlier fears lifting. Though the winter was far from over, they had found a way to endure it, through the simple act of coming together.

As the villagers gradually left and the fire burned low, Bram, Orin, and Elina sat together, grateful for the friendship they had found in the harshest of times. Outside, the snow still fell and the wind still blew, but the next time they went around the village collecting for a communal meal, everyone found something to give, even those who had previously said that they had nothing.

Just as Elina knew they would.

The Tale of the Wandering Seer and the Starless Night

In the highlands far beyond the river, the forest, and the steppes of the nomadic tribes, there lay a region known as the Shattered Peaks. The mountains there rose jagged and sharp, and few could live there, save for clans of shepherds and hunters, who were as tough as the land they inhabited. Sometimes the mountain people spoke about the peaks’ deeper mysteries, for it was said that the spirits roamed the heights, and that the sky itself held secrets that mortal eyes could never fully see. In this region, there was an old man known as Kyros the Seer, who travelled from village to village, rarely staying long. His eyes were clouded by age but bright with insight, as if Kyros could see beyond the veil of this world, into the past and future, and into realms hidden to ordinary mortals. His visions were cryptic and not always well understood by the villagers.

One  late autumn night, when the winds cut through the mountain passes and the moon lay behind heavy clouds, Kyros arrived in a small village called Varak’s Rest, which sat upon a rocky ledge, overlooking a deep gorge. The people of Varak’s Rest were known for their resilience, but that year had tested them like never before. Crops had failed, the mountain springs had dried up, and wolves prowled closer to the village than ever before in living memory. Kyros was welcomed into the village chief’s home, a sturdy stone hut warmed by a single hearth. The chief, a middle-aged woman named Tevana, offered him food and drink, though her own stores were low.

“We are honoured by your visit, Seer,” Tevana said, her voice low with worry. “But I must ask—why have you come to us now, when the nights grow long and the winds cut us deeply ?”

Kyros sat by the fire, his hands folded in his lap, his face unreadable. “The spirits speak when they choose, not when we ask,” he said softly. “But I have seen something stirring in the mountains, something old and forgotten.”

Tevana’s brow furrowed. “We have enough troubles without worrying about ancient things. Food is scarce, and we’ve lost much to the wolves this season.”

Kyros nodded, understanding her fear. “I know your struggles. But I do not speak of wolves or hunger. There is a greater danger, one that comes not from beasts or the land, but from the sky itself. Have you noticed the stars, Tevana?”

Tevana glanced outside, through a small window that faced the dark night. “The stars are as they have always been,” she said, though perhaps a little uncertainly.

“No,” Kyros said. “Look closer. There is a space where the stars have vanished, a void where light no longer shines.”

Tevana had heard the old legends of starless nights—nights when the gods withdrew their light from the world, and calamities followed. But surely such tales were just fables.

Kyros continued, his voice like the wind through dry grass. “A great shadow stirs in the Shattered Peaks. Long ago, a god was cast down from the heavens—an ancient power that Vazendafur the Storm Father himself imprisoned. The sky no longer watches that place, and the spirit of this god stirs once more.”

Tevana stared at him, disbelief combining with fear in her chest. “And what does this mean for us?”

“The sky is turning its face away,” Kyros replied. “This village stands near the heart of that darkness. If nothing is done, the shadow will grow, and not just wolves, but spirits far worse will come to claim what remains of these lands.”

Tevana stood, her fists clenched. “What can we do, Seer? We are not warriors like the steppe tribes. We are not shaman who speak with gods. We are just shepherds trying to survive in the mountains.”

“You are more than you believe,” Kyros said. “But the path ahead will not be easy. You must journey into the Shattered Peaks and confront the god that stirs there. If you will not, then who? For the ancient gods do not heed warriors alone. They listen to those who seek balance and protect the earth.”

At this, Tevana felt her village’s fate settle on her shoulders, so she gathered her closest friends—Kalar, a swift-footed hunter who knew the mountains well, and Merren, the village healer whose wisdom was as deep as the mountain gorges—and together, they agreed to venture into the Shattered Peaks. The journey was harsh. Snow began to fall, and the winds were icy as they climbed higher into the mountains. The void in the sky seemed to grow larger, swallowing ever more stars, as if the world was shrinking around them, leaving only darkness. After a whole day's climbing, they came to a forgotten temple carved into the side of the highest peak. The temple was ancient, covered in frost and ivy, its walls adorned with the faded images of forgotten gods. As they entered, they felt a dark presence—something vast and primeval, watching from the shadows. Kyros had told them to bring no weapons, for this was not a battle to be fought with steel. Instead, they carried offerings—herbs from Merren’s garden, bones from the wolves Kalar had hunted, and dried flowers from the last spring.

