Sins of the Forefathers: A LitRPG Fantasy Isekai

Azarus was right for once when he said the trip to Rhoscara would take about four days. The trip itself wasn’t that bad, however. I’d had certain expectations for the journey, after my last in a wagon. When we were moving, Azarus, Gren and I were either chatting idly or sitting in companionable silence, listening to the creak of the wagon and the gait of the horses. It’s not like I spent the entire trip hanging out in the back of the wagon, either. There was no point in keeping me out of sight with nobody around. I alternated spots with Azarus up on the bench whenever he got sick of being up there. Gren never relinquished his position as driver though.

Gren didn’t drive us through the nights. When the sun began to go down, he would pull the wagon over to the side of the dirt road and we would set up camp there. Camp was never anything elaborate for us, just a campfire to cook on and sit around. We didn’t use tents or anything like that, either. We would just roll out a few bedrolls inside the wagon and sleep there. When I asked them about the possibility of being attacked by monsters or something and suggested a watch, Gren laughed at me. He said that the wagon was warded against monster attack, similar to the walls of Addersfield.

Neither he nor Azarus seemed to care about getting attacked by anything other than monsters.

I did learn a few things about dwarven culture, speaking with Gren.

“So, with dwarves, a beard makes you a noble?” I said skeptically, rubbing my own rough chin. It’d been a while since I’d had a chance to shave, out on the road. It had been four days since we’d been on the road, and Gren had told me that we’d probably reach Rhoscara sometime that evening. I was up on the driver's bench with him, as Azarus had wanted to lay down in the back.

Gren grimaced. “Ehhh, no. Doesn’t work like that. It’s more like, the only ones that are legally allowed to grow a beard are nobles.”

I leaned back on the bench, resting against the padded cushion there. “Why? I mean, is it just a way to pick them out of a crowd or something?”

“Well, the answer to that has a long and complicated history.” Gren sighed. “And even then, it’s viewed as antiquated nonsense. It has a great deal to do with the bad years after System Initialization.”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Not like I’m going anywhere,” I said, gesturing with a hand for him to continue.

“Hmm. Well, all right then.” Gren mused. “During the War in Heaven, my people lost their god. And good riddance, too.” He spit off the side of the wagon. “Ours was the God of War, and while he was a Light God, he wasn’t kind. He wasn’t a tyrant, but he had certain ideas about what it meant to be a dwarf, and how we were meant to live. See, back in those days the Principality didn’t exist. All of us, every living dwarf, lived in one of the mountain holds. It was a sin to live upon the surface, according to him. History tells us that the years after the War and his death were turbulent for everyone. The dwarves were no different.”

Gren sighed and stared off into the distance for a moment before continuing. I just sat in silence, listening to the creaking of the wagon.

“The old mountain Jarls tried to hold onto power and continue to govern my people under His rules. The people didn’t like that. With the coming of the System, the common people saw a chance for anyone to grow strong, and throw off the chains of tradition that bound them. They chafed under what they saw as outdated and rotten religious dogma from a dead god. And so, the dwarven civil war began. To make a long story short, the Jarls lost.” Gren glanced at me. “You can still feel the effects of the civil war to this day, you know?”

I raised my eyebrows at him in interest. “Yeah?”

Gren nodded at me. “Yeah. These days in the Principality, we’re still ruled by the families of the five heroes of the resistance against the Jarls. The Orsini, soldiers all. The Luminarans, keepers of law. The Venier, masters of the sea. The Florens, the great builders. And, uh. The Savoy, who feed us.” He hesitated, before gesturing towards my collar. “They’re the ones who deal in the flesh trade.”

I put a hand up to the collar around my neck for a moment before letting it drop. I didn’t say anything

Gren cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, to make a long story short, the resistance won. Most of dwarven kind followed the Five Families out into the wider world, to found the Principality.”

I interrupted him. “Most of dwarven kind?”

Gren’s face twisted slightly. “Yes. Most.”

I dropped the subject.

“I won’t beat around the bush.” Gren continued, ignoring the mood my question had caused. “After the civil war, the Principality was founded in ways to spite everything the Jarls and the God of War stood for. Where before we lived beneath the earth, afterward we built towards the heavens. Where before our greatest strength was in our warriors, now it’s our trade.” His face fell. “Where before we were bound by foolish tradition, now again are we bound. By traditions that are just as foolish.”

Gren glowered off into the distance.

“Beards. Bah. It’s such a silly thing to be resentful over. But in the holds, all dwarven males were required to grow a beard or else face imprisonment. And now, all dwarven males are required to shave or else face imprisonment. It’s just another way to exercise control over the rabble.” He looked over at me. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. I don’t want to catch a slander charge.”

I shrugged, gesturing towards my collar. “Who am I gonna tell, even if I wanted to? But, what’s the, like, actual reason they ban beards for anyone that’s not a noble? You know, on paper?”

Gren waved dismissively. “Changes from dynasty to dynasty. Doesn’t actually matter anymore what the reason is, I think. It’s tradition as much as law now.” He sighed again, tiredly. “Nothing to be done about it.”

