A beautiful young woman lay on a straw mat cot in a hut of rude fashion. The reed walls were lined with earthenware pots containing exotic ointments and herbs. From the beam rafter above hung plants drying, so the healer could grind them for later use. In the middle of the one-room hut, a low fire burned in a pit through the raised floor and a black iron pot hung with water steaming, heating linens. The young woman lay writhing and moaning on that cot, her belly with its skin stretched tight, heavy with child. She wore a homespun dress, but with her lustrous raven black hair and flint grey eyes, she was indeed a sight to behold, even in her current state.

A handsome young man crouched beside her with wavy shoulder-length blonde hair and a well-kept mustache adorning his upper lip. The young man was dressed in brightly colored, luxurious silks and he looked the part of a central court dandy. A finely crafted Roldem Steel rapier hung to one side and a long knife to the other. When one looked closer at this dandy though, they tended to take him more seriously. One look in those deep, cold blue eyes told you he cared not about your life and you walked away, thankful he let you live.

Right now, he was haggard and tired, and his head hung low. He held the woman’s hand like it was his most treasured, fragile possession, afraid at any moment he would lose her. Another heavy contraction hit the woman and she let out a wail, her flint-grey eyes sealed shut as if to shut the pain out. Her fingers clenched her man’s hand till he flinched in pain, her other clinched the edge of the cot, making the wooden frame creak as her back arched off the covers. Sweat drenched her in the heat of the summer, the humidity refusing her one inch of relief amidst her labor.

The man cast her a worried glance and then looked up from his vigil to search for the female healer who would deliver the burden the woman carried. The healer worked across the hut on ointments and potions that she would need to heal those in this small village of Vale. This woman mattered not to her, he could see that.

“My Lady Healer,” he called for her, his voice barely held out his contempt for the healer, “is there not anything we can do for her pain or to let her rest? She has been laboring for sixteen hours. I fear we may lose her.”

The healer looked at the man with an amused look in her eyes and shook her head a little. “Every man goes through this when he is present at the birthing of the child. These labor pains are quite normal,” she assured him. “Your friend is doing fine. I have seen women go for days in labor. The bleeding has been light and for her first child, she has progressed remarkably fast. She must love you very much for she has not tried to kill you once.”

“Can you at least check her, please, madam?” He pleaded in a soft voice.

“If it will put your mind to rest, sir,” she sighed.

The healer crossed the room from her cluttered workstation to the cot and laid a hand on the woman’s lower abdomen. She murmured a short incantation and her hand glowed a soft blue. The healer gave a full smile ear to ear and spoke softly to the stomach.

“Eager to join the world, aren’t we little one?” Then she turned to the gentleman, “go fetch fresh linen from over there and warm linen from the fire. Your little one will be here in a short time.”

The next half hour was filled with much screaming and crying. The death threats that the healer had warned about came as the woman went so far as to threaten to maim him permanently just to feel the pain she felt now. In the end, a beautiful, healthy son was birthed to them with his mother’s dark hair.

The healer helped the man clean the bloody baby with warm wet linens, then tie and cut the life chord connecting it to its mother. He gently placed his son in his woman’s arms next to her tit so his son could suckle and turned to the healer. From his belt, he produced a pouch of coin and handed it to the healer. She opened it, her eyes went wide, and her face paled trying to find words. When she finally could speak, she did so in a ragged voice filled with tears.

“But noble sir, the charge is only one silver for the birthing of a child. ’Tis a healer’s Job to combat death and Order by bearing life and its wonder, I...I-I can’t accept.” She sobbed.

“Be at ease Sister, for the one silver is at the bottom.” He reached up and lay a hand on her heaving shoulders. “The rest is payment for what comes next.”

“What is it, sir, that you would pay a king’s ransom for? Certainly not to end the poor one’s life, for I know who the woman is.” The healer said offended.

“No, actually, quite the opposite. I want your silence on who this is.” The man said and the healer nodded. “And I need a caregiver for my son for the next eight days. Can you do that?”

The healer nodded and looked back at the woman who was cooing at the baby but eyed the two with a speculative look. The baby was healthy and seemed to be eating heartily at his mother’s breast.

“Don’t worry, Healer. We will get you a nanny goat before we leave as to provide milk for our son in our absence.” The woman said, exhausted.

“So, what shall I call my new roommate, so we are not to be strangers when his soul arrives.” The healer inquired.

“His name is Damon,” the dark-haired woman said tiredly, “for he was a demon to birth.”

A single man walked across the lonesome, windswept downs between the Great Woods of Doldrom and the Blue River. The highlands were empty, save for some scatterings of outcroppings of rock and a few trees. If the scraggled stranger made good time with his long smooth strides, tonight he would spend a pleasant evening in the Three Pigs. It was a tavern owned by an excellent friend of his that he had made in the two years he had resided within the walls of the Chaos cursed city.

He had come to the East, like so many others, looking to outrun both king and past. The Free Towns of the East were rumored widely in the west to be a haven, where one could live without the restraints of law. What he and so many others discovered when they arrived, is the Temples ruled with even more ruthlessness the even the most greedy baron.

In the west, some pressure could be put on the King by the council of the Dukes, when policy got out of hand. Certain edicts had to be ratified through them, and they had certain rights over their duchies. Here in the East though, each Matron ruled her district with impunity and absolute authority. She was judge, jury, and in some cases, she was the last face you ever saw.