In the heart of the temple, they found an altar, cold and dark. Above it, a chasm in the roof opened to the starless sky. A voice, deep and echoing, filled the chamber.

“You dare approach me?” the voice rumbled. “The god who was cast down, the one forgotten by time?”

Tevana stepped forward, her heart pounding. “We come not to challenge you, but to restore balance - your anger clouds the sky and our people suffer.”

The god’s voice shook the temple. “You speak of suffering! What of my suffering? I was cast down by Vazendafur, stripped of power. But I have not forgotten - I will rise again, and all will remember me!”

Merren, calm in the face of such fury, placed the offerings on the altar. “We do not seek to deny you your place in the world,” she said softly. “But the world is changing, and we ask for your peace, not your wrath. Accept these gifts, and let the sky return.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The god, unseen but vast, seemed to hesitate. “You offer me these… trinkets?”

“They are the last of what we have,” Kalar said, stepping forward. “They are all that remains of our strength. And we offer them freely.”

The wind blasted through the temple, and for a long moment, it seemed the darkness would consume them all. But then, the voice of the god softened, if only slightly.

“Your courage is worthy,” the god said. “I will not rise this night. I will sleep again, but my rage and my hunger will return one day. You have earned a reprieve, not a victory.”

The air lightened, and slowly, the stars began to return to the sky as the god’s presence faded, leaving behind only the echo of his words.

Tevana, Kalar, and Merren left the temple in silence, the weight of what they had faced still heavy on them. They had not defeated the god, but they had restored the balance for a time and the village of Varak’s Rest would live to see another season, and perhaps more.

As they descended from the Shattered Peaks, Tevana glanced up at the night sky. The stars had returned, but she knew the shadow would never be completely gone.

The Day of Bells and Shadows

The Day of Bells was the most anticipated annual celebration in the great city of Danfelgor. On this day, the marketplace transformed into a festival of colour and sound, where traders from distant lands, farmers from the surrounding countryside, and townsfolk gathered to celebrate the prosperity of the city. Streamers of bright cloth criss crossed above the market stalls, and the air buzzed with music, laughter, and the ringing of bells that gave the day its name. The bells were everywhere: small brass bells hung from the tavern doors, silver ones around the necks of children, and large, bronze ones pealing from the towers of the temples. Each ring echoed through the streets, reminding the people of the city’s wealth and the gods’ blessings for another successful year. It was a day of feasting, dancing, and commerce, when even the poorest could afford a small treat and the wealthiest showed off their finest clothes.

But amid the festivities, there were shadows — pickpockets weaving through the crowd, taking advantage of the chaos, and those with ill intentions lurking in the alleys. And in the market square sat the city’s great philosopher, Master Kentomirto, with his students gathered around him, discussing life, virtue, and the fleeting nature of fortune, as was his way.

Among the crowd that day were two young people from very different walks of life - Sorren, a young farmhand who had travelled to Danfelgor with his family from the countryside, and Nira, a skilled pickpocket who had spent most of her life in the alleys and shadowy corners of the city. Though their lives had never crossed before, this day would bring them together in a way neither expected.

Sorren had never seen such a sight as the Day of Bells and his eyes were full of wonder as he and his younger sister, Lissa, wandered through the market, marvelling at the market stalls, food, and music. Lissa tugged at his hand, pointing to the performers juggling flaming torches and the stalls selling honey cakes and sweet rolls.

“Can we get one, Sorren? Just one!” she pleaded, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Sorren smiled and pulled a small coin pouch from his belt. It wasn’t much—just the few coppers he had saved from months of work—but it was enough to let them enjoy the day. He handed a few coins to the baker and received two small honey cakes in return, one for each of them. As they moved deeper into the market, the noise and crowd thickened around them. Unbeknown to Sorren, a pair of sharp eyes had been watching him closely. Nira, quick and quiet as a shadow, had been working the market all morning. The Day of Bells was her favourite day—not for the festivities, but for the opportunities it brought. Amidst the joy and noise, people were careless, and purses were ripe for the taking. Her fingers itched for the coins she had seen Sorren pull from his pouch, and without hesitation, she began to follow him.

