The Tale of the Orchard of Apples and Oranges

For secrets, no matter how cleverly hidden behind talk of Apples and Oranges, cannot remain buried forever.

Once upon a time, long ago, in a vast and sunlit land far-far away known as Fortalis-Dalmar, there stretched the greatest orchards ever grown. Their trees ran beyond the horizon; apples glowing like embers and oranges shining like captured suns. Travelers whispered that all the fruit in the kingdom flowed from this one mighty place, and that its influence reached far beyond its borders.

These orchards belonged to powerful Farm Lords; towering figures draped in fine cloth, masters of enormous estates. Their storehouses overflowed with fruit and gold alike. They dined together, traded favors, and spoke as if the land itself answered to them.

But the orchards did not thrive by their hands alone.

It was the Pickers who made the harvest possible.

The Burden of the Pickers

The Pickers rose before dawn, long before the Farm Lords stirred. They did not arrive with tools provided or wagons supplied.

No, each Picker brought their own.

Their own battered trucks, coughing smoke along dusty roads.
Their own ladders, weathered and worn smooth from years of use.

And those ladders… those were the most dangerous of all.

The tallest fruit grew high in the trees, where the wind moved strongest. The Pickers climbed anyway; higher and higher, balancing on narrow rungs as gusts pushed against them. The branches swayed, the ladders creaked, and more than a few lost their footing each year.

Some fell.

Some never climbed again.

Yet still, every morning, the Pickers returned.

Because they had no other choice.

The Secret of Apples and Oranges

Twice each month, under dim lantern light, the Farm Lords gathered in a grand inn at the heart of Fortalis-Dalmar. No Picker was permitted beyond its doors.

Inside, behind thick walls, they spoke in careful code.

“Let us discuss Apples,” one would say.

“And the matter of Oranges,” another would reply.

To outsiders, it was harmless talk of fruit.

But among the Farm Lords, it meant something far different: how little they would pay the Pickers, and what burdens they would continue to place upon them.

They knew one another well. Many had once worked side by side, and their interests were aligned. Quietly, consistently, they agreed to keep the Pickers’ wages low, no matter how rich the harvest became.

And so it was.

Year after year, the Pickers earned little more than their fathers had before them.

The Cost of Climbing

Yet the world changed.

Fuel for their trucks grew more expensive. Repairs came more often. Ladders needed replacing after splintering or bending under strain. The cost of simply doing the work rose with every passing season.

Still, the Farm Lords refused to pay more.

They could afford it, of course they could. Their ledgers were strong, their profits steady. They even boasted to one another of how efficiently they kept costs down, rewarding themselves with bonuses for doing so.

Why didn’t they pay more?

Because they did not have to.

And in that truth, their greed took root.

The Crooked Advantage

Some Pickers, desperate or cunning, found another way.

They carried small envelopes filled with coin and slipped them quietly into the hands of certain Farm Lords.

In return, they were given the best orchards; the trees heavy with fruit, the rows easy to reach, the paths smooth and clear.

Their baskets filled quickly.

Their rivals’ did not.

The honest Pickers were left with sparse branches, broken ladders, and long drives between poor yields. While others prospered, they struggled simply to survive.

And so, the balance of Fortalis-Dalmar tilted further still.

The Listener in the Inn

Then, one day, something changed.

A former Picker, one who had once climbed those dangerous ladders and driven those long roads, took a modest job at the grand inn where the Farm Lords met.

He swept floors. Carried wood. Kept silent.

But he listened.

And one night, passing by the great chamber, he heard the familiar words.

“Apples.”

“Oranges.”

This time, he understood.

He lingered just long enough to hear the truth behind the code; the agreements, the quiet manipulation, the deliberate control over every Picker’s livelihood.

His hands tightened.

His heart raced.

He knew what he had stumbled upon was no small matter.

A Whisper That Carries

By chance, or perhaps fate, that same man had a brother-in-law who served in the distant capital, working under the King’s High Advocate, a guardian of law and fairness.

He told him everything.

The meetings.
The coded words.
The envelopes of coin.
The dangerous burdens placed upon those who climbed and labored.

And as the story traveled, it grew heavier with consequence.

For secrets, no matter how cleverly hidden behind talk of Apples and Oranges, cannot remain buried forever.

And So…

In Fortalis-Dalmar, the wind began to shift.

The Pickers still climbed.

The ladders still swayed.

The trucks still rumbled across long, costly roads.

The Farm Lords still met.

The envelopes of coin kept flowing.

But beyond the orchards, eyes had begun to turn toward the valley; watching closely, waiting for what would come next.

And the questions lingered like a storm building over the trees:

Would the harvest finally be shared fairly?

Or would the mighty orchards of Fortalis-Dalmar and the Farm Lords be forced to reckon with their own treachery?

And they all lived…

Well, we’ll see.

The Tale of the Orchard of Apples and Oranges – The Tale of the Orchard of Apples and Oranges – The Tale of the Orchard of Apples and Oranges

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