The town of Livingston grew out of two scrawny shacks in the middle of the woods. It was technically a part of the Tellvarine Kingdom, although the Tellvarines were long gone, the name still remained and confused everyone.

First, there were the hunters and the mountain men, chasing down Scaled Buffalos and the elusive Big Cats that brought such a high price on the magical market.

Men and women donned in animal skins, wielding bows and spears hunted much of the animal life in these woods.

But, as it goes most time, greed reared its ugly head.

The hunters stayed for far too long, and before they knew it, winter was on them, trying its very best to freeze the life out of each and any one of them.

Infighting broke out soon after that, for supplies, for a bigger share of the skins. Some made an alliance and decided to take their chances with the snow instead of their fellow people. Some died in the pointless fighting. Some remained, huddled in the scaled buffalo hides that they were planning to sell. After a day the smell had nearly driven them into the snow, but eventually, mother nature decided she had better things to do with her time, the snows let up, and the sun began shining.

The passes were clear enough for travel and so they did, rushing as fast as they could, loading the hides onto the singular remaining cart and having to pull it themselves, for they had eaten the horses in the winter.

Hurrying as they were, and terrified that the snowstorms would return, the hunters did not hesitate. And back at the Twoblades River crossing, they sent the cart first, for the water looked still and peaceful.

The river was anything but peaceful. The melting snow had swollen up the waters with freezing mountain runoff, creating a very dangerous trap, though it did not look so to the hunters.

The hunters pushed through the water, making small progress and although the waters were high, they began to feel cautiously optimistic. That was when a terrible crunching sound resonated from above. Trees and rocks taken by the river in all its fury were barreling down towards the hunters.

The leader looked at the incoming disaster and began shouting instructions, and they all pulled at the cart. A few broke away and began swimming for the shore, only to be dragged away by the current.

As she regretted the choice of her profession, the hunter was hit by the logs and her broken body tumbled down the river and was carried out of human knowledge forever.

And of the hunters, none survived, that it was known of. Some word traveled through the various merchants that were waiting for the shipment of hides, but it was just tossed aside as just another failed venture. So it went with the harshness of the world at that time.

Though the hunters were gone, their ramshackle holdings withstood the time of snowfalls and tragedy for they had a Builder with them. He was one of those whose magic focused not on academia or warfare or perhaps showing parlor tricks to the rich. No, he wanted to build things that lasted and be proud of his work, and through that, of himself.

Well, that’s how he ended up with no money, signing up for a hunting trip up in a dangerous and mostly unexplored mountain forest. Not much more to say about him, as he died frozen to the bone, going for firewood one night.

Now, with all this, you would think, that none should build a town in this place. The winter’s going to kill you. The summer’s going to give you disease and kill you. The scaled buffalo will gore you and the fire beavers are going to eat through the foundation of your cabin and maybe set you on fire.

None of that, somehow, deterred Frederick Lancaster Livingston the Fifth. There were no previous four. He just kinda made them up because he did not like their names and thought that it made him sound more important. Fred one day sat down at his dinner table in the capital, surrounded by his fancy silverware, his immaculately dressed children, and looked at his wife. She was working on her newest play, papers spread all around the dinner table. This irked the serving staff quite severely, as it reduced the square footage of the table where food and drinks could be placed.

Fred saw the glow of light in his wife’s eyes and he wanted some of that for himself. He stood up and exclaimed, “I’m going to become a writer! Azure, hand me that pen.” Azure stared at him doubtfully, “Is this one of your new epiphanies, hun? You know they never work out.”

Fred looked back in shock. How dare she! He was just good at many things, that’s why he did so much. So what if they all went sideways. Jealousy, that was it, and he would not stand for it.

“Well, it does not hurt to try, doesn’t it? It’s not like we are hurting for money.” Fred said to his wife. The kids were staring at him, eyebrows raised, which made their father turn and shout, “You look down at your food!” And so Fred walked to his office, told the servants not to bother him, and began writing his masterpiece.

Many months later, when Fred was huddled in one of the hunter lodges deep in the mountains, he realized that perhaps his decision-making had been flawed. Fred sat in the corner and shivered, reading his half-finished book. He sighed and pressed his head against his knees, “Gods, it turns out I’m not good at anything.”

