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06:56 am: Charred in Stone; The Words of Searra Cindersong

Near dusk; fifth day, third month, 998^th year,

 

This place is cold and damp and—now—reeks of bloody death.

            I take a bit of time, while my boys pilfer the slain and tally treasure to calm my nerves and give word of what has happened here—in the event that we find some misfortune. But, with the display of prowess that I have just seen—that I have just performed myself!—I find that hard imagine!

           

The lot of us had regrouped in the tavern, Dirk still polishing his stool and Riven and Felix smelling of smoke and mischief, when the gods sent us a spur to hurry us upon our way…

            It seems that the barkeep was an unwelcome cousin of Jim—the tough we had met upon the hill. The ‘owner’ of the mill currently reducing itself to ashes up upon the heights right then.

            Apparently—and this of lesser import to me, especially now that I had reason to believe that Jim and his cronies had found their comeuppance—a taxman from the capital had gone missing somewhere in the region. Investigators from the city had come and looked about, but found no sign of him, or of the king’s coin that he had obtained…

            Jim’s own kinsman hinted that he might have had a dark hand in that…

            The barkeep’s far more welcome news was that he knew a bit of the legend of Starkweather John!

            He gave tell that John was a hero in some ancient war who had bested a dark-skinned elven warrior near this very spot. The hero ended a war, and died soon after this victory from his wounds.

            His body was buried in the hills, in a nearby tomb!

            I wanted to leave right away, but Dirk wanted to visit the local store—run by a woman of ill nature, the barkeep warned—and Riven and Felix were more of a mind to find themselves food.

            I admit I was impatient. I admit that I’ll fight anyone who honestly accuses me of being so.

            I left.

Alone.

            I was intent upon finding this tomb, finding this sword—hopefully a good, keen longblade!—and laying this evil on the horizon to rest.

            I was keen upon making my way back home…

            It was not long after that the boys caught up to me with one of the sheriff’s men—a suspicious young man named Morton—in tow.

            Two children who were sent to pick berries near the tomb had gone missing. Their parents had entered the tavern to beg for aid (more likely in that it was the only sure place to find quick aid with the sheriff fighting fires and the priest out and dallying about)

            Apparently, the sheriff, aided by the late-day rains, had finally put an end to the fire, and had returned to the tavern—with Father Branson in his wake!—to question the newcomers to town. (I still have no ken of how that priest got around me, but I think this now to be a test of my patience—which I failed and would fail again!)

            I will say that—at this time—Riven, being the bonny boy that he is—successfully cooled my surliness by gifting me with a blade of exquisite make. Smiling with his pretty, his nasty smile as if daring me to ask where he had found it.

            I took the blade, in love with the edge and the trappings and the balance of it, but determined to put it to worthy use and not call it mine until I learned of the rightness of its origins.

            If that sounds hollow then, I will admit that it sounds so to me as well. I also admit that I will fight anyone who rightfully names it so.

            And so…

            We made our way to the tomb to find it empty of berry-picking children. But a spray of black blood upon a nearby tree set us ill at ease for other reasons.

            Goblinfolk!

            These children were in great peril, any could see that now! But they looked to have made some accounting of themselves before they were trundled away. There was no sign of their blood, which was a blessing, to say the least!

            Other than a strange inscription, which Dirk seemed able to decipher, there was no other reason to tarry here. Father Branson had been insistent in saying that John’s sword was not to be found here…

            According to Deputy Morton, the tracks of the goblinfolk—Hobgoblins, it seems—were leading straight to the played out mines that were the cause of the town’s despair.

            The townsfolk had been swearing that the veins were not tapped out, that the mines were plagued by ghosts.

            Mayhap in these ‘ghosts’, black blood runs deep…

            It took some doing, but we talked the wary deputy—good head on that one! I wouldn’t trust strangers like my boys either!—into running back to the town for help. That done, we ventured into the mines.

            I will say that rains and holes in the ground go well together. Just, not so well for us… The mines were filling with no one to man the pumps. And if we were to save the children, we would have to do it soon!

            We did not have to travel for long before we came upon proof of our fears. Feeble though it was…

            This proof was in the form of a drunken hobgoblin that we quickly sent into a deeper slumber. We left it trussed and truly unconscious and crept deeper into the mines…

            Our next bout with the blackbloods was not so easy…

            We came upon a chamber with many column supports and three hobgoblins among them. Felix—as he is wont to do, and with some skill—hurled a stone by hand into the fray, with little success. Dirk fired a bolt from a crossbow that I had no inkling that he had owned into the three. Also to no success. Riven trumped them all by hurling fire, and one of the hobbers went down with a scream.

            The other two returned a few barbs of their own. I heard a gasp of pain from one of my boys behind me that hinted that they had found some small success.

            This time, both my ire and my fire was up, and I was determined to make a better accounting of myself than I had that morn!

            I ran from pillar to pillar, keeping cover between myself and my foes, fully aware that they would see where I finally came to rest.

            I was daring them to come and get me!

            Fire, fire and more foulfire from my boys prevented them from doing so—but did not fell the remaining two…

            While the hobbers were cringing, desperate not to become a crackling corpse like their fallen brother, I came around the pillar and struck one down with such force that my new blade clove him in twain and bit into the fellow beyond him!

            Yes!

            A much better accounting!

            And that brings us to here, where I write to you now. Soon we will continue on into the depths, the boys have finished their pilfering, and now they look to me in quiet expectancy sure to raise my woman’s wrath if they continue so for much longer!

 

            More to come…