Sorren, completely unaware, stopped near Master Kentomirto’s platform, drawn in by the philosopher’s deep voice as he lectured his students on the nature of fortune.

“Fortune,” Kentomirto said, “is like the bell you hear ringing. Today, it rings bright and clear, and tomorrow it may be silent. Do not mistake fortune for virtue, for one is fleeting, and the other is eternal.”

The crowd murmured in agreement, though some listened more closely than others. Sorren, fascinated by the philosopher’s words, barely noticed as Nira slipped up behind him, her fingers deftly loosening the strings of his coin pouch. In one smooth motion, she had it in her hand and disappeared into the throng of people before Sorren even realised what had happened. But Nira’s luck, like the bells Master Kentomirto spoke of, was not constant. She turned down a narrow alley to inspect her spoils when a sharp voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” The voice belonged to a tall man with a scar across his cheek—a figure well-known in the city’s underworld. His name was Korvan, a thief and thug who fancied himself the ruler of the market’s darker corners.

Nira’s heart sank. She knew Korvan, and she knew his reputation. He stepped out of the shadows, flanked by two of his cronies.

“Hand it over, girl,” Korvan said, holding out his hand expectantly. “It’s a big day for all of us, and you know the rules. You work this market, you pay your share.”

Nira hesitated, her mind racing. The pouch wasn’t heavy, but it was all she had managed to get today, and giving it up meant losing everything she had worked for.

“I didn’t take much,” Nira said, stepping back cautiously. “Just a few coppers, barely worth anything.”

Korvan’s grin widened. “Then it won’t hurt you to share, will it?”

Just as Nira was about to hand over the pouch, a voice called from behind them.

“Excuse me!” It was Sorren, breathless from running through the crowd. He had only just realised his pouch was missing, and by chance, he had caught a glimpse of Nira darting down the alley. His voice was shaky but firm. “That’s… that’s mine.”

Korvan turned, amused, as he saw the young farmhand approach. “And what are you going to do about it, boy?” he sneered.

Sorren swallowed hard, glancing at Nira, then at the intimidating figure of Korvan and his men. He had no weapon, no experience with fighting, but something about the philosopher’s words stuck in his mind.

“I-I don’t want trouble,” Sorren said, raising his hands. “But that's all I have. Please, just let me have it back.”

Korvan laughed, but Nira looked at Sorren’s earnest face, the way he stood despite the fear in his eyes, and something stirred in her—a flicker of shame, maybe, or something deeper. She had lived her whole life by her wits, on her own and trusting no one, taking what she could to get by. But this farmboy who had so little, wasn’t like the well-to-do people she usually targeted. He was just trying to enjoy the Day of Bells with his sister.

Before Korvan could speak again, Nira stepped forward and tossed the coin pouch back to Sorren.

“Here,” she said, her voice low but clear. “Take it.”

Korvan’s grin faltered, and his eyes narrowed. “You’ll regret that, girl,” he growled, stepping closer to Nira. “No one crosses me.”

Before he could lay a hand on her, a loud peal of bells rang out from the market, and the sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the alley. It was the city watch, alerted by a passer-by. Korvan cursed under his breath and motioned to his cronies. “Another time,” he spat, before slipping back into the shadows.

Sorren, still holding the pouch, looked at Nira in surprise. “Why did you…?”

Nira shrugged, trying to seem indifferent, though her heart was still racing. “I don't know,” she muttered, "forget it."

“Well - thank you,” Sorren said quietly.

Nira avoided his gaze, uncomfortable with having done something right for once. “S'alright.”

As the bells continued to ring out, marking the height of the day's festivities, Sorren offered Nira a honey cake.

“For helping me,” he said with a small smile.

Nira hesitated, then took the cake with a nod.

The Tragedy of Lady Alera and Caden, the Smith

This story is perhaps the most famous Perfidian love story. Alera and Caden were as much a byword in Perfidia for doomed lovers as Romeo and Juliet are in our world.

In the high walls of Danfelgor, where the nobles lived in grand estates and the common folk toiled in the city’s sprawling lower quarters, there lived Lady Alera, the daughter of one of the King’s trusted advisors. Lady Alera was known for her beauty, grace, and intelligence, admired by many of the noble lords of the court, but she remained aloof to their advances. Despite the wealth and influence surrounding her, Alera had always longed for something deeper—a love that was genuine and untethered by status or politics.

