Nfihlem had a peculiar government system, it wasn’t ruled by a governor or even a feudal lord. As one of the most influential towns for the crafting of magical devices, it had won its independence from any major city. Nifhlem had fought for this right long ago and it took the lives of hundreds, on both sides, and the persistence of sixty years before they accomplished their freedom. Instead of establishing a ruling system, depending on monarchs, nobles, or elected officials, it depended on leaders and a council of elders. Each working class had its own leader, the woodcarvers, smiths, clay workers, even the farmers had an elected leader for as long as they proved useful. Most major quarrels were mediated by the council of elders which provided insight into past attempts so they would not commit the same mistakes. No one group had the authority to make decisions for the whole town. Instead, matters concerning their craft were dealt with by their respective leader, who had to report back on numbers and prospective measures to improve commerce to nearby towns and cities. Squabbles and minor problems were swiftly solved in-house while any major problem was presented to the council once a month. When a sector fell behind, instead of taking away funds or giving priority to bigger earners, the whole community was in charge of helping, supporting, and providing solutions to improve their situation.
Ronte had a peculiar place in this system, as a crafter and a farmer, he was divided between two groups. This caused a lot of conflict in his early days, with each side forcing him to choose theirs. However, the man was persistent and refused to give in, even when his wife, a renowned crystal worker, insisted that he could not play both sides. In the end, his perseverance was rewarded with a sort of neutral steward position in charge of mediation of the whole town, taking care of crossed grievances and necessities for each sector. Ronte enjoyed this job, even though it made him abandoned most of his woodcarving along with the farm which had to be attended mostly by his wife and Jakul. This system worked really well at the beginning, he was recognized as a reasonable and trustworthy person. But that had changed during the last years since the Church of Zenti has appeared in town. At first, they showed devotion to helping people, but when the trust was won, they began taking steps to control the council, pushing out any leaders in opposition to them and pocketing the ones that were susceptible to greed. For Ronte, that always performed as a neutral party, this was a big problem, and since he refused to cave, he became a target.
It hadn’t been two months since Ronte had defended Jakul from the so-called warrior monks of the church when he had to do it again:
─We call for a vote to get rid of that monstrosity living on Rontes farm.─ Said smith’s new leader. A fat man, that could not have raised a hammer more than eight times in his life.
─This is not up for debate.─ Discarded Ronte with frustration.
─We can’t have one of the People of the Claw leaving in our town.─ Demanded the old head of the glassworkers.
─Giants are not members of the People of the Claw, you all know that. The People of the Claw haven’t crossed the Northern Mountains since before my grandfather was a boy. Next, will you claim that the Raku are also People of the Claw?─ Ronte cried out.
Three of the leaders were Raku. A race of humanoid beings with wings that grew below their arms, and most of their body covered in soft thin birds down around the shoulders, back, and chest. These leaders stood up and began arguing frenetically with the previous leaders.
─Of course, they are part of those animals, and beasts cannot be trusted!─ Called out the head of the farmers.
─We will get nowhere persecuting our own people. We are a thriving community that has accomplished so much because empower our differences with respect, and now, that strangers come to town claiming that Zenit wishes for us to purge our friends and trusted neighbors we become no better than the folk in the cities. Don’t you remember a couple of years ago, when Jakul carried you to the doctor from the mountains Alexei?─ Alexei, leader of the traders, a twarek with black hair and beard, nodded in agreement.─ Or you...─ Ronte pointed at the old woman who was the leader of the glassworkers. ─ … Talik, remember when, this supposed beast, took care of your animals after your workshop burned down? You all should be ashamed of the way that you are changing! Don’t forget that we are who we are because of our community.
Everyone stood quiet, the raku that were previously demanding blood now lowered their heads, the leaders that had made the proposal found their faces burning with shame, and the rest of the attendees stood speechless.
─Ronte is right, we the elders have stayed quiet, but we have been observing how our once peaceful town has grown filled with hate. We ask that everyone go home to think about our lives before we allowed others to tell us what to think, lets reunite when cooler heads prevail and make a vote on how to deal with this new problem.
In the corner, there was an old man, that had been grinning this whole time but now that the elders had said their peace, he had a stoic illusion around his face, however, a murderous intent glowed around him, all who were close to the man had stepped to one side leaving him alone.
