Straw John (Horror monsters are our rear guard)

Lamespring was the fourth town farthest from the already distant Fortress Town. Years ago, Forness wouldn’t have had any trouble keeping the lanes clear, but it seemed only five years after the war, the town had rapidly turned into an island in a forest, for better or worse.

Granny Panza’s route apparently took them through the front door, which was protected by a hefty gorge and river that her wagon creakily crossed over on a wood bridge.

There was an air of relief as crowds came to gather around their Granny as the wagon rolled into the muddy square, which centered on a well. The old woman’s showmanship seemed to dial up as she stood on the wagon’s bench, freshly energised as loud proclamations echoed through the square.

“Come one, come all! I’ve got the goods if you got the coin!”

The coalescing group, however, clamoured with very different pitches, as they held up baskets of their own wares.

“Granny! We still have a good harvest! You can trade these melons with the next village!”

“Panza, we’ve made lots of fresh mats and blankets, we need metal!”

“Granny, another trader came by with books – we read them all, we’ll trade!”

Paul frowned. A barter economy wasn’t a good sign of the times. Regardless, he stolidly helped Panza unload the wagon, handing over what valuables the old syhee decided were worth a trade, and what would get loaded back in – lots of food were put on an IOU since they were better stored elsewhere until their journey continued.

(I hope you two are in a place with money, because I’ve suddenly back in the days of hunter-gatherers,) Paul mentally broadcasted his thoughts, and got a strange mixture of mortifictation and illness in return.

(I’m stuck in a haunted house, and I’m still unemployed,) Trudy whined.

(Seasick,) Bao moaned and quickly disappeared from Paul’s mind.

“...We are hopeless,” the necro-merchant concluded, which was met with Granny’s errant slap at his knee to break his concentration.

“We’re still doing business, we’ll turn things around yet!” Undaunted, she jerked her head to a broad-shouldered man who remained behind as the villagers departed with their gains. “Say hi to Lamespring’s leader. He’s what’s getting you a nice bed tonight before we run off the day after tomorrow.”

“Arden,” the new man added, with an appreciative nod. “Panza’s been doing these routes by herself for too long, so I’m glad she has someone to keep an eye on her.”

“Oh, you’re suddenly worried,” Panza laughed, though the humour left her tone quick as she regarded Arden more carefully. “New trouble?”

The large man sighed. “That former militia from Pallew, Bruton’s Beaters? I think they’re camping out behind the village now. They’re probably thinking of raiding us. Food trouble. The only good news is that they haven’t been able to so far. They’ve been scared off from putting a single toe on our farmland.”

Panza hummed, hands on her jaw in rumination, before a flicker of realization hit her. “Straw John?”

“Straw John,” Arden agreed.

The newest arrival looked back and forth between his employer and her client, and drawled with some mild annoyance at his ignorance. “And Straw John is who…?”

Arden pointed over Paul’s shoulder. “Take a look.”

Turning, the incognito necromancer saw a horse blithely trot through the square. Atop it, secured in a saddle, was a bulging, laughable figure made out of dried stalks. It was given cheap clothes, a hat, and a face that had been painted onto it.

It was an out of place curiosity, and it seemed more like a crude joke conceived just that morning, but when Paul kept scrutinizing the straw man, he suddenly felt something in that pile whisper into his mind.

Malevolent, but not dangerous? You were sent by Great neighbors. I will ignore you.

“Arden, your scarecrow made eye contact with me,” Paul blandly noted. “I’m terrified that you’re not terrified.”

That got a short, sharp laugh in return. “Yeah, he’s a quirky one. A Spirit really liked that Scarecrow and likes living in it. We keep it good company and look after Scarecrow, and Straw John pays us back. He’s been letting the soil grow vegetables of all kinds, even in this weather, and keeps people out of it if he doesn’t approve of them.”

“I suppose that includes those Beaters.”

“Supposedly there were some attempts to sneak into our village at night, but John stalks those fields at those hours, and he tends to scare them off.”

“Doesn’t seem to be a problem you can wait out, though,” Paul pointed out.

Arden gave a flat yet penetrating look in return, before giving his best safe answer. “Let us handle the things at our doorstep. You’ll be busy enough just taking things to the next village.”

Paul raised his hands disarmingly, seemingly dissuaded from further discussion.

That night had him and Panza bundled up in the second floor of an old stone house that seemed to be Lamespring’s idea of an inn – but it had good beds, and it was enough for the two. Panza was busy rechecking her personal belongings to be sure they were right were they were, while Paul sat by the open window, arms folded and head turned towards the vegetable patches that made up the rear of the village.

It wasn’t exactly a cornfield of horror like Paul envisioned, but the dark silhouettes of twisting vegetable vines did have an element of eeriness to it, and in that darkness, Paul could faintly make out a horse that was dozing happily in the open, with a supernatural pile of hay atop it that Paul was certain was looking back at him.

(I’m living in a horror village where the villagers don’t need to sacrifice me because their pagan god is super chill, apparently,) Paul reported, still in disbelief.

(Make the most of it, then,) Trudy shot back. (You seem to be in the best place of all of us.)

(Seasick. I’m not talking,) was all Bao added, before departing.

(This place has a bandit problem. Should it be our place to do anything about that? Or should I just keep focusing on looking for Malevolence? Hell, we have to find out what happened to Liev. He played us, but there’s no telling if he’s still out there, messing with evil crap or not. There’s just so much in front of us right now.)

(Paul, I don’t know, this is…it’s a little bit soon to be running on all cylinders,) Trudy hesitantly answered. (Sleep on it. You’re thinking of too many things at once.)

A sigh escaped him between clenched teeth as he stared out at the rolling night. Of all times she had to give zen advice about doing nothing.

(Look, I just like being productive,) he said, before withdrawing from the connection, and once more in time to hear his corporeal employer laughing at his back once more.

“You’re a real moody one, huh?”

“Just annoyed at the state of things,” Paul carefully answered. “Call it the businessman in me. Nothing’s improving, while we’ve got an army of burglars over yonder. Our work and this village depends on a scarecrow to keep the peace. I know Bruton over there knows that, too.”

Granny ambled over to rest by the opposite side of the window, and they watched the forest at the far end. The faint flicker of firelight could be seen, hidden between the trunks.

“It’s not pretty, for sure, but I’ve been managing. Every village has held out so far, even if everything between isn’t pretty. We’ll survive. Besides, even if we get waylaid, they won’t hurt us. If we don’t bring in fresh supplies from the core territories, they’ll starve, same as everyone else. They know that.”

Paul wanted to believe in that sort of logic, but it still felt too much like wishful thinking. But again, he wasn’t in a position to make either Panza or Arden, or anyone else make a move. The same story would repeat in every village he’d go to, wouldn’t it?

Then the only thing he could do was handle the Malevolence, on the sly. Stay busy as best as he could.

Paul still went to bed, far too awake.