……………………………………...

Gren and I rode mostly in silence for the next few hours. Perhaps around midday, Gren started and picked up the reins from where they’d been resting. He snapped them once and shouted a command at the horses. They gradually slowed, along with the wagon. Before long, we were at a full stop.

I sat up from the slouch I’d fallen into. “What’s up?” I asked Gren, concerned.

Gren ignored me and banged against the wall behind him. “Wake up, you big oaf! It’s time!”

From within, I heard a sleepy grumble followed by some shuffling noises. After a moment, Azarus poked his face into the gap between the wall and the roof of the wagon.

“Whazzat?” Azarus asked groggily.

Gren tsked. “I said, it’s time! Get up here, we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Azarus grumbled, waking up more. His face disappeared from the opening and I heard thumping noises as he maneuvered his way out of the wagon.

I looked at the horizon, puzzled. It was clear of anything that seemed like civilization, to me. “We’re almost at Rhoscara? I don’t see anything.” I said, looking back at Gren.

Gren shook his head. “You wouldn’t. Look over there, instead.” He told me, pointing off to the side. I squinted in the direction of his finger, trying to find what he was looking at. After a moment, I saw it. There was a small stone menhir, almost hidden by the underbrush. Carved onto it was a five-pointed star, with the upper right arm painted a vivid scarlet.

“Oh,” I said in understanding. “I’m guessing it’s some kind of way-marker? Like, ‘you’re almost at Rhoscara’, I’m guessing? What’s with the red, though?”

“Got it in one,” Gren told me with a smile. “As for the color, you’ll see.”

By that point, Azarus had made his way over to the front of the stopped wagon and was looking up at me expectantly. I flushed slightly and jumped down from the bench so that Azarus could climb up. Once he’d sat down on the bench, he looked back down at me.

“Ya remember what we talked about?” Azarus asked gruffly.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m not a child with the memory of a gnat, dude.”

Yesterday, Azarus and Gren had told me how they expected entering the city to go. The guards would probably be pissed to see a slave if they found me, but they couldn’t do anything about it legally. They’d told me to cooperate with them if they wanted to pull me aside, but that Azarus was going to talk to a friend of his and get it sorted out. Apparently, I didn’t have to act very deferentially to the Rhoscaran guards, so no ‘slave mode’.

Azarus yawned and scratched his chin. “Good, good. Get going, then.”

I flipped him the bird, which seemed to confuse him slightly, and headed around to the back of the wagon and made my way into the back.

Gren cracked the reigns and got us moving again, once I’d gotten settled.

……………………………………...

We’d only been traveling down the road about another half hour before Gren banged on the separating wall, startling me.

“We’re in sight distance now,” Gren told me. “Might as well get a good look at the city, eh?”

I did as he suggested, lifting myself off of the cot and getting on my knees. Shuffling forward, I stuck my head out of the opening and caught my first glimpse of Rhoscara.

It took my breath away.

Over the top of the large crimson stone walls that ran the length of my view, I could see an enormous city. The city seemed to be built on top of a large slope. At the very top of the slope, far in the distance, I could see an honest-to-God palace. Made of some kind of brilliant red stone polished to a sheen, it was massive. There were spires, and flying buttresses, and arches, and massive stained-glass windows built everywhere into it. Every feature of note seemed like it was gilded in shining gold, as well. From the tips of the spires to the spines of the buttresses, it was everywhere. God, I couldn’t even imagine the amount of wealth on display here. Beyond even the elaborate stonework, the amount of gold just sitting around on display beggared belief. It far and away blew anything I’d even heard about back home, in both scale and beauty. The palace looked like it was big enough to be a city alone.

Which barely scratched the surface of the city's breadth itself.

Massive, as big as a notable city from back home, it seemed as if it had been artfully arranged to flow from the palace in neat lines. From where I was sitting, I could make out that even the simplest building in Rhoscara was made to grow upwards, and not outwards. But it wasn’t cramped, as I could see plenty of greenery carefully planted among the buildings. That wasn’t even getting into the various manors and estates that I could see throughout the city. Everything was built in similar shades of red stone, even if it wasn’t polished to a sheen like the palace. Scattered all through the city were towers, spires, and monuments galore. While the regular buildings and homes weren’t built to the same extravagance as the palace and the manors, these were. To round out the genuinely picturesque scene, there was a large river that was visible in the distance, seeming to flow along the back half of the palace slope. Ships of all shapes and sizes could be seen coming and going from the barely visible, but massive dockyard.

The entire city seemed as if it had been designed for the view that I was seeing right now. As if someone had stood in my exact spot, and dreamed of a city that you could see stretching out far into the distance.

It was breathtaking. Literally.

I hadn’t realized it, but I’d been holding my breath the entire time that I was drinking in the sight of Rhoscara. With a wheeze, I let out the breath and took another deep one. Hearing laughter, I looked up at the driver's bench to see Gren looking back down at me.

“Quite a sight, eh?” He said to me, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah,” I answered faintly, still taking in the city.

Azarus snorted. “S’bit gaudy.”