Thank you for the kind words!
Here is part 3. Part 4 (the last, because it deals with the two remaining PC) should be posted by the end of this week. And, after that, it's onward to Chapter 1!
Prelude - part 3: The Flame Rekindled
Drachenhold - Duchy of Pellham
399 AC - Ringrise mine (Five Shires region)
Run! Don’t look back, run!
So, he ran.. for all the good it had done him till now.
Dark-grey walls were speeding past, illuminated only momentarily by the unwavering light of his lantern. They were shored up of course, same as the rest of the mine. In a way, he was almost glad he couldn’t take the time to examine the pit props. He doubted wood more than 4 centuries old had retained its resilience. The muffled rumbles he heard irregularly only served to reinforce that opinion.
Still, he had to give it to those who had dug the Second Depth; their galleries had held all these years. Heck! Apparently, they had even held despite the Cataclysm. Well, mostly. From time to time, he had had to change course due to a section that had collapsed but, all in all, this level was relatively clear of rubbles or major cave-in.
Almost as if miners were still maintaining it.
A thought came to him unbidden, sending shivers down his spine.
Ohmygodno!
He stopped and, slowly, backed up against a wall, his lantern in one hand and his pickaxe in the other.
What if it’s.. them?
His thoughts drifted back to the moment he first encountered them.
**
The pit boss of the Eleventh Depth had said he remembered seeing a pile of old rails gathering dust years ago during a routine inspection of the Second Depth. And here they were, unable to continue mining the new copper vein near the number 3 shaft because the quartermaster had failed to deliver new rails in time. So, two miners had been sent to locate the rails and, more importantly, to determine if they were still usable.
He hadn’t been too happy about the assignment - those abandoned levels were a bit spooky - but had obeyed anyway. The good thing with the Second Depth was that the air was cooler and didn’t stink of sweat. So, after a while, he actually began to enjoy the trip. They had managed to find easily enough the place where the rails had been. The only problem was that they weren’t there anymore...
Puzzled, they had followed tracks that led away from the access shaft. Perhaps other miners had simply moved them during another inspection?
And then, they had stumbled on
them.
At first, they had mistaken them for normal miners. After all, from a distance, all halfling miners look alike. As they came closer, they began to notice differences. The skin of these workers was unnaturally pale. Some had limbs that showed signs of broken bones, but didn’t seem impeded by them. And the air in the gallery was inexplicably chiller than elsewhere on the same level.
Fosco, his companion, had told him to stay back while he checked them out. He had gone forward and hailed the unknown miners.
Apparently, they didn’t like to be disturbed while digging because they had ignored him until he grabbed the nearest one by the shoulder and turned him around forcibly.
The
creature had faced Fosco then. Musadoc would remember to the end of his days the lidless pitch-black eyes, like holes, and the open mouth that was drooling dirt.
Fosco had seemed petrified by this vision of horror until the creature touched him with long, grimy, black-nailed fingers. He jerked and tried to run but collapsed on the ground, as if drained of vitality. With a well-aimed blow of its pickaxe, the creature pinned him to the floor like a bug to a wooden plate. As Fosco was screaming in pain, the creature stood above him and
vomited a horrible mixture of gravel and dirt into his mouth. The halfling miner convulsed for a full minute as if his innards were on fire, and then lay still.
During the whole ordeal, Musadoc had been too terrified to move. He had finally recognized them for what they were: shaft wights, one of the very few things that miners dreaded more than a cave-in!
Then, the creature had raised its nightmarish face toward him and the only thing he had seen reflected in its hollow eyes was his own death. So, he had turned tail and run as if his life depended on it.. because it most likely did.
Unfortunately, fear has a funny way of muddling your memories. Instead of going straight back to the shaft, he had actually ventured deeper into the galleries.
**
For a minute, he dared to think he had lost them. He started to breathe easier and tried to relax. Just as he was about to succeed, he heard it. Faint noises at first, then the telltale splashing sound of feet sloshing through the mud of the gallery’s floor.
Rontra’s grumble! Why don’t they give up?!
But he already knew the answer to that question. The old folktales all agreed on that point: shaft wights liked only two things, collect ore and
recruit new members for their undead fraternity.
No doubt, if he stayed here long enough, he would end up running into Fosco again. Or, rather, into the creature Fosco was even now turning into.
The thought wasn’t a cheerful one...
Something bothered him though. Every time he had stopped running, the shaft wights had found him shortly afterward. That in itself wasn’t so odd. After all, they were relentless undeads. No, the weird part was that they didn’t always come from
behind him. Sometimes, they came out of secondary tunnels, as if they wished to discourage him from going in certain directions. Almost as if..
I am being herded!
The only question was whether he was guided toward a specific location or away from it.
Since they could overtake him anywhere, he didn’t see the point of doing it in a particular area. No, it was much more likely that they were trying to prevent his escape. This meant there was only one course of action open to him...
