Rumours Around the Hearths of Jara
Out in the fields, beneath the open skies of Jara, we hear the wind carry tales of defiance. The resistance—ah, it is more an idea than a thing we can touch. We call them by many names: The Echo of the Ages, the hidden ones, or simply our own. They are said to dwell in the hills and forests, striking at the Ivinians when they least expect it. Who leads them or where they hide, I do not know. Such knowledge is for the brave or the reckless, not for a humble farmer like me.
They say there are bands of our kin who have taken up arms, stealing from the Vikings to feed the poor or ambushing caravans in the dead of night. Some say the rebels have gathered strength, training men in secret camps beyond the mountains. Others whisper of visions and prayers, of ancient heroes who will rise again to fight for Jara’s freedom. Whether these are truths or just stories to keep our spirits alive, I cannot say.
The church of Ilvir, too, is often mentioned in these tales. There are priests, they say, who shelter the rebels, offering blessings and hiding places when they are pursued. But even here, not all Ilvirians agree—some keep to their prayers, untouched by the world’s troubles, while others lend a quiet hand to those who resist.
In the villages, we speak in low tones when the garrison is near. We tell each other that the rebels are out there, somewhere, watching. When an Ivinian merchant vanishes or a Viking lord's anger flares, we wonder if it is their work. Still, we know little for certain. To speak too freely or to ask too many questions is to court danger, for the Vikings have spies among us.There are those among us who think the resistance is a fool's errand, that we should endure and wait for better days. Others say we must fight, even if it costs us everything. For myself, I do not know. I only know that the songs of our ancestors still linger in my heart, and though the Vikings hold our land, they do not hold our souls.