The manuscript may not have been much good as a visual piece, but it made great kindling. Fred tossed it in the fireplace and warmed himself by the small flame. Before he left home, Fred had strolled right into the bank and took out all the inheritance that had passed through the family line. He stacked the coins and bills on the kitchen table, and allocated them to every member of his household. Giving everyone a fair try at their ambitions.

He left before Azure would arrive home and realize that her husband had replaced himself with a stack of legal tender, without considering if that was better to have a living breathing companion than not so talkative paper. She looked for him in the years that followed, love turning to irritation and anger as Fred had abandoned his family, no matter the reason.

As for Fred, he figured that they would all be happier and better without him. Slowly, after starving nearly to death, he managed to spear a particularly old and feeble-looking buck. The meat was tough and chewy but it gave him enough strength to bring down a tree.

That warmed him, plus the terribly cut and dried buck skin helped too.

And so that was Fred’s life. From rich socialite to failing every other thing, to up and leaving the family one day to wander into the woods.

He fancied that he would one day return home, bearded and strong, and earn his family’s love. But it would never be so. When walking one day, he tripped and fell down an opening in the mountain. Leg broken, Fred climbed the incline, using his ax to strike and hold weak spots in the stone. Almost at the exit, Fred struck the ax on the stone a little too hard, giving off sparks. That was when everything ignited and threw Fred, face-first out onto the mountainside.

A great fire roared in the cave, seen from a far distance.

As for Fred, he survived, if barely, losing a few limbs. After the accident, he decided that he would mine the mineral out of the mountains and sell it to whoever wanted it. It turned out a lot of people wanted it, especially since cannons had begun to replace the Fire Drakes in castle sieges and gunpowder was more needed than ever.

So, the people came and buildings appeared around the hunter lodges. Since Fred had bought the land rights with the money made from the mine, the town was named after him. With people came drinking, vices and so did crime. A peacekeeper had to be hired and deputies. A bank showed up, squeezed between the many saloons and hardware stores.

And so it was, that Fred was limping happily across the town square, wanting to get in a bath and take his aches away when the tree by Roverson’s Bakery began to shake and groan. Now, Fred was no expert in magical creatures, and well, neither was anybody else, since they had all went past the Threshold centuries ago. Except for those used as tools and helpers, anyways. But, Fred did not remember seeing Talking Tree in his Biology textbook. Although doubting something did not matter much when that something was right there, existing and going about its business right in front of you.

“Ah, hello there,” Fred said.

The tree turned slowly, creaking, and looked at Fred with two eyes that were glowing green. “This one is injured.” Said the tree.

That was when Fred saw the tree was dragging somebody behind it. It was a man in a military uniform who looked unconscious.

Fred did not know what to say, so he responded. “We have a doctor. I’ll show you the way.”

He led the way, looking behind him quite often at the tree and the man, and feeling a little bit embarrassed and self-conscious about his limping, as he did when meeting new people. Fred knocked on the doctor’s door, but nobody responded. He did not want to wait there in the evening, with the tree and feeling more embarrassed. Fred hated to feel embarrassment more than anything.

So, he opened the door himself with his universal key, which he was not supposed to have, but did anyhow. The tree did not wait for much prompting before dragging the unconscious man inside and dropping him on the couch in the waiting room.

“Err,” Fred said to the tree. “Would you like a drink while we wait?” But the tree shook his leafed mane and said, “Good luck with this one.” Then turned around and squeezed himself through the door. Fred was thankful that this was quite a small magic tree and not one of those ancient huge ones because then the doctor’s office would have had to have been rebuilt.

Fred sat on the couch as well, because his stump was giving him hell as usual. He then looked at the man next to him and figured that the man’s legs were also hurting and he had worn his boots for quite a while. And who doesn’t like to take their boots off after a hard day? Being knocked unconscious should count for a hard day.

So, Fred got up and began pulling at the man’s boots. Once done he sat back down and frowned at his hands. “Desert sand?” Fred asked. “Where the hell did he get desert sand on his boots?”