The sun hung low as the old fort bustled with the sounds of a new life—wood scraping stone, tools clinking, shouts echoing off weather-worn ramparts. A new structure was tucked up against the walls, though the stone matched the Fort surrounding it, its timbers new and still smelling of sap and sweat. The Valerian Porter’s new Warehouse.

Felix, chief porter for the Valerian Porters, wiped his brow, setting down a crate and overseeing the final unloading of cartloads—grain, preserved foods, miscellaneous tools. He stood tall, his voice clear and commanding.
“Stack the rye near the east wall. It’ll keep cooler there,” he called out in Rogalt to the porters hauling the crates in. They made a sound of affirmation and moved eastward.
Gilbert, the warehouse’s quartermaster and poet laureate, was leaning against the wall near the entrance, his feathered hat shading tired eyes. “I still say we should’ve left the grain near the gate. Easier for offloading to the mess.”
Felix shook his head. “And easier for looters. No, we keep the stores where stone walls watch over them.”
He frowned, recalling what had happened while they were dealing with whatever those anacrusis… things were that the Fire Mages brought on them. He gave a small prayer of thanks his brother had been away from Forum for it.
He looked back to Gilbert “What do you think of the warehouse?”
“Fine place, Felix,” said Gilbert as he tapped on a ledger, the quill matched his hat. “Better than that leaky shed in Brackenford.”
Felix grimaced at the memory. “Only benefit was you never had a chance to nap in there, ‘it’s too chilly.’ Not like this last Forum”
Gilbert stretched in response to the memory. “While you were fighting off rituals and Rimelanders, I was preparing—for logistics, mentally.”
Felix shot him a look. “Sure. ‘Mentally preparing’ by napping through an assault.”
“I absorb the glories of war through dreams.” Gilbert grinned. “Victory’s exhausting, even secondhand.”
Felix sighed in mock exasperation. “You’ve got uncanny timing. One of these days you’ll sleep through a dragon.”
“Maybe I have. Hard to tell with all the snoring.”
They laughed, the sound echoing through the half-full hall. Outside, some porters offloaded the last of the barrels and began to move it into the warehouse.
“Besides, it gave me some inspiration, ‘I seek thee, Sleep, with open, aching hands, And flee the world within thy shadowed thralls.’” Gilbert clearly dictated as the two moved back into the courtyard, out of the way of the porters. Felix gave him the same look he always did when he shared his poetry. Supportive confusion.

“Strange to think this courtyard held bones and gargoyles just a season ago,” Gilbert mused, squinting at his ledger and making a mark as a porter hauled past with a barrel of dried lentils. “Now it’s grain, arrows, and some new wagons.”
“That and Java’s apology.” Felix shook his head in incredulity. “Say, you heard about that bomb Lucian got delivered to him, right? We’ll need to make sure to keep a real close eye on what’s moving into the warehouse.”
“That one that Peter delivered?” Gilbert shook his head “Disappointing to hear the people that Lord Xavier has surrounded himself with.”
“Ever the younger sibling, Lord Xavier.” Felix sighed, “I would have hoped he kept better company. Taking her Ladyship’s scraps does not look well on him. Hopefully he will be guided by her Ladyship in etiquette and constructing a reliable retinue. Did you hear about that carpenter he picked up, Brightwood? Used to work in the Port with Guy, claiming Guy was always his understudy. Haughty, a little unkempt. Honestly, I would have guessed he was drawn with my left hand.”
Gilbert visibly perked up at the news, “No, which means if it was true Guy would have mentioned it. He moving in the market already?”
Felix shrugged, “I’m sure he’s gonna be trying to show up Guy soon, something to watch for.”
Gilbert grinned, while there was some mirth there, there was something threatening about it. “It’ll be good to see him try.”
“That reminds me, we’ve got Peace Day coming up soon. You planning to make any peace this year?”
Gilbert shook his head “I made my peace last year before we left port.” he smiled at the memory.
Felix returned the smile “Ah, that fool’s gold you gave that mariner really did shut him up didn’t it. He had a great laugh about it after the shock wore off.” Gilbert raised an eyebrow to Felix, returning the question.
Felix just shrugged. “If anything, I’m hoping a few people come to me. We’ll see. If the Njords accepted something as ridiculous as Tressertag from the Gothics, I hope they took on a more civilized holiday like Peace Day. I’ve tried to… inform a few parties that the holiday is forthcoming though. I sincerely hope Sir Logain makes amends with Her Ladyship over his behavior.” He sighed heavily.

Gilbert leaned against the exterior of the warehouse, and tucked his quill and ledger away, having marked the last of the barrels entering the warehouse. “Word is your brother’s doing better.”
“Yeah,” Felix said, smirking as he looked past Gil, “He’s been working odd jobs—messenger, light hauling. Nothing that has anything to do with Magic.” A hand reached out and touched Gilbert’s shoulder, and two voices spoke in unison as the distinctive sound of a flintlock hammer being drawn back rang out, “Making himself useful. That’s how things get done.”