\Gls{fenestra} does not sit well with our modern instincts.
We all understand that aeroplanes and cows have irrevocably changed the planet for the worse.
But in \gls{fenestra}, people fight against a cruel nature.
They burn the forest while celebrating every toppled tree.
They despise their own world.
And so naturally, the perspective-switch which \gls{fenestra} demands can feel unclean.
But you have to understand, their world feels very different.
When people travelled during this era, they would only fear other humans.
They hated wolves for stealing their food, and in some parts of the planet, a few animals had the muscle and teeth to kill a few humans here and there\ldots at least those not paying attention, but no animal has every posed a real danger to humanity on the same level as diseases, starvation, or warfare.
No city ever disappeared because of large predators eating everyone.
Humanity has wandered the earth, fearlessly, selecting the best plots of land they could to grow all the food they wished, and fence in the meat.
Nobody alive will ever seen an auroch, as we hunted the last of the bovine progenitors to extinction around the 13th century.
They stood almost two metres tall, with horns almost a metre long.
Once we had tamed every forest, we ate the last of them.
Now only our cows remain -- unnatural creatures, created through early genetic manipulation.
Nobody planned this genocide -- we simply hunt too well to let large animals live.
Aurochs might have survived if they had the protection of basilisks and giant arachnids.
These might seem like unlikely farmers, but they only eat the slowest of their prey, keeping their numbers `under control'.
And they do the same for humans.
Disease, starvation and war don't trouble the people in \gls{fenestra} much, but families can swell and shrink in much the same way they did in old Europe.
Women may have half a dozen children, but the population never grows beyond the land which people manage to capture.
Just as Europeans once considered the black death, and other plagues, a standard way to die, any market place in \gls{fenestra} will have updates on what ate whom recently.
This leaves that world very similar to ours on-balance, but very strange in all the details.
At first glance, \gls{fenestra} might seem like a paradise.
A world without disease, hunger or war; all of its land lush with forests of every kind, each teeming with animals to hunt and fruit to pick.
Yet, families still swell and shrink same as European peasants of the old.
With the abundance of food, many beasts of the forest grew to enormous sizes and appetites.
Instead of plagues and famines, the population of \gls{fenestra} is ravaged by monsters.
Griffins swoop in from the sky, mouthdiggers burst from the ground, chittincrawlers drop from the canopies, basilisks shoot out from their dens, woodspies hide in plain sight, nowhere is truly safe.
To immerse yourself in this world, you must forget about our gentle Mother Nature.
\Gls{fenestra} eats its young.
On Earth, the humble, docile cow used to be the auroch -- a prehistoric beast with an large muscular frame and even larger horns.
We tamed it, bred the wild out of it, just like we tamed most of the land and everything on it.
On \gls{fenestra}, aurochs still roam.
Humans survive by carving out \glspl{village}, burning and slashing away the woods into a large clearing, with a walled settlement placed in the middle like a nipple.
With the wilderness continually trying to heal the festering wound that is civilisation, the \gls{village} must always hold the line.
Archers defend from inside the \gls{village} walls, while the \gls{guard} is stuck outside.
As the most downtrodden, poor, criminal, stupid, the \gls{guard} act as a first line of defense, a human shield.
They are tasked with maintaining the forest perimeter with fire, and slaying any beast that crosses the treeline.
But most importantly, the \gls{guard} must venture into wild, and mine it for essential resources -- mushrooms and herbs, auroch meat, basilisk hide, griffin's feathers, and so much more.
\begin{exampletext}
A young man, who does random jobs to get by, with little pay, must dig a grave tonight.
The town has no full-time grave-diggers, because most people do not leave a corpse.
A poor boy, taking odd jobs to get by, is scrubbing chamber pots.
He is interrupted by a sharp-dressed man forcing a shovel in his hands.
Time to dig a grave, errand boy!
The town has no dedicated grave-digger.
Most people don't leave a corpse.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
Two men in a bar debate the usefulness of wearing a helmet.
The first details the standard attacks from every predator, which mostly involve ambushes, and grabbing.
At small hours of the night, the local pub is still packed and very loud.
Over the crowd, an important debate led by two inebriated gentlemen is heard:
\begin{speechtext}
``Helmets stop you spotting an attack.
And they don't help when something grabs you.
``\ldots can't
see shit with a helmet on!
By the time you see its tentacle, it's scooping out your face like a cantaloupe!''
``Aaaaand that's how you get an arrow to the face, bonehead!
Don't come crying to \emph{me} when those bandits take your eye \emph{and} your horse!''
In fact, they make everything worse in every way, defending only against bandits.
But bandits don't want to eat you, and they're much more timid than real predators, so you can pay them off if you need to.
\emph{And} the helmet still stops you spotting the ambush.
