Rolbart felt like a melting pot of cultures. The outer wall showed it at a glance: human stone carving set with elvish runes of warding. At the base, spikes of worked wood bore curling beast-kin motifs—shapes that made Vierna think of a book she once read about the magic of the beast folk.

  As they passed through the gate, Vierna saw the village inside. Stone bases with square windows and stubborn chimneys sat at street level. Above them, elven upper stories curved into airy eaves, filigree balconies and slender wooden balustrades. Bridges of woven planks and living roots stitched yards together. Lanterns hung from iron hooks and braided branches; window boxes still spilled herbs and tiny flowers.

  Up close the beauty was bruised: cracked walls, sagging boards, splintered shutters hiding delicate carvings. Moss filled the cobbles and paint peeled in long strips. The village still breathed elven light and human stubbornness, but its grandeur was hidden by repairs and dust.

  As they continued toward the village center, Vierna looked around. They had only just passed the gate at the village’s edge. A deliberate grove of oaks stood there—not wild, but planted. In that small wood she spotted a totem, tall and rough-hewn, its shaft hung with fresh feathers. The carved spirals and animal shapes tugged at a memory: a book she had once read about Beastkin magic, its pages filled with the same knotwork and hunting rites.

  She noticed the totem—it seemed to be a religious icon belonging to the Beastkin faith, judging by the dwellings surrounding it. Low huts clustered around the totem, and small kitchen gardens, with neat rows of herbs and root vegetables, were tended by Beastkin families.

  Children ran between yards. Human, elven, and beast-kin kids tumbled together as if they’d always been the same sort; they chased one another and clambered over a fallen cart like any children anywhere.

  When they noticed the caravan bearing the Haustwitch barony banner, a green field with a silver oak at its center and a gold hawk poised on its branches, all edged in black, they froze, then scattered back into doorways and behind wagons. The sight of that sigil was enough to hush the street, and the village returned to its careful silence.

  As they reached the village center, an elf stepped forward to greet them. His skin was gray pale, his beard and hair blonde, his eyes calm as the night. He looked young, but Vierna knew an elf’s appearance did not reflect age the way it did for humans.

  From the skin color Vierna notice that this elf was a Drow, a sub species of elf.

  She noticed his hands were rough and stained; the patches on his trousers and the fresh sawdust beneath his nails told her he had been repairing boards that morning. He wore plain, serviceable clothes rather than finery, while many of the villagers wrapped themselves in ragged cloth and patched shawls.

  Despite the mingled beauty of Rolbart’s architecture, most faces were worn and anxious. Black flakes from Schattwald drifted down and settled on roofs and windows, smudging the brightly colored Rolbart houses and tents. With those falling leaves, the village looked less picturesque and more desperate.

  Korrn climbed down from his gilded carriage, scanned the square, and let out a sharp tch, as if he had arrived at a refuse heap instead of a village where people lived.

  The elf inclined his head and spoke in the old tongue, "Ae'loran, Herr Korrn."

  Korrn’s brow drew together, but he forced his voice gentle. “You are in Haustwitch Barony now, not the Aulari’an Princedom. Speak Common — or the Reich tongue. Not that Elvish gibberish.”

  The elf kept smiling despite the insult. “Forgive me, Herr Korrn. It was force of habit.”

  Korrn looked around the village. "I see you finally repaired that disgraceful hall," he said, glancing at the sturdy stone building—clearly dwarven. It had been patched with woods; whoever fixed it cared only to close the breach, not to preserve its beauty.

  “Thank fully yes, Herr Korrn.” The elf replied.

  “Good, lead the way pointy ears.”

  Vierna could saw how the elf was outraged at Korrn’s tone for a second yet he quickly hid it behind his fake smile. He reassured the villagers and led the tax master into the town hall.

  Inside, the main hall matched the outside: shambles. Tables and chairs that should have been handsome lay neglected and warped. Korrn sat in the middle of the long table and told everyone, including Vierna and Lina, to sit.

  Not knowing what was about to happen, the two girls obeyed. The villagers and the elf took seats as well.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Now, bring the food,” Korrn said to the elf.

  “I’m sorry, Herr Korrn. I don’t understand,” the elf replied softly.

  “Didn’t they teach manners in Aulari’an schools?” Korrn snapped. “When an officer of my rank comes to a village, it is customary to serve your best food. I let you off the hook a few times because of the mana-beast stampede, but do you expect me to keep forgiving this lack of basic courtesy every time I visit?”

  “But Herr Korrn, our supplies are dwindling because of the taxes. We are not sure we can survive—”

  “That means you are a lousy village chief, elf. I could petition the baron to have you and all this inhuman filth exiled from Rolbart. I’m sure that if humans took over the management, Rolbart would thrive instead of suffering under your stewardship.”

