Chad
**PLOUGH** *And plough. That was what Artúr had been doing, nearly done with the fourth pitfall trap. For the past several hours, Artúr had been in the fields moving the carcasses next to the tree past the barn and setting up the traps for the undead to walk through. Four pitfall traps were four yards deep around the tree, with the remaining space covered by snare traps that would catch the target and immediately fling them. This time, Artúr had increased the size of the rope and the structural instability of the snare traps to maximise the damage and the number of undead warriors each trap could attack. The pitfalls were set up with spikes along the ground, and the walls were smooth wooden, wet with liquid to make it impossible to climb out of*.

*The labour seemed almost wasteful because there was a good chance the undead wouldn't be affected by the traps, and Akasha would be there anyways to fight them. Nevertheless, Artúr wanted to ensure that they could deal as much damage as possible in the beginning to make the hunting easier. And most undead has relatively light and empty bodies anyways, so even if they were to survive, they would still be harmed and easily restrained by the traps. So it was a foolproof set of traps that would probably help the two in the long run*.

*But as Artúr contemplated it, he was finally done walling the last pitfall trap and setting up the wooden spikes. Artúr was fatigued and exhausted, if he was honest, but he offered to move all of the carcasses and handle the traps himself. Which he did, so it was nothing to complain about. But Akasha had been cooking their meal while Artúr was out in the fields, and they were probably done*.
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*Leaping, Artúr latched onto the edge of the pitfall trap, attached with a rope. Although he had made sure it was difficult to climb from the inside, Artúr prepared a rope for him to get out. Dirtied by the soil, his equipment and armour were rusted with dirt, pieces of bark and greens and other products of nature. It was quite hot from the inside, but nothing the Silnari could not handle. He had been doing this for years now, so the feeling was familiar*.

*Artúr started ambling through the fields and back to the hamlet. As he walked through the endless blades of wheat brushing against his armour, the sun beating down on his skin, and the crunching dirt under his feet, Artúr thought about the priestess girl. More particularly, how this would be the first time the masked ranger would be working with someone on the job. He had been working alone for years until now. It was almost nerve-racking about the nearly limitless possibilities of failure and things going wrong. How the mission could go badly, and Akasha could possibly get hurt, and it would be Artúr's fault*.

*If there was one thing he feared the most right now, it was whether or not teaming up with the priestess girl was the right choice. Artúr had agreed to pursue the necromancer and the undead with Akasha since she was investigating the same anomalies and had similar interests. But this was outside of his comfort, acting on a plan that could easily tumble if only one of them did something wrong. And Artúr had only met her this evening, perplexing the thoughts further*.
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*However, regardless of what Artúr however, he would have to go through with the mission with Akasha. He couldn't tell her that he couldn't do it anymore or that he should do it alone. Artúr knew that the priestess girl was as adamant about solving the problem as him, so it was not something he could refuse. They would be in it together, which was almost as daunting as it was uplifting*.

*The sight of the barn came into view, but no one was there. Artúr figured Akasha was elsewhere in the hamlet and continued walking, eventually returning to the main locale of the settlement. There, Artúr saw a quaint house at the edge of the countless other buildings. The windows were open, and he saw a few figures inside. It was Akasha and an old woman*.

*Approaching the house, Artúr walked up the porch and knocked gently on the door*.

*"Excuse me, is a girl named Akasha here?"* Artúr asked clearly from outside the entrance.
John
*Some time has passed since her conversation with the old lady ended. Akasha, although she had insisted on doing it herself, was setting up the table for the meal together with her. The furniture and the tableware on the house was quite humble, mostly carved out of wood. However, they are clean and are kept well. She placed the spoon, forks, and plates in a skillful manner on the table. This is just natural, and almost daily occurrences for her in the past, whereas she and her mother would prepare the family dinner. As she thinks of that, her mind wanders, wondering how they are doing. Is her mother doing okay in the temple? Is her father eating properly on the frontline? Is her brother...*
 
*Her mind darted back towards the present when the old lady nudged her. She pointed at the stew, and Akasha realised that it would be ready by now. Setting the lid aside from the pot, she stirred the lightly coloured soup. Wafts of appetite-inducing aroma filled the house, which flowed out towards the window. She looked outside. "Is Artúr still working, I wonder?" She thoughts. A feeling of guilt clenches on her heart. Maybe she should have kept offered her help to do the labour as well, earlier.*
 
