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It didn’t bother Glenn that the weather and terrain changed by simply crossing a river. That GM that sent them here probably drew the map. With a city named Three Hills City? Because it contained three hills...quite the imagination.
Things remained hot and dry. The road improved slightly, widening from a two-rutted trail. There was even evidence of gravel having been spread across some sections in years past.
They spotted a goat herder and his two sons. Not surprisingly the vests covering their tattered linen shirts were made from goat skin. The father walked with a staff. The two sons carried spears. Their three dogs looked like oversized border collies, but with wiry brown fur. They, like the herders, looked anything but friendly.
Glenn estimated the goat herd contained well over a hundred. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a flock. He didn’t think flock was the right word because the men were goat herders. Just one more thing in the game world he wasn’t sure of. He wouldn’t have known it in the real world either. But he could’ve Googled it. In the Monsters, Maces and Magic world, the closest thing he had to Google was asking Ron.
In any case, the goats were certain to do a number on the scraggy grass and plants trying to survive the harsh conditions. Maybe there was a rainy season? Gravel had been placed where the road looked to have washed out sometime in the past.
Also, off the main road, usually with a beaten trail leading to them, stood scattered clusters of shacks. Glenn would’ve called them cottages, but they looked too makeshift and rundown to qualify as anything else but a shack. Some had livestock, goats, chickens, or pigs, penned or staked out around them. People moved around, most doing something industrious, such as tanning animal hides, sharpening spears or axes, maintaining the pens or rickety fences, or a myriad of other tasks.
All appeared poorly dressed with floppy-brimmed hats. There appeared to be very few women, and the children appeared to be boys. Glenn guessed that the women kept inside, and the girls all kept their hair short. Lice and fleas were common enough among the poor, so short hair made sense.
As the small caravan approached within half a mile of Riven Rock, the road leading to the city widened enough to accommodate traffic both directions. There, however, wasn’t anyone heading toward their caravan. Stephi, from within the wagon, said there was a road leaving the city going east. It had some traffic, but mostly carts and people on foot. Glenn knew she was getting her information from Petie flying overhead.
Riven Rock itself appeared to consist of two steep, craggy hills. Each stood at least four hundred feet in height. It might be that they were once one large hill, split apart by some major cataclysm centuries ago. There didn’t appear to be much dirt or plant life on the steep hillsides. Rather, holes pockmarked their limestone faces, most holes having ledges beneath. Glenn’s strained eyes spotted stairs and walkways. Some were carved into the hillsides and others were built of wood or metal. Occasional ladders haphazardly connected them. Glenn thought a blindfolded giant hurling rusted fire escapes torn from 1940s era buildings at the hillside would’ve offered a more rational layout.
Along the base of the craggy hills sprawled a menagerie of structures. Squat towers, paired towers, squatter buildings, with a few being multi-story topped with steeply pitched roofs. Most were of brick or wooden construction. From it all, streams of sooty smoke rose into the air. Coal, Glenn’s gnomish nose told him. That, and dried animal droppings.
Further from the hills stood winding lines of shacks similar to those they’d passed. All Glenn could think to call it was a “shanty town.” Fewer wispy streams of smoke rose from it. But more scents of human waste, sweat, and despair hung in the hot air.
“Quite a sight,” Blizz said, leaning close to the gnome healer. “Like I was tellin’ you before. A lot meaner of a place than Three Hills is.” He pointed. “In them tunneled hills, that’s where plenty of them with gold coins and gems live. Nearer the hills, that’s where your artesian workers are found. And those with coin dig down, not build upwards, like they do in Three Hills.”
Blizz looked to the horses, urging them to speed back up with a flick of the reins. Once that was done, the animal handler looked back at Glenn. “Those with little for their cook pot surround them richer folk, further out. Beneath the hills, lining and burrowing into the crevasse, some calls it The Fissure, is where the real business gets done.”
“Who’s in charge?” Glenn asked.
“The Council of Three.”
The half-goblin animal handler snapped the reins to keep the horse team plodding forward. “We’ll be taking the Circling Road.” He nodded and pointed with his gaze to the left. “That’ll take us around East Way in.”
Glenn wasn’t sure if he wanted to know more about the Council of Three or about The Fissure. He figured two hills that might’ve once been one gave the city its name, Riven Rock. He guessed the split continued down into the earth, The Fissure. So he asked, “Who are they? The Council of Three?”
Blizz rubbed a finger under his pointed nose and shrugged. “Don’t know. Never saw even one of them, myself. But don’t no one crosses them.”
“No one?” Glenn had a pretty good idea, but decided to ask. “Something happens to someone who does?”
“No one with half a brain,” Blizz corrected. “Saw two fellas accused runnin’ for their lives. Runnin’ like a pair of coyotes with their tail hairs afire. Maybe they got away.” The animal handler leaned over the side of the wagon and spit. “Saw plenty others get arrested. Either way, never saw any of ’em again.”
The old half-goblin scratched the side of his nose. “Forced down into the lead and silver mines. Under the boot of them dirty dwarves.” He spat over the side of the wagon again. “Never saw them again. Sure as the sun never fell on their face again.”
After a moment of silence, Stephi, who’d been listening, said, “Other side of the hills. There’s green. Trees and crops, and people with hoes working.”
Trying to throw off the oppressive mood setting in as they neared the city, Glenn said, “Don’t tell Kalgore there’s hoes out there, working.”
Blizz shot the gnome a confused glance.
Stephi huffed. “Whatever. That’s all men think about.” She paused. “If you want to get with those hoes, better bring that muscle-brain warrior with you. There’s guards with shields and spears walking around the outside of the short wall surrounding it all. Clearly protecting the hoers from horny gnomes.”
“I know gnomes is woodland types and all.” Blizz scratched behind his ear. “That don’t explain what clearin’ weeds has to do with bein’, ummm, horny?” He met the gnome healer’s amused gaze. “Working a hoe’s hard work.”
“That it is,” Glenn said to the animal handler. Then he said over his shoulder, “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Oh, shut up, Jax,” Stephi said. “You’re sounding just like Gurk.”
Stephi moved closer to the front of the wagon. “Blizz, what’s going on there? All the guards? Are they like slaves or something?”
The thought of slaves wiped the grin from Glenn’s face.
“Oh, the guards ain’t keeping the hoers in. For poor folks, they got a good job working. What they’re cultivatin’ is what feeds the folks with coin. Orchards and root crops like potatoes, carrots and onions. I think it’s called a conglom-rate of earth and water wizards that bring up water needed.” The old half-goblin grinned and shot a quick wink at Glenn. “Everyone else? They eat gulch worm jerky and fungus gruel.”
Keeping just within the covered wagon’s shadow, Stephi said, “Ewww. No way.”
Blizz was pulling Stephi’s leg. Glenn thought Blizz was trying to pull his leg, too.
Then the gnome healer wondered. Usually, the best humor held elements of truth. After a moment, he more than suspected that gulch worms and fungus gruel were real things. And real people did, at least occasionally, eat them. At least in this world.