  Vierna watched the villagers as Korrn continued to scold the chief. Lips pressed thin, jaws clenched, eyes burning yet wet—their faces flickered between grief and fury. The human villager shifted the most, their shoulders hunched as if trying to fold in on themselves, cheeks red with shame.

  “A job of a tax master is not only to collect taxes,” Korrn continued, “It was also to survey and decide if the village is at the most capable hands.”

  To hear that the tax master actually knew what his job was came as a surprise. Vierna hadn’t thought he understood even the most basic things.

  “You’re lucky that I still let you run things here. And this is how you repay my favor—with disrespect? I traveled all the way from Haustwitch only to be insulted?”

  “Of course not, Herr Korrn. I apologize.” The elven chief forced his voice steady, though his jaw trembled. With a subtle gesture, he signaled the villagers to bring food.

  After a time, they returned with meager offerings—unspiced bread, thin slices of dried meat. Vierna noticed their clenched hands and eyes clouded with sorrow as they set the dishes down. She glanced at Lina, making a small show of storing most of the food into a rune and pretending to eat a token bite. Korrn’s men ate reluctantly, faces stiff with distaste. Korrn himself devoured everything before him like a starved beast, chewing noisily, burping, and spitting bits of food onto the floor—each gesture a deliberate insult meant to stoke the villagers’ fury.

  After a few moments that felt like an eternity, Korrn finally stopped chewing.

  “Your food was unacceptable, elf. I’ll let this slight pass because I am a generous man. Next time I come here, the meal must befit an officer of the Reich—not this… whatever you call this.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” The elf gave a resigned respond.

  “Now, let’s see the tax itself.”

  “Of course Herr Korrn, right away.”

  Vierna had glanced a bit on a tax book when she was in the filing room. Taxes were never just coin—peasants rarely had any. Instead, the law carved its due into four burdens.

  The first was the land tax. Every household surrendered a portion of its fields—grain, root, or livestocks—one tenth of the harvest taken as if the soil itself owed fealty.

  Then came the food levies. Bread, cheese, salted pork, barrels of ale—whatever could keep soldiers fed. In wartime, these levies always doubled, and hunger always followed their collection.

  And lastly, the war levy. A bleeding of tools and craft. Iron ploughs pulled from fields, smiths’ nails and hammers seized, all melted into weapons for battles far from the village that had forged them.

  Mirelle came toward her and Lina. “Aline, Crysta—your job now is to inspect the things the villagers bring. Make sure you only accept proper tools and foods.”

  She handed both of them a book and an eye-shaped device. Vierna opened the book; inside were the names of every household in Rolbart, each listed with their profession and what they owed.

  “Whenever a household head brings their taxes, check their mana signature with the device,” Mirelle instructed. “It will highlight their entry in the book. Then inspect the tax they present. When you were done with the inspection, point this device towards the tool, it will scan the items again then the book will automatically mark their record.”

  “Understood, Senior.” Vierna replied. “Oh, and does Herr Korrn would check the tax himself?”

  “Usually he would check it a few days after we’re back in the office,” Mirelle whispered. “Korrn wouldn’t waste a single breath in this place.”

  Vierna nodded.

  From across the hall, Korrn still talked to the chief. “Ah, and do the inspection outside the hall,” Korrn added to the chief. “I want to inspect the hall more closely and I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “At once, Herr Korrn,” the elf said wearily.

  They set up three tables outside the hall. Just before the inspection began, Lina leaned closer to Vierna.

  “Hey… do you even know what we’re supposed to do?”

  “Didn’t you read the book they gave us on the first day?”

  “You know how I feel about books, right, Vi—Crysta?”

  Vierna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Aline, you really need to start reading more.”

  “I do! I tried, but they’re so boring—especially tax books.”

  Vierna sighed. “Basically, just inspect the tools and food they bring. If the food smells bad or the tools are rusty, you reject them.”

  “I see…” Lina tapped her chin. “Hey, this is a perfect opportunity, you know.”

  “For what?”

  “For earning the villagers’ trust. If we go easy on them during the inspection—maybe even return a little food or a tool or two—they’ll see us differently. That way, if we want to stay here later, they’ll welcome us.”

  Vierna blinked, surprised. Her girlfriend was more cunning than she let on.

  “That’s actually good thinking, Aline. You did well.” She brushed Lina’s hair as though she were younger. Lina didn’t protest—just smiled sheepishly.

  “But how do we make Korrn let us stay here?” Lina asked.

  “Hmm…” Vierna scratches her head, “We’ll find an opportunity. I hope that something will come up. If not then maybe we can stoke his ego to letting us stay here instead.”

  Lina looked at her unsure. “Let’s hope it works,”

  As the receiving tables were set, the villagers started to bring their sacks—offering what little they had to fuel the Reich’s war effort. Under the drifting black leaves, the girls prepared to inspect the so-called taxes the villagers were forced to pay.

  see you on monday XD