Ilaria, born of a fisherman family and perhaps one of the most beautiful young ladies in the Northern settlement, wrung out a cool, damp cloth to place on her mother's forehead.
Her curly blonde hair hung loosely down to her hips, and her hands were calloused from working the garden with her mother or the fields for the settlement. If they weren't tending to their fields, they were scavenging the nearby forests or knitting, while the father often went fishing, hunting, and butchered the caught meat.
Occasionally, she would help her father with the butchering. After a life spent around it, it wasn't a problem. Fish, deer, bunnies, chickens- whatever needed helping or needed to be done if they weren't mending clothes or following their usual routine.
Being the youngest, she was also often the one sent out to her neighbors because of her innocent youth and feminine beauty. This is how she met Alaric.
A simple exchange of eggs and fish for leather.
Alaric came from weapon smiths and armorers. And, like any family, they had their own small garden his mother and sister took care of while they crafted bows, spears, or other weaponry and tunics for war.
And being a family who consistently dabbled in war, they were also recently tasked with trying to recreate the Southerners' bronze. Copper was the first obvious part of it, but they couldn't figure out what the second was yet.
The solution they were ending on? Offer to spare Southerners' lives during battles in exchange for this information. Thus, while Alaric's father was busy continuing the family's work, Alaric was attached to the current expeditions to uncover the information.
A brutal way to gain experience, grit, and an understanding that Alaric lacked without proper combat experience. It was required to create true weapons and armor of war. Otherwise, it was all theoretical, and the experience that made his father's reputation would fade. This was how he was attached as Geri's second-in-command.
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Slapping his thighs hard behind the tree, Alaric took several deep breaths, trying to hype himself up.
"Come on, Alaric. Come on!" he muttered intensely. "Grab yourself by the balls. Just say hello, offer some-"
His eyes darted around before he immediately sprinted off into the nearby trees to pluck some random red and yellow flowers into a bouquet.
Sucking in air and feeling his whole body clench, he closed his eyes for a moment before finally summoning the courage to walk toward Ilaria's house.
Strange creatures of the forest and ominous howls of wolves at night? Nah, not scary.Weapons that could kill people and the thought of battles with death and gore? Awesome! Adrenaline pumping.
A single, beautiful lady named Ilaria, whose beauty turned his mind blank, heart racing, and body stiff?
Fuck.
Knock, knock, knock.
The door swung open, and Alaric's heart leapt into his chest. The beauty that had captivated him from the very first time they met- gorgeous blue eyes, smooth skin, the hands of a hardworking woman- stood before him.
Except right now, she looked downcast. The complete opposite of her usual joyous and cheerful self.
"Hey, Ilaria," Alaric stammered for a moment, then firmed up as he noticed her demeanor. "Is everything okay?"
She looked at him with uncertain eyes, a cloth dangling from her grasp, then glanced back into the house before speaking in a low tone."My mother... she's been sick."
"Oh, I'm sorry... For how long?" Alaric asked, concern creeping into his voice as all his earlier hype and preparation fizzled away.
"Several days now, and it's been getting worse."
Alaric's gaze shifted past her, noting the dirty floor and the all-too-familiar feces smell wafting out from inside.
Awkwardly, and knowing this would completely kill the mood he'd built up in his head, he asked, "Did... erm, I know you think I'm strange for my opinions... and it's not really my place... but cleaning the house out might really help..."
"You're on about the shit again?" she asked bluntly. "Why would it be harmful? It helps our crops grow. It gives them life."
"None of you have ever noticed your animals getting sick when they dig through the shit?" Alaric protested, then quickly changed his tone when he saw her starting to get angry."Look, let me clean for you while you take care of your mother."
She paused, shuffling between her feet, glancing back inside nervously before finally nodding.
Stepping inside, Alaric was immediately struck by how wrong everything felt.
Closed windows, a dark environment, the overwhelming stench of feces and must... The atmosphere was dismal. Completely opposite- aside from the shit smell- from what he remembered on previous visits.
"She wanted it dark, so I closed the windows," Ilaria muttered gloomily as she returned to her mother's side. "My dad hasn't said a word since she got worse..."
"Did it get worse after you closed the windows?" Alaric asked, and she nodded.
"Do you have another bucket in the back?"
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Atlas stared at the situation with mild disgust.
"What is wrong, Weaver Atlas?" Wisp inquired.
"Just, you know, the circumstances of their... love? The shit and all."
"Do you think the Bronze Age folk, before your medieval peasants, were very hygienic?"
Shaking his head, Atlas sighed. "There are plenty of cases. Maybe not entirely bronze age. Greeks, Romans, Egyptians... While this is still in the extremely early stages, it's still a bit..."
"You're not accustomed to it," Wisp retorted. "It is unnatural for you due to your time period and technological advances. Though, from what I understand, even people in your time still have trouble staying clean."
"What, no—er..." Atlas bobbed his head side to side. "...Yeah, now that I think about it..."
"I will admit, Weaver Atlas," Wisp said, its tone shifting, "compared to the dwarves, the dark elves, even the uncorrupted elves... humans are the least impressive in this timeline."
"..."
Staring at the young man scrubbing the floor, the water turning black and brown, Atlas couldn't help but agree internally. It was sad, but true. The dwarves did their business in holes and covered it up. The dark elves used sand pits or tunnels where waste mysteriously vanished. The dragons... well, were dragons. Even the elves, living on a lake, kept relatively clean.
"Alright..." Atlas sighed in irritation. "I think I've seen enough of the humans for now. I'll give them an oracle just to clean up, but let's go check on the dragons."
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The town, stretched over eight hundred meters, seemed to steam under the rays of the fast-approaching summer. While brief, the heat would be intense, and the smell would be foul before the temperatures dipped again into their usual mild range.
Yet, despite the rising heat, a sharp gust of cold air swept over the town. The wind grew stronger, turning into bellowing gusts that whipped up snow flurries and formed them into an ominous figure:
A blue giant with metal gauntlets, a beard, and battle-hardened features. Yet, in his open palms- despite the radiating cold- light in the color of the sun danced with small vines and greenery. Outside of these hues, no other color than the frigid blue could be seen on its form.
The figure knelt and placed its hand above Ilaria's home.
Warm, gentle energy radiated from its palm before its form slowly began to dissipate, scattering as icy ash on the wind and across the river.
The land returned to normal.
Ilaria, clutching her mother in a desperate attempt to shield her from the cold, blinked in confusion as radiating warmth rushed over them. A gravely, cold voice, heavy with authority, cut through the radiating warmth as the Oracle was delivered.
"Clean up the shit. Your mother, your northern brethren, your people, your animals- they will all die otherwise.
Feces on crops is good. Feces on everything else is death.
Treat this as my goodwill... And a warning."
Standing with his back pinned against the wall and breathing heavily, Alaric's stunned whisper slipped out. "...Was that...?"
"It was," Ilaria croaked, tears forming in her eyes. "And you were right, Alaric..."
"About what?"
"...About the shit."