One day, as Alera ventured out in disguise to observe the bustling market—a habit she kept in secret, away from the eyes of her noble peers—she found herself drawn to a workshop where the sound of hammering rang through the air. Inside, she saw Caden, a broad-shouldered, strong man with arms thick from his work at the forge. His face was handsome, though rugged, and his movements carried a quiet confidence as he shaped the iron with fire and skill.

Alera watched from the shadows as Caden spoke to his apprentices, his voice deep but kind. She felt an unexpected pull in her heart. This was no courtly noble with rehearsed flattery and hollow promises—this was a man whose strength was real, whose toil was honest.

The Forbidden Romance

Over the coming weeks, Alera returned to the lower quarters more frequently, each time finding a reason to pass by Caden’s workshop. One day, she found the courage to speak to him, asking about the intricate metalwork he crafted. Though Caden was humble, his deep brown eyes sparkled with interest as they spoke. Soon, their meetings became more frequent, and what began as polite conversation turned into something far deeper.

Despite the great divide between their worlds, Alera and Caden fell deeply in love. They met in secret, in quiet corners of the city where they would not be seen, whispering words of passion and dreaming of a life together. Alera knew that her father and the other nobles would never approve of such a match, but she cared little for their opinions. For the first time in her life, she felt truly alive.

Caden, though aware of the danger their love posed, could not help himself. He had grown up with little, but he had never sought more than his simple life—until he met Alera. She was everything he had never imagined for himself: noble, radiant, and utterly unattainable, yet somehow she had chosen him. He vowed to protect her, to cherish her, no matter the cost.

The Jealousy of Caden’s Kin

Yet in the world of Danfelgor, secrets could not be kept for long. The rumours of a noblewoman going down into the lower city began to spread, and it wasn’t long before Caden’s kin took notice. Among them, his half-cousin Haric, a man envious of Caden’s strength and skill, became especially bitter. Haric had long held a grudge, believing that Caden’s talent and growing reputation as a master smith had overshadowed him. The fact that Caden had won the love of a noblewoman, while Haric toiled in obscurity, only deepened his hatred.

Haric began to speak against Caden to the other men of their kin, sowing seeds of distrust and jealousy. “Caden thinks he’s better than us,” he said to the others. “A noblewoman? He doesn’t belong with them, and he knows it. How long before he forgets where he came from? How long before he turns his back on us?”

These whispers of discontent grew, and soon, a group of Caden’s own kinsmen began to resent him. They saw his love for Alera as a betrayal, a sign that he no longer respected his place among them. Haric’s jealousy festered into something darker—something that would lead to tragedy.

The Vengeance Unfolds

One cold evening, as Alera and Caden met in a secluded grove outside the city walls, Haric and his followers watched from the shadows. Their eyes burned with jealousy as they saw the noblewoman laugh and smile in Caden’s arms.

“This is the moment,” Haric whispered to his kin. “He has betrayed us. He thinks himself above us now, choosing a life among the nobles. We will remind him where he comes from.”

As Caden escorted Alera back toward the city, Haric and his men ambushed them. The attack was swift and brutal, catching Caden by surprise. He fought valiantly, his strength unmatched even as he defended Alera with his bare hands. But Haric had come prepared. They outnumbered him, and in the chaos of the fight, Caden was struck down.

Alera screamed as Caden fell to the ground, his lifeblood staining the earth. Haric sneered as he stood over the fallen smith, his blade still dripping with Caden’s blood.

“Your place was with us,” Haric hissed. “Not with her.”

But Haric’s vengeance did not end there. He knew that if Alera survived, the noble families would come for him. In a fit of rage and jealousy, Haric turned on Alera, blaming her for turning Caden against his own kin. Before she could flee, he struck her down as well, leaving her lifeless body beside Caden’s.

The Aftermath

The discovery of Lady Alera and Caden’s bodies sent shockwaves through Danfelgor. The King himself demanded that the murderers be given up, and soon the kinsmen involved in the murder were betrayed by a member of their family who was horrified and disgusted by what they had done. They were quickly arrested, and Haric was sentenced to death for his role in the tragedy. The others were harshly punished but spared death, which was reserved for only the very worst of crimes.

The loss of Alera broke her father’s heart, and the city mourned the passing of the noblewoman who had loved so deeply, despite the barriers of class and status. Caden, once a humble smith, was buried with the King’s own knights standing guard over his grave.

But in those who had known the lovers, sadness lingered. The purity of their love had been destroyed by jealousy and hatred. The people of Danfelgor spoke of Lady Alera and Caden for generations, their love a reminder of the beauty and tragedy of the world.