*Truthfully, clouds of worry had covered her heart since a few moments ago. She knows well that the ranger is an experienced man who had spent years in these regions. Still, while she trusts his ability, she doubts that making him deal alone with a necromancer is a good idea. Akasha has experiences of fighting such apparitions in the past, but what about Artúr? What if her trust in him would result in him being hurt? She had only known him for a short while, but as much as how she felt towards other people, it would be hard to forgive herself if were to get hurt because of her mistake.*

_ _
"Something is on your mind, dear?" *The old lady said, noticing the expression on the young priestess' face.*
 
"No, no, ma'am. It's nothing."
 
"Oh, there is something. Anyone would think of that, looking at your face." *The lady sat on one of the chairs, then sighed.*
 
"Akasha dear. You are still very young, younger than my grandchildren. Listen well.. That feelings on your face, anxiety, worry, they are often pretends to be necessary, but serve no useful purpose. The more you overthink about 'what ifs', the less you will understand about things in front of you. My child, be happy, put on your sweet smile. Because, the future will be what it will be, and fretting about it will only make your fears more likely to come true."
 
"....I understand. Thank you."
 
*Akasha smiled, after pondering about her advice. The woman has a sharp intuition. Maybe this is one of the 'wisdom of age' that frequently accompanies people as they get older. That's indeed true. Instead of worrying, she needs to put her best efforts into what she can do at the moment.*
 
*She quickly picked up her pace again, putting a few pieces of bread on the table. She took three wooden bowls and walked near the pot, pouring steaming hot servings of mushroom stews. Then, she also placed the bowls on the square table, each on its side, mirroring the position of each wooden chair. A few moments earlier, Akasha also had made an assortment of fresh vegetable salad as sides, which was placed in the middle. Giving the set up a last look, she puts both of her hands on her hips, feeling slightly proud of her handiwork this time.*

***Knock knock***
 
"Excuse me, is a girl named Akasha here?" 
 
"!!" 
 
*She perked up at both the mention of her name and the voice. It's the ranger. The old woman just gives her a short look. She quickly grasped about who is currently knocking on her doorstep and nodded. Akasha strided across the house, towards the door, and opened it. As she does so, Artúr would be able to smell the appetising scent flowing out. She smiled warmly, like a family who is welcoming home another family member.*
 
"Artúr, it's you! Oh, I was just about to go outside to tell you that the food is ready, but it looks like you found me first." *She said.*
 
"Come in. This house is where Granny Oris lives. You know, the wife of the village elder."
 
*As she guided him through the humble abode, it took no time for them to arrive on the dining table. The old lady gives a smile to Artúr when she sees her. The place is small, but it's comfortable nonetheless. The food is served neatly on the table. And if he wants another fill, he can take it anytime on the steaming pot placed near the fireplace.*

"I'm so sorry that I didn't go to help you today. You must be very tired. Sit down and eat, this is the recipe that I used to make in my hometown. Feel free to tell me if you want a refill or two." *The priestess said, quickly pulling the chair and for the last time, wiping the table sections where Artúr's bowl is placed with a clean cloth.*
Chad
*"Artúr, it's you! Oh, I was just about to go outside to tell you that the food is ready, but it looks like you found me first, "* She said.

*"Come in. This house is where Granny Oris lives. You know, the wife of the village elder."*
 
Artúr did, in fact, not know that the elder had a wife. He nodded, greeting Akasha at the door, but Artúr perked a brow at her mention of the old woman as he followed her inside. But the pleasant and deep smell of mushroom stew and the wholesome scent of fresh bread interrupted the ranger's thoughts. After all, it had been a while since he last ate a meal.
 
The old lady gives a smile to Artúr when she sees her.
 
*"You must be Lady Oris? Thank you for having me. I apologise for coming in so abruptly, "* Artúr said to the old lady. An almost apologetic tone followed his monotonous words.
 
*"Oh, no need to fret about it, Sir Ranger! Make yourself at home, and you don't have to use such formal names for me. I'm but a humble maiden, "* Oris warmly replied.
 
*"O—Okay."*
 
As the three walked to the dinner table, Artúr observed the surroundings. It was a two-story humble cottage, and the interior was small but comfortable. Everything about the house was made from wood and stone, it seemed. Stairs in the corner that led to the second story. There was a brick chimney on the side. A large table with chairs was in the middle, and a window adjacent to them gave a view of the fields outside. A hallway led to the other section of the house to the other corner. On the other sat a cabinet that held plates and utensils, oil lamps, and other items.
 