\end{speechtext}
``Fuck the horse, fuck the money, fuck everything!
You can't bribe a beast!''
The interlocutor has a few good points on the other side, so the debate continues -- should soldiers wear helmets?
\end{exampletext}
``What money??
You don't have a bucket to piss in.
No wonder you have no helmet!
Who would ambush a bum?''
\begin{exampletext}
The newest recruit to the \gls{templeOfBeasts} arrives, tired, hungry, and pregnant.
Not long before, most people who became pregnant would receive some dispensation to take time off, or would receive permission to work as \pgls{jotter} instead of fighting at the \gls{edge}.
However, this lead to an explosion of pregnancies within the \gls{guard}, which lead to a group of the hardest bastards to walk \gls{fenestra}'s dark roads.
``Yeah, they'll ambush \emph{you} instead cuz you can't see shit!''
Nobody wants any more of \emph{that lot}, so instead of a safe desk-job, pregnant women now receive a spear or crossbow (depending on supplies).
Fists start flying, and the pub breaks out in an all-out brawl.
The helmet debate continues.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
A shepherd walks out with his tiny flock.
Not many can survive on the small grassland which surround the \gls{village}, but enough to make a daily walk worth the effort.
A very pregnant and very new recruit arrives to the \gls{templeOfBeasts}.
After enrollment, uniform, tour, and far too much paperwork, it's finally her turn to recieve a weapon from the \gls{guard}\gls{jotter}.
The \gls{jotter} sigh, thinking `We try to be gentlemen, really, despite our rotten reputation.
As much as our ladies are just as nasty as the men, it just seems wrong to send an expecting mother outside the walls.'
`But we did give them plenty of rest and comfy indoor busywork, and what did that get us?
All boys on the field, and all the goddamn good-for-nothing lazy harlots all laughing and doing fuck-all, carrying little hellions in their bellies.'
Archers stand watch from the \gls{village} walls, waiting for hours as the sheep slowly graze.
The \gls{jotter} feels his fury bubbling to the surface all over again.
The little shits, who grew up to be the hardiest bastards in \gls{fenestra}, remain a thorn in his side to this day.
No matter what the traders say, shepherds consider their lives more valuable than any of their sheep, so all shepherds make sure to keep at least one lame sheep within the flock.
They break a leg or two, and make sure the break never completely heals.
As a result, the sheep limps slow enough for the shepherd to out-run it, and if anything comes out of the forest, looking for a meal, they can take the lame sheep while the shepherd runs.
The new recruit shuffles awkwardly on her swollen feet.
``Usually new recruits get short swords and bows.
Here's a spear, you could use something to lean on while keeping guard.''
Relief washes over her face, and the \gls{jotter}'s fury dissipates.
Maybe he can be bit of a gentleman after all.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
Every shepherd loves their flock.
And how could you not?
Sheep are oh-so-soft and oh-so-dumb, following your every step, peering up at you with uthmost devotion.
Perhaps it doesn't seem so from the outside, when you have to pick out a sheep to make lame.
Most shepherds take no pleasure in maiming, but even if they did, nothing can break a flock's singleminded adoration.
In a sheep's eyes, you're their whole world, even as you break their limbs.
After all, sheep spend hours, every day, grazing outside \pgls{village}'s walls.
And sooner or later, something is bound to go wrong.
Perhaps an archer's aim is off that day, or the shepherd was busy thinking of dinner, or the guard was dozing off.
Before you know it, some hungry forest creature is careening towards the herd.
The lame sheep is a sacrifice, an offering to the forest so others are left unharmed.
It's for the good of the flock.
A good shepherd takes care of their flock.
It is also what you whisper to yourself as you break another leg.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
The young \glspl{doula} make their way to the island -- a paradise where people can walk freely, if they walk in groups of a dozen or so.
\Glspl{doula} have a duty to facilitate changes and transitions in life, big and small.
So there's always a few in scouting troupes, to hopefully start a new \gls{village} somewhere.
Once a settlement is established, \glspl{doula} resume with their nomadic ways.
When a seafaring scouting troupe washed up on the shores of an island paradise, they were delighted to find it devoid of large predators.
The same strong currents and turbulent weather that caried them, also kept the likes of basilisks and griffins off the island.
Whenever a lesser beast reared its head, troupe leaders ordered a great hunt.
At first glance, \gls{fenestra} might seem like a paradise.
A world without disease, hunger or war; all of its land lush with forests of every kind, each teeming with animals to hunt and fruit to pick.
Yet, families still swell and shrink same as European peasants of the old.
With the abundance of food, many beasts of the forest grew to enormous sizes and appetites.
Instead of plagues and famines, the population of \gls{fenestra} is ravaged by monsters.
Griffins swoop in from the sky, mouthdiggers burst from the ground, chittincrawlers drop from the canopies, basilisks shoot out from their dens, woodspies hide in plain sight, nowhere is truly safe.