The Apothecary

The trading ship Silver Gull sailed through the morning mist into the teeming docks of Danfelgor, its worn sails slackening as it neared the piers. Seagulls screeched overhead, as the salt breeze mingled with the scents of fish, river mud, and the smoke of hundreds of chimneys. Onboard, a young midshipman named Jarik, his hair bleached by salt and sun, and his skin tanned by the sea, leaned over the rail, trying to catch his first glimpse of the legendary city.
He had heard about Danfelgor from older sailors—stories of its mighty towers, its sprawling markets, and its tangled streets, where riches and ruin lay in close quarters. But nothing prepared him for what he felt when he saw the city spread out before him like a labyrinth of stone and timber. The broad Danfel glittered in the sunlight, winding its way through the city like a great brown god.
The harbour was heaving with ships from all over the known world. There were merchant vessels, river barges, and weathered fishing boats, each unloading their cargo amid shouts and creaking wood. Flags from foreign lands caught the breeze, and vendors hawked their wares on the busy piers, their voices rising above the din.
Jarik was just sixteen, the youngest midshipman on the Silver Gull. He had grown up in a small coastal village and knew only the sea and its moods. But Danfelgor felt like a world unto itself, a city of possibilities.
Once the ship was moored and the goods were being unloaded, Jarik was given leave to explore. He stepped onto the pier with his wages in his pocket and a sailor’s stride and wandered through the docks, fascinated by the sight of traders and travellers from distant lands. There were men in long silk robes selling spices, rough-handed sailors counting their pay, and grim-faced dock workers unloading heavy crates. He heard a dozen different languages being spoken, saw coins changing hands, and smelled foods he had never even heard of.

Jarik walked out beyond the docks, where he found the taverns and inns of the waterfront. He passed by the rowdy Rusty Anchor, the music spilling out onto the street as students and sailors sang boisterously. He saw men laughing over mugs of ale, gamblers hunched over cards, and pickpockets slithering through the crowds. He had been warned of these places, where fortunes could be won and lost in a single night, and where danger lurked.
Despite the roughness of the docks, Jarik felt alive - the air was full of energy, and the smell of ale and fish mingled with the sharp tang of smoke and spices. He ventured into the Rusty Anchor, drawn by the music and laughter, and saw Rhea, one of the tavern girls.

Rhea was a girl of about eighteen, with deep amber eyes and black hair tied back in a loose braid. She carried the mugs of ale through the crowded tavern, her expression alert yet guarded. She had a hardness about her, the kind that came from having to work in a place where a girl like her was seen as being available for a few coins. But there was warmth to her smile when a joke reached her ears, and a quickness in her laughter that told of a spirit unbroken by the roughness of her surroundings.
Jarik found himself drawn to her. He struck up a conversation, ordering a mug of ale, and Rhea obliged with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile. They spoke for a few minutes when she had a break - Jarik told her of the sea and the places he had seen, while Rhea told him about the city and the people who came and went.
Over the days that followed, Jarik began to visit the Rusty Anchor whenever he had some free time. Rhea began to look for him in the crowd, and their conversations grew longer. She told him about her life at the docks, how she had come to work at the tavern after her family had all died in a fire and the hard choices she had to make to survive.

As the days turned to weeks, Jarik realised he was falling in love with Rhea. He saw past her rough exterior to the girl who dreamed of something more than the dockside taverns and dirty streets. She was excited by his stories of distant shores and adventures at sea. They shared stolen moments between the noise and chaos of the Rusty Anchor, and Rhea began to imagine a life beyond Danfelgor.
When the Silver Gull was due to sail again, Jarik faced a choice - he could return to the sea and his life of adventure, or he could stay in Danfelgor and be with Rhea. In the end, Jarik chose to stay and took a job as a dockworker, earning just enough for them to dream of a future together.

But life on the docks was harsh, and the people who thrived there did not welcome outsiders. Jarik was a foreigner, and his relationship with Rhea stirred jealousy and resentment among the rough men who regarded her as theirs. One evening, as he was returning from work, Jarik was set upon by a group of dockhands who beat him badly, leaving him bloodied and broken in a dark alleyway.
Rhea found him later, his face swollen and bruised, and she tried to convince him to leave Danfelgor, to find a new life elsewhere, but Jarik was stubborn. He had made his choice, and he refused to run.