Artúr sat at the far end, and the food was already set at the table. In the middle was a pot of stew. Next to it plates of bread and other sides to pair the soup with. In front of him were a bowl and utensils, and the candlelight near the centre dimly illuminated the room. The house did not have many light sources and often relied on the sunlight or the modest flame of candles. 
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Then, Akasha and the old lady Oris took their seats at the table. The priestess girl had also wiped the table quickly and where Artúr's section was. He did not mind it but felt it was unnecessary to do it for him. But Artúr appreciated the generosity and effort Akasha put into preparing the table.
 
*"I'm so sorry that I didn't go to help you today. You must be very tired. Sit down and eat; this is the recipe that I used to make in my hometown. Feel free to tell me if you want a refill or two, "* The priestess said.
 
*"It is fine. I did not mind doing the work. Thank you for preparing this meal,"* Artúr reassured the priestess girl.
 
He then grabbed the ladle and floated it inside the pot of stew. Artúr sank the ladle into the liquid before pulling it up, a generous amount of soup cradled on the spoon. Then, before sitting back down, he poured it into his bowl, grabbed half a piece of bread, and placed back the ladle. 
 
Artúr looked at the stew. It took on a creamy white colour, and the liquid seemed to be thick but smooth as he ran his spoon through the bowl. The floating assortment of toppings and ingredients appeared to be all vegetables, most being leeks, carrots and mushrooms. The stew smelt pungent and sweet, almost fishy and earthy, probably from the large amounts of mushroom stock. But it also had the grassy undertone of the carrots and leeks, balancing out the overwhelming fungi scent.
 
The seated ranger stuck a spoon into the stew and brought it towards his face. Realising he still had his mask on, Artúr grabbed it with his other hand and lifted it slightly, revealing his jaw and mouth. His skin was a gold olive, and his lips were luscious red. Around the cheeks were subtle scarring, long whiteish dashes that went down to Artúr's neck and shoulders.
 -

As he ate the spoonful of stew, the strong umami of the sweetness and meatiness of the mushroom almost shocked Artúr's taste buds. Like his mouth was suddenly stunned by the powerful flavour of the stew. The soup was certainly delicious, and the more Artúr tasted it, the less overpowering it became, so he enjoyed the individual flavour profiles more as time progressed.
 
*"This is good,"* Artúr bluntly commented.
 
*"Is it now? I have to try it for myself, then!"* Lady Oris exclaimed as she began serving herself some.
 
Artúr noticed the old lady and remembered Akasha's comment about her being the elder's wife. Putting down his spoon and setting back his mask, he looked at Oris.
 
*"Akasha had told me that you are the elder's wife?"* Artúr asked, curious.
 
*"Indeed, I am his wife. Cillian and I are actually third-generation villagers of this settlement. A century and a half ago, roughly, our forebears took refuge in the aftermath of the Burghers Wars and settled in this region. They established many villages and hamlets in the Nien you know today. My grandfather fought in those wars too, y'know!"* Oris told Artúr, excited to be talking about her familial past and the village's history.
 
*"Is that so? Interesting..."*
 
*"Oh, it is. But to be truthful, hard times in the past were. My father was a wee child back then, but he remembered the strife after the rebellions. But we eventually made it through, and here we are. Sure, nightly beasts might be coming through tonight, but we survived worse. And we have you two to take care of us, so this dinner is the least I can do for you."*
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Artúr nodded and stopped talking at the mention of the night. He had almost forgotten that soon after this dinner, he and Akasha would be heading out to meet the undead and bring down the necromancer—None of which Oris or any of the other villagers knew about. He felt like confessing to Oris about the true gravity of the situation. Still, He realised it would only make it worse. Alerting the whole village would bring about many other problems and hurt them in the long run.
 
There is barely any youth in the hamlet anymore. The allure of the big cities and adventure attracted many to leave their humble abode. Unfortunately, the settlement was vulnerable to predators and beasts, and the mention of a necromancer attack would probably drive out the rest of the populace. However, maybe that would be for the best. After this, Artúr was sure to alert the local lord about the region's strife, at least to increase security against raids and animals.