Sadly after two years of dealing with rising taxes and constant shakedowns, the homesteader moved towards the Expanse, an unexplored land beyond civilization. It was there that those refugees were now finding freedom. He would make his regular trips into town once a month to get supplies for his family. This trip had been his yearly trading round to Port Hope at the southern tip of Ratar'. After so many weeks on the road, he was ready to be home for a while.

The rugged traveler reached the edge of the tall bluff overlooking the Great City of the Lake, Tharpe. It was the second-largest city in the East and one that, at the moment, was ruled by a ruthless tyrant. Out beyond the grey walls lay the Dim Lake, tossing angrily in the winter’s wind. The Lake was a source of income for many in the city, though the work was dangerous even in the best of weather. He whistled as he descended the bluff into the wooded thicket as the road wound lazily towards the city. It wasn't long before he stood at the gates and the guard stumbled out, muttering curses at the cold and the fool that made him leave his ale pot. The homesteader squinted at the guard and then burst out in a yelp of joy. He had not seen this old friend for a while. Somehow they always missed each other when he came in and he was thrilled to see him now.

“Rufus, you old scoundrel! You can hush your damnable cursing, leave your ale pot, and be thankful warm friends are here to greet you.” The old homesteader said laughing.

The guard, face flushed with the spirits, turned his bleary eyes for closer inspection of this man in furs who called him a friend. His face broke into a snaggle-toothed grin and he clasped the other’s arm and drew him into a hug. The soldier gagged and turned to heave noisily into the snow. He whipped his mouth off and made a sour face.

“Herbert, friend, either the spirits are messing with me, or you are in sore need of a bath.” The soldier said, moving upwind.

Herbert chuckled, “You know how I feel about Doldrom, and I had a run-in with a skunk a week back, sorry old friend.”

“It’s no problem, but a fair word would be appreciated next time. Damn Grim’s own eyes, ain’t it good to see you again? Would you like to come into the guard shack, the corporal won’t mind for you? It is colder than Baine’s privies out here, it is.” He said with another shiver.

“No, Rufus, if I am staying inside the walls of a town, I will be obeying the statuettes. We won’t be all that long out here my friend.”

“David said you were through a month back, he told all the boys to tell you sorry for the Necromancers’ taxes, but he had too,” the soldier said sorrowfully and then slapped the man hard across the head. “I was on my half ten off why didn’t you look me up, man?”

“I did,” Herbert rubbed a stinging ear. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you were in any shape to remember anything. I don’t think a keg could hold any more ale then you had in you that night.”

Herbert chuckled at the memory. Corporal David had told him that Rufus had gone to the Three Pigs to find him some drink and his favorite whore, Alesia. Herbert had gone to ‘look him up’ as Rufus had put it. What he had been exposed to when he had opened the door after being told to come in by a slurred voice, was Rufus quickly trying to put on his lady friends corset. He had stopped dead in his tracks and fell over laughing with Alesia, who was near wetting herself, as she lay naked on the floor.

“You know, you say you did, Alesia says you did and then laughs, but I don’t remember. I always remember what happens when I’m drunk.” He protested, ”Anyways how are my Anne and my two lovely little nieces?”

“They miss their Uncle Rufus, and Anne’s said to give you something.” Herbert stopped and made a disgusted face.

“Well? What did she say to give me, for Grim’s sake? I want my present, Herb.” Rufus persisted.

“No, you’ll throw up again. I will let Anne kiss you next time she comes in.”

“Oh, by the Reaper that’s gross, not funny. Herbert that is not funny.” Rufus almost yelled.

“Well, there was that one time...” Herbert began and left it to hang in the air unfinished as he looked slyly at his old friend.

”I thought we agreed never to mention that again! There was a keg involved, and the man had a dress with bows. Really! Anyone could have made that mistake.” Rufus protested.

“He had a beard.” Herbert pointed out dryly.

“Oh, just get through will ya,” Rufus said giving his friend a rough playful shove.

Herbert laughed at his friend’s red face asking “Are you going to be at Philian’s tonight?”

“No, I just started my ten days, but give Phil and Cariline my best.” Rufus waved his farewell.

“Well then, good day to you and I will see you in the morning.” Herbert smiled as he walked down the road towards the Three Pigs.

Once through the massive gates, the cobbled road led straight to the center of the city to the most important location that the Easterners had, The Temple. From there the City did as most did, almost without thought, and segregated itself out. Towards the east gate, known as the Tradesman Gate, through which Herbert entered the Great City of the Lake, lay your taverns and counting houses. That is also where your shops existed and the merchants who ran them lived.

Towards the west side lay the rough dockside district and the poor side. Every city in the world had slums and Tharpe was not an exception. The north and south sides were made up of the middle class and farmer class. Those that harvested the natural resources that were bountiful to Tharpe and made her prosper lived in these places.

Herbert's destination lay on the east side of town. The Three Pigs was one of two places that offered accommodations in Tharpe and the only one he cared for. The Inn of the Second Home was owned by the disreputable Lord Dravor, a bastard son of a western noble, living out his miserable life in disgrace in the safe East. Not many liked the high born, his lack of respect for individuals upset others where rank meant little.

The swinging sign with three dancing pigs came into view, blowing in the strong winter’s wind. Herbert hurriedly grabbed the latch and jerked the heavy wooden door handle open and crossed the threshold into the first touch of civilization he had tasted in a month.