In the following days, the jealousy and hatred that had already led to violence now turned even worse. One night, as the two of them sat by the river, making plans for their future, a group of men confronted them. There were harsh words, accusations, and then blades were drawn. Jarik screamed at her to run, that there was nothing she could do - and it was true that she was not their target.
Rhea survived that night, but Jarik did not. He died on the banks of the Danfel, the river that had carried him to the city he had come to love, and Rhea was left to mourn the only person who had ever seen her as more than a tavern girl. Rhea didn’t sleep that night, but she had no choice but to return to the Rusty Anchor - the work was hard, and the atmosphere could be threatening but she needed the money to survive. Every night, Rhea navigated the leering eyes and crude remarks of the patrons, who saw her as little more than an object for their gratification.
Rhea had learned how to defend herself, not with brute strength, but with her wits. She was skilled at dodging the unwanted advances of drunken sailors, and when words failed, she wasn’t afraid to use a bucket of cold water to douse the enthusiasm of a particularly aggressive man. She had developed a sharp tongue, using humour and sarcasm to deflect attention when needed. In time, even the roughest of the regulars at the Rusted Anchor recognised her refusal to back down.

Despite all this, the potential hazards of the docks were always there. One night, a well-known group of smugglers came into the tavern, led by a man known as Savos, a crude man with a love of violence. Savos saw Rhea and decided she was worth his attention. Rhea, as always, tried to stay out of sight, keeping busy with her work. But Savos grabbed her wrist as she passed, pulling her toward his table. His grip was iron, and for the first time in a long while, Rhea felt genuine fear. The tavern fell silent, the other patrons watching, knowing Savos’s temper and what could happen if anyone intervened.
But just as Rhea thought things had spiralled out of control, a voice from the back of the tavern broke the silence.
“Let her go, Savos.”
It was Elden, a fisherman and one of the few regulars who had shown Rhea any kindness since she began working at the Rusted Anchor. Elden didn’t look particularly strong, but he showed no fear of the smuggler. Elden had given Rhea advice on how to navigate the rough world of the docks, and she had come to trust him as much as anyone.
Savos sneered, but he released Lina’s wrist. “What’s it to you, fisherman?”
Elden stepped forward calmly, standing between Savos and Rhea. “She’s just a girl trying to make a living. Pick on someone your own size.”
For a tense moment, it seemed as though Savos might attack Elden, but something in the fisherman’s steady gaze made the smuggler think twice. With a grunt, Savos waved his hand dismissively. “Not worth the trouble,” he muttered, returning to his drink. Rhea, shaken but unhurt, gave Elden a grateful nod. The incident passed, but it left her with a stark realisation: her way of life was going to have to change.
That night, after the tavern had closed, Elden sat with Rhea by the fire and spoke plainly. “You’re strong, Rhea, but this life will wear you down bit by bit. You need to get out.”

Of course he was right. The tavern, with its dangers and its constant moral compromises, was not a life she could live much longer. But what else was there for a girl with no family, no connections?
Elden told her of a woman named Mirana, a sage who lived in a quiet shrine near the river. Mirana was known for helping those in need, offering guidance to anyone who sought it. “She’s wise,” Elden said. “She sees things in a way most people don’t. If you’re looking for a new path, maybe she can help.”

The next morning, Rhea went to Mirana’s shrine. The woman who greeted her was unlike anyone Lina had ever met— about forty years of age, with beautiful amber eyes and hair that shone like silver against her honey-coloured skin. She was calm and had a quiet strength that radiated from her every word. Rhea told Mirana her story of her losses, her struggles, and her fears for the future.
Mirana listened quietly, and when Rhea had finished, she spoke. “The world is full of hardship - we cannot always control what happens to us, but we can control how we respond. You have shown strength by surviving in a place as harsh as the docks. But you can’t go through life just surviving. You need to find your own way, not by fighting against the world, but by flowing with it, as the river flows.”
Mirana introduced Rhea to Lina, one of her followers who had a busy apothecary shop in the main square. Lina agreed to give Rhea a chance, which meant that she could leave the tavern, and work somewhere she could use the healing skills her mother had once taught her. It wasn’t easy at first, but it was steady work, and it paid a little better than the tavern.

Over time, Rhea became more than just a survivor and grew into a young woman of wisdom and resilience, and she continued to visit Mirana’s shrine, learning more about the philosophy of Kentomirto. She also learned a huge amount from Lina, and they became good friends, even though there was a considerable age difference between them. Some years passed, and one evening as they sat drinking tea and talking after the apothecary had closed for the day, Lina told Rhea that she was leaving the shop to her.
“You have become like a daughter to me, and I have no other family, so when I go, this will be yours. I have had the papers drawn up properly, by a lawyer who often comes in here.”
“Oh, but Lina, you have many years ahead of you yet, don’t talk about such things”, Rhea said.