To immerse yourself in this world, you must forget about our gentle Mother Nature.
\Gls{fenestra} eats its young.
On Earth, the humble, docile cow used to be the auroch -- a prehistoric beast with an large muscular frame and even larger horns.
We tamed it, bred the wild out of it, just like we tamed most of the land and everything on it.
On \gls{fenestra}, aurochs still roam.
Humans survive by carving out \glspl{village}, burning and slashing away the woods into a large clearing, with a walled settlement placed in the middle like a nipple.
With the wilderness continually trying to heal the festering wound that is civilisation, the \gls{village} must always hold the line.
Archers defend from inside the \gls{village} walls, while the \gls{guard} is stuck outside.
As the most downtrodden, poor, criminal, stupid, the \gls{guard} act as a first line of defense, a human shield.
They are tasked with maintaining the forest perimeter with fire, and slaying any beast that crosses the treeline.
But most importantly, the \gls{guard} must venture into wild, and mine it for essential resources -- mushrooms and herbs, auroch meat, basilisk hide, griffin's feathers, and so much more.
\begin{exampletext}
A poor boy, taking odd jobs to get by, is scrubbing chamber pots.
He is interrupted by a sharp-dressed man forcing a shovel in his hands.
Time to dig a grave, errand boy!
The town has no dedicated grave-digger.
Most people don't leave a corpse.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
At small hours of the night, the local pub is still packed and very loud.
Over the crowd, an important debate led by two inebriated gentlemen is heard:
``\ldots can't
see shit with a helmet on!
By the time you see its tentacle, it's scooping out your face like a cantaloupe!''
``Aaaaand that's how you get an arrow to the face, bonehead!
Don't come crying to \emph{me} when those bandits take your eye \emph{and} your horse!''
``Fuck the horse, fuck the money, fuck everything!
You can't bribe a beast!''
``What money??
You don't have a bucket to piss in.
No wonder you have no helmet!
Who would ambush a bum?''
``Yeah, they'll ambush \emph{you} instead cuz you can't see shit!''
Fists start flying, and the pub breaks out in an all-out brawl.
The helmet debate continues.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
A very pregnant and very new recruit arrives to the \gls{templeOfBeasts}.
After enrollment, uniform, tour, and far too much paperwork, it's finally her turn to recieve a weapon from the \gls{guard} \gls{jotter}.
The \gls{jotter} sigh, thinking `We try to be gentlemen, really, despite our rotten reputation.
As much as our ladies are just as nasty as the men, it just seems wrong to send an expecting mother outside the walls.'
`But we did give them plenty of rest and comfy indoor busywork, and what did that get us?
All boys on the field, and all the goddamn good-for-nothing lazy harlots all laughing and doing fuck-all, carrying little hellions in their bellies.'
The \gls{jotter} feels his fury bubbling to the surface all over again.
The little shits, who grew up to be the hardiest bastards in \gls{fenestra}, remain a thorn in his side to this day.
The new recruit shuffles awkwardly on her swollen feet.
``Usually new recruits get short swords and bows.
Here's a spear, you could use something to lean on while keeping guard.''
Relief washes over her face, and the \gls{jotter}'s fury dissipates.
Maybe he can be bit of a gentleman after all.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
Every shepherd loves their flock.
And how could you not?
Sheep are oh-so-soft and oh-so-dumb, following your every step, peering up at you with uthmost devotion.
Perhaps it doesn't seem so from the outside, when you have to pick out a sheep to make lame.
Most shepherds take no pleasure in maiming, but even if they did, nothing can break a flock's singleminded adoration.
In a sheep's eyes, you're their whole world, even as you break their limbs.
After all, sheep spend hours, every day, grazing outside \pgls{village}'s walls.
And sooner or later, something is bound to go wrong.
Perhaps an archer's aim is off that day, or the shepherd was busy thinking of dinner, or the guard was dozing off.
Before you know it, some hungry forest creature is careening towards the herd.
The lame sheep is a sacrifice, an offering to the forest so others are left unharmed.
It's for the good of the flock.
A good shepherd takes care of their flock.
It is also what you whisper to yourself as you break another leg.
\end{exampletext}
\begin{exampletext}
\Glspl{doula} have a duty to facilitate changes and transitions in life, big and small.
So there's always a few in scouting troupes, to hopefully start a new \gls{village} somewhere.
Once a settlement is established, \glspl{doula} resume with their nomadic ways.
When a seafaring scouting troupe washed up on the shores of an island paradise, they were delighted to find it devoid of large predators.
The same strong currents and turbulent weather that caried them, also kept the likes of basilisks and griffins off the island.
Whenever a lesser beast reared its head, troupe leaders ordered a great hunt.
