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Baron Goodfletcher
His name was Baron, Baron Goodfletcher. He was the master blacksmith of a small town, Galivann. There was nothing noble about the town. It consisted of thatched roof cottages and earthen huts. It had a protective fence surrounding the parameter. The fence was but logs with pointed ends jutting out of steep mounds of earth. Simply put, it was a vulnerable town. Baron's job was to supply whatever non-martial, metal items the town required. There was no resource for weapons or defensive structures. It was, after all, a peaceful town.
Yet, it was stricken by constant disease, lack of proper food, and, thus, a lack of labor. There were few strong and healthy men that could carry out an occupation like blacksmithing. And even then, disease could spread to one of the stronger men. It wasn't uncommon to see a person who was sick. Death was a common thing. The only doctor of the town, who had fallen ill himself, had been teaching two others: one male and one female. The doctor, Roy Barlen, had been pleased with his students. They were exceptionally bright and both were fast learners.
Yet again, there was a lack of resources that crippled the towns ability to fend off disease. The supply of food was borderline famine. There wasn't much the townsfolk could do. The soil was dry. The climate was mostly dry. There was a small river of water one mile west of Gilvann. It showed no signs of having a flood season. Irrigation was impossible. The townsfolk could only pray to God for rain and keep the river for drinking water. They couldn't afford to use much of the river for bathing or washing clothes. Hygeine became a problem and a fuel for disease.
As hopeless as the situation may seem, Gilvann's luck was about to change. Many townsfolk had died in the years Baron lived there. Their were many dead people in the town.
To be continued...
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Official Signature Quote: "Wigga wigga nutshire!"
"Never let your schoolin' interfere with your education." -Mark Twain
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