Several more years passed, but the day eventually came when Lina died, and the apothecary became Rhea’s, as promised. The shop continued to prosper and Rhea regularly attended meetings of the Crafts Guild, eventually becoming the apothecaries’ representative on the General Council. At Guild meetings, she often met a saddlemaker called Harun, a widower of about her own age. In time they became friends, and more than friends, and after quite a long courtship they married. Harun was not a dashing sailor who had had adventures in far-off places like Jarik, but he was a quiet, honest, hard working man. Whilst he enjoyed a glass of wine or a mug of ale in the Dragon inn, he was never drunk, and he avoided the waterfront taverns.

In time, a conflict arose between the Crafts Guild and the Merchants Guild over the imposition of trade taxes on imports into Danfelgor. The Merchants were mainly in favour of tariffs whilst the Crafts Guild were solidly against them. The relationship between the two Guild halls became more and more fractious, and eventually all but broke down entirely. The Master of the Merchants and the Head of the General Council of the Crafts Guild very nearly came to blows one day, making any kind of agreement impossible. The General Council demanded that their Head step down, and the Merchants followed suit, initiating elections for both positions.
There was a general feeling in both camps that new leaders who had not been too political or involved in the dispute should be elected so that there would be a chance of some kind of compromise. Several members of the Crafts Guild approached Rhea and asked her to stand as Head of the Council. She hesitated at first but then agreed, and in due course she won the ballot. In time, an agreement was reached, and business went back to normal.

Rhea had become increasingly worried about the number of unaccompanied children in the streets of Danfelgor, many of whom seemed to be homeless. She saw a boy of about ten in the market one day who had a bad gash on his arm. She persuaded him to come with her to the apothecary, where she washed and dressed the wound, and he confirmed her fears that many of the children she saw were indeed homeless and in many cases orphaned.
Rhea decided to put a motion to the General Council seeking to raise money to help the homeless children of Danfelgor. The motion was debated at the next meeting, and whilst there was general agreement, it was felt that the Craft Guild alone would not be able to raise sufficient money. It was suggested to Rhea that she should seek to address the Merchants Guild and ask for their help with the project. So it was that she went to the Merchants’ Hall a few weeks later and sought their help - they were of course much richer than the Craftsmen.

The Merchants Guild had become extremely wealthy from the mining of copper, and there was a powerful faction that felt that some of these riches should be used for the benefit of Danfelgor generally. Rhea spoke eloquently, even mentioning that she had herself been orphaned at a young age, something which surprised the Merchants and had a great effect upon them. In the end, it was agreed that both Guilds should work together and found a home for the street children.
The process took time, but the day came when the Children’s Home was completed and both Guilds agreed that Rhea should be the one to officially open it. She couldn’t help feeling proud as she walked to the Home with Harun and took part in the ceremony. Many people in the Guilds asked her to take on the running of the home, but Rhea would never give up the apothecary shop.

However, she always kept in touch with the Home, which stood for many years after her death as her monument.

The Farmer, the Vintner, and the Secret of the Land

In a village on the farmland outside Danfelgor, there were two neighbours - Baric, a farmer who grew barley and wheat and Selira, a vintner who produced  wines that often graced the tables of Danfelgor’s better taverns. Together, they shared a love of the land they worked.

One day, a man in city clothes named Grene arrived in their village. Grene, a representative of the Merchants' Guild of Danfelgor, spoke of bold plans to modernize the countryside. He said that he was buying land to develop it and connect the farms and vineyards directly to Danfelgor's markets, and promised handsome payments for the land, together with much talk of progress and prosperity.

Grene made his rounds, trying to convince smaller landowners to sell, by playing on their fears. To Baric, he spoke of bad harvests, drought and the uncertainty of farming. To Selira, he hinted at foreign wines threatening her market. He offered sums of money that may have sounded generous but were far below the true value of their land.

Baric, who was starting to feel his age was nearly swayed, but Selira, who was younger and more skeptical, asked for time to consider. Neither noticed a local orphan named Filian who did odd jobs on their lands, listening intently from the barn. Filian had good eyes and ears for one so young, and he distrusted Grene instinctively.