Ronte departed the building carrying houses on his back, there was no victory in fighting with his peers. Nothing could leave the mind so worried as the bitter-sweet taste of defending someone you love and being disappointed by the people you trust. Ronte gathered his thoughts ready for the trek home, he looked around for Punali, as she was not a leader of the community, she had to wait for him. Suddenly the bald man from the corner of the hall got in his way, without a word he stood there, staring knives at him. Ronte ignored the man in the black cloak stepping to one side, again he got in his path. Ronte was not one to fight, he was taller than the average human and stronger than most liefs, but his biggest strength was that of his mind.
─What do you want, Lakin?─ Asked Ronte impatiently.
No answer was given.
─I don’t have time for your intimidation, go corrupt another town and leave mine alone.─ Said the lief while pushing Lakin aside to move forward.
The bald man took Ronte by the wrist and twisted it forcing him to kneel. However, he resisted with a lot of effort, not entirely successful.
─You don’t want to oppose the Shining Light of the Night.─ Whispered the cowardly man.
Ronte forced his wrist free ignoring the pain, even the popping sound it made. Used his free, non-dominant hand, to grab the cloak by the chest, where the embroidered insignia of the Church of Zenit was located, and pulled him close. Three monks came running towards them, but not before Ronte could speak.
─Your shouts for Zenit or your whispers in name of the shining light, whatever, have no power here. We've fought better foes than you, unlike you, we don’t vanquish with swords, we use the power of the word.
Lakin held Ronte's other wrist, while the hand clutched his robe. The monks reached for Ronte but Punali grabbed one of them by the face pushing back, making him fall on his ass. When they tried to retaliate a group of men and women waiting outside the hall surrounded them.
─There might be few of us now, but start this fight and you will find the true spirit of Nifhlem is less forgiving than you think.─ Warned the young twarek, small like most of his kind, but too young to grow a beard.
Ronte felt his skin getting colder and colder as the bald man used his power. However, he stood his ground, not even flinching under the pain. Lakin let go and turned around without a word, leaving with his lackeys behind him. Ronte grabbed his wrist and popped it back in place. Punali cringed at the sound, a fire lit in her stomach, she turned around. Ronte put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her before anything escalated. Looking over her shoulder she saw the other wrist with a frozen burn of the skinny hand, she clenched her teeth in response.
─Leave it be, a hurt wrist or two is not worth giving them what they want.
─What happened?─ Demanded Punali.
─The same thing, the church wants to purge the town.─ Ronte didn’t even hide his disappointment. ─Thanks Drok.
─You are welcome, but I'm not sure we will be able to keep helping. Every day more turn to the church, it isn’t safe to speak ill of them around town anymore.─ The twarek kicked the floor.
─It’s time to go home. The elders have spoken, at last, they don’t seem happy about the situation either. I'm sure we can get people to listen if they back us up.─ Ronte stretched both wrists cringing with pain.
The small group dispersed towards their own homes, but Drok stayed with them, he did not speak but he did show his support, looking around at every step, just in case any more monks had funny ideas looming around. They crossed Alexei on the way, Ronte and him exchanged a kind nod before continuing on their respective ways.
The trek back was relatively calm, it wasn’t too long before the young twarek began telling tales about his epic adventures at the surrounding pubs, saloons, and bars. Ronte suspected that most of the details were exaggerated, but even so, they made him laugh and remember a time when he was younger, more impetuous. Punali, on the other hand, found him annoyingly comforting since he had such infectious energy.
Ronte crossed the doorstep with stiff shoulders, his eyelids weighed by the frustration of days. Punali was too enraged to even care about anyone but her family. The couple stood so close to each other and yet separated by a wall of thoughts. Punali was one to take up the fight, while Ronte was more the type to solve problems with diplomacy, both of them knew the other well enough to give the matter some space.
─I’ll get Eri to make a poultice for my wrists. Can you check on Jarek and Jakul?─ The defeat hadn’t left his voice.
─I will. Have her treat the freeze burn with ointment and bandage the other, or I'll do it later.─ Said the woman kindly.
─With how angry you are, you would strangle my arm.─ Ronte jested.
─I can’t believe it, you are in so much pain that you were almost funny. Maybe I should cause you a little more, so you can become a comedian.─ Replied the woman.
─Leave the pillow talk for later.─ Ronte gave a clumsy wink.
Punali sighed and left before her husband could notice her smile. Ronte went upstairs, tried to open the door but the pain stopped him, uncomfortably he used his other hand which was slightly less painful. Inside, the room was empty.
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