I must double back. Find my way past those who track me. Get to one of the access points to the upper or lower levels.
But the mere thought of facing the shaft wights again was enough to turn his stomach and drain all strength from his legs.
Aye.. easier said than done.
His breathing quickened as self-preservation fought logic, and he became acutely aware that cold sweat was covering his entire body.
I don’t want to die!
Noise from both sides of the gallery informed him that his reprieve was over. It was time to act.. or die trying.
Rontra, Earth-Mother, please don’t stick to my feet!
Summoning what strength of will he still had, he put his plan into action, running as quickly as his feet would carry him back the way he had come. Almost immediately, he came face to face with two shaft wights. For a second, he thought he could read surprise on their ruined faces.
He, however, didn’t hesitate. He flung his lantern at the right one. Luckily, his aim was true and the lamp struck the undead miner in the chest. It shattered and flaming oil spurted, spraying the two wights.
Musadoc attempted to run past them, clinging to the right wall as much as he could. Unfortunately, the undead he had hit was now flailing around, trying to extinguish the flames that were devouring its body. As the halfling attempted to squeeze past, one of the creature’s claws grazed his left shoulder. The contact was brief but its effect devastating.
Musadoc almost stumbled as he felt his vitality being ripped from him. Suddenly, he was as feeble as if he had just spent a week suffering from the flu. If his mind and heart hadn’t been screaming that he had to keep moving, he would probably have collapsed on the spot. Instead, his right hand tried to grab the wall in a desperate attempt to steady himself.. and met only empty air.
He tumbled for a few seconds before landing - hard! - on a metallic surface. Pain shot through his head and his left shoulder. As incredible as it may seem, this proved to be exactly what he needed. The resulting adrenaline surge brought back some strength to his limbs and dispelled – however momentarily – the pall of fear that clogged his mind.
He groped around in the dark, his hands trying to ascertain what his surroundings were. Fortunately, it didn’t take him long to find out. He had fallen down a small evacuation shaft straight into an old ore truck.
A roar from above told him at least one of the wights had survived and was only seconds away from reaching him. Frantically, his hands searched the wagon till they found the handle of the brake.
Pleaseohpleaseletitwork!
He pulled as hard as he could.
The handle broke.
Gods above and below, give me a break!
Something heavy dropped from the shaft on top of him, something cold, hard, and definitely moving. Lying on his back, he could feel bits of dirt and gravel falling on his face. He tried very hard not to imagine the wight’s face inches above his own, mouth ready to disgorge whatever had killed Fosco.
Reacting on a purely instinctual level, his legs coiled and then kicked hard. Amazingly, it worked! The wight was projected out of the wagon against the shaft’s wall. As it crumpled between the two, its weight dislodged the cart. The brake, hopelessly rusted, broke apart and the wagon started to roll. Slowly at first, then more rapidly as it picked up speed.
Musadoc, familiar with the mine’s design, knew that ore carts were supposed to converge on central chambers where their contents would be sorted out before being dispatched to one of the main shafts for a one-way trip to the surface.
Sweet freedom, here I come!
His wagon derailed, sending him tumbling to the floor and shattering his dreams of an easy way out of this predicament.
He cursed and screamed at the same time, oath and pain merging into something incoherent yet vehement.
He picked himself up, spat mud and screamed again. Arguably a foolish action, but it was either that or have a breakdown then and there.
He sighed audibly and fought back tears of frustration.
This just ain’t my day..
Grabbing his pickaxe, he started to hobble along blindly in the general direction the cart had been going, using his left hand to stay in contact with the gallery’s wall.
Along the way, blind, hurt and thoroughly miserable, he began to repeat the Prayer of Flame (1) over and over, like a mantra.
“Bright Lady, kindler of hearth,
We light this fire in memory,
For without you, there would be no fire,
Not in heaven, nor on earth.
Bright Lady, keeper of hearth,
We thank you for the flame!”
With every step forward and each retelling, the flame of his faith burnt a little brighter within him, not only bringing comfort but also renewing his hopes.
The prayer began to take a life of its own, its multiple echoes gradually joining Musadoc’s voice to create a divine-like chorus. Gallery after gallery throughout the Second Depth filled with a hymn dedicated to the Fire that Banishes Darkness, timeless bridge between the Bright Lady and her worshippers.
And somewhere in the mine,
something heard and stirred...
**
Musadoc was tired. It seemed to him that he had been walking for hours, if not days. He would have given anything for some light, even from a mere candle. Predictably, when the gloom started to lift at the edge of his field of vision, he thought he was simply imagining it. However, when he noticed that the obscurity was increasing again as he continued forward, he decided to retrace his steps.
The light or, rather, the absence of darkness was coming from a side gallery that was partly caved in. As he got closer, he discovered someone - probably the shaft wights - had begun to clear away the rubble but then had stopped inexplicably. A small opening had been made and, through it, a cool, silvery radiance was spreading to his side of the debris.
Well, it wasn’t daylight but it sure was the first source of light he had found in a long while and, whatever it was, he intended to take it along. He was like a starving man. Now that what he craved for was almost at hand, he wouldn’t leave without it.
He spat in his hands, rubbed them together, rolled up his sleeves, and started to dig with his pickaxe. It wasn’t difficult work, just tricky as he had to enlarge the opening without triggering another cave-in.
As his work progressed, he found something that gave him pause. Apparently, the gallery had collapsed because of a few damaged pit props. The problem was that - as best as he could tell - they had been destroyed intentionally from the other side...
Hmm.. perhaps by miners that were pursued?
He resumed work but decided to proceed carefully.
When the hole was finally big enough, he crawled through. The gallery continued for only a few feet before taking a sharp turn to the left. That was where the radiance originated. Cautiously, he crept around the corner, his pickaxe held two-handed defensively.
Beyond, the tunnel extended for a dozen feet before stopping at another cave-in. Whether artificial or natural, it was hard to tell. However, that particular question looked insignificant compared to the fact that
someone was waiting for him. Indeed, Musadoc’s first reaction when he spied the stranger was to freeze, uncertain about how to proceed.
The man - that much could easily be ascertained - was human and thus tall compared to the halfling. He wore an antique suit of plate armor made of burnished bronze and stood in the middle of the tunnel, his legs spread slightly apart for stability and his hands crossed over the guard of a greatsword whose tip had been driven into the ground in front of him. The visor of his helm was raised but, since the only source of light came from behind him, his face was cloaked in shadows. A rather impressive fiery red walrus moustache was readily visible though. The warrior’s general posture seemed to indicate he was acting as a guardian of some sort.
“Hello?”
His greeting was answered only by silence.
“Sir, I’m not looking for trouble but I could really use some help here.”
The warrior didn’t move a muscle, didn’t shift position, and didn’t utter a word.
Musadoc was growing increasingly nervous about this encounter. And yet.. something about the man was oddly appealing to him. Straining his eyes, he tried to gather more details to better understand who he was facing.
The first thing that caught his gaze was the blade of the sword. It was covered with dark patches, the way metal blackens when held in a fire.
Secondly, the warrior was wearing a sporran around the waist. That kind of item was part of the Traladaran traditional garb. No one wore one these days, except maybe during festivals.
The third element that drew his attention was the center piece of the armor’s breastplate. It sported an elaborate silver filigree depicting a roaring hearth partly hidden behind a tower shield. The hearth was familiar to him as Anwyn’s holy symbol. Adding a shield to it was something he had never seen before though.
Well, as long as that man serves the Bright Lady, he is all right by me.
“Sir? I don’t want to intrude but.. do you think you could spare some time to help me get out of the mine? There are critters back in the tunnels that are after me and I’m sure a big, strong fellow like you could take care of them. That is, if you don’t mind, sir.”
The warrior stood unmoving.
My rotten luck. I finally meet someone and the guy is as blind and deaf as a rock! That, or he just doesn’t like company...
Still, that didn’t explain the radiance.
Craning to the side in order to look behind the warrior, Musadoc finally discovered what produced the light. A medallion - a holy symbol by the look of it - had been hung in the middle of the debris. Thanks to its glow, the entire area was bathed in silvery hues.
Magical! Great.. now I’m sure he’ll never let me borrow it.
Musadoc breathed deeply once to gather his courage and then walked right up to the warrior, determined to shake him out of his lethargy if he had to.
As he came closer, the shadows veiling the face gradually lifted, revealing a desiccated visage. The man had been dead for years!
For a minute, the halfling was transfixed with fear, thinking the corpse was going to animate and attack him. After all, given his recent encounters with shaft wights, that wasn’t a totally preposterous hypothesis...
Fortunately, the dead warrior didn’t move. He just stood there, noble and impressive even after having crossed over to Maal’s kingdom (2) long ago.
Warily, Musadoc skirted the corpse to get the medallion. He had to climb a bit on the debris to be high enough but, to an experienced miner such as him, that was the easy part. Holding his breath, his hand reached ever closer till his fingers brushed the silver pendant engraved with the blazing hearth symbol of Anwyn.
~
Fàilte lad!
Musadoc was so surprised he dropped the medallion and fell backward. Instinctively, his hands tried to grab something -
anything - to break his fall.
They closed on the armor’s tasset.
The whole plate swayed for a second before it came crashing down over Musadoc.
The end result was a lot of new bruises for the halfling and an armored corpse turned into a macabre puzzle...
Rubbing his head, Musadoc coughed a few times to clear out the dust he had swallowed.. and then turned green as he realized just
what the dust probably was.
Feeling nauseous, he searched around on his