Baric was interested in the offer but Selira felt something was wrong about it. She was not alone in her suspicion. Rhaena, the village elder and a former city scribe, had heard whispers about the Merchants' recent land acquisitions and began her own quiet investigations

Unbeknown to the villagers, Grene's motives were not what they appeared to be. The Merchants' Guild had recently learned of an underground aquifer beneath the valley, one that could provide a steady supply of water to the city during the increasingly dry summers. Control of the aquifer alone would give the Merchants a potentially huge source of income, but they also planned to steadily buy up the farms to gain control of Danfelgor’s food supply. A monopoly upon both food and water would be unimaginably profitable. Rhaena was horrified when a former colleague on the city council sent her copies of letters referencing the aquifer and the Guild’s plans. The so-called development plan was a ruse and the Merchants intended to control the aquifer for profit, with little concern for the farmers and vintners who relied on the land above it. Worst of all, the plan was to create a huge reservoir by vastly enlarging the Cormorant Lake, which would completely engulf the Cypress Grove, an ancient place of shamanic activity.

Meanwhile,  Filian had his own suspicions about Grene. Late one evening, Filian spotted Grene as he left the village tavern - hiding behind a stack of barrels awaiting collection in the yard, he overheard Grene speaking with his clerk.

“These fools don’t know the land is worth three times what I’m offering,” Grene sneered. “Once I’ve secured the farms and vineyards, I’ll flip the estate to the merchants for a fortune. I’ll forge documents that show I paid a fair price for the land, and I’ll make a huge profit.”

Filian’s heart sank as he realized that Grene wasn’t going to do anything for the community and he ran back to the vineyard to tell Selira. At first, she seemed dubious about his story, but when Filian insisted it was true and repeated the conversation just as he'd heard it, her doubts disappeared. Together, they would find a way to expose Grene’s plan.

 Next evening, while helping unload Grenes’s cart, Filian noticed a rolled map poking out from under a ledger. Filian, quick with his hands, slipped the map into his shirt and brought it to Selira.

The map showed the aquifer and its projected reservoirs, with annotations detailing how much water could be extracted. Selira, alarmed, took the map to Rhaena, who had herself just learned of the plans and the Merchants' scheme. The map proved what Rhaena had just been told, and so the two women decided to act.

Selira invited Grene to her vineyard the next day, pretending she wanted to discuss his offer. She suggested Baric might also be persuaded if Grene improved the offer. Baric played along, feigning enthusiasm.

Over a glass of wine, Selira pressed Grene about his plans. He talked about development but avoided any detail. Baric chimed in, saying, “Funny thing about land around here. Sometimes there’s more under it than meets the eye.” 

Grene hesitated, losing his composure. He brushed off the comment, but his unease was evident. At that moment, as arranged, Rhaena appeared, accompanied by several villagers. She held up the map Filian had stolen and confronted Grene. “Please tell us why the Merchants' Guild is so interested in these farms - is it anything to do with the water beneath our lands?”

Grene’s face fell as he attempted to deny it, but the villagers, outraged at the deception, demanded answers. Realizing he was cornered, Grene jumped on his horse and fled the vineyard, leaving his cart and documents behind.

The villagers, armed with proof of the Merchants' plans, rallied together and asked Rhaena to send a delegation to Danfelgor, and petition the Gorak to intervene. The Merchants’ Guild was eventually forced to abandon its plans, and the aquifer was preserved and utilised for the benefit of the community, enabling all the farms to increase production.

Baric and Selira, grateful for Filian’s quick thinking, took the boy under their wing. Baric offered him a home on the farm, while Selira promised to teach him about viticulture. Baric and Selira realized how close they’d come to losing everything and they decided to work together to protect their lands, forming a co-op with other villagers to market their produce. Their partnership prospered, with Baric supplying grains and Selira her wines, both thriving on trade with Danfelgor.

Filian became a part of their lives from then on, dividing his time between the farm and the vineyard. The boy who had been alone in the world had secured their future, and his own. Together, the three worked hard, ensuring their lands and livelihoods were protected, and when Baric became too old to labour any more, Filian took over the running of the farm.

As for Grene, his career with the Merchants' Guild ended in disgrace and demotion. Rhaena learned through her contacts that he had been reassigned to a junior administrative post far from Danfelgor, as a punishment for failure. If the merchants had ever learned of his plan to defraud them his punishment would have been far worse, but as it was, he was never given responsibility over a project again.

And in the end, the land remained in the hands of the farmers who used the water of the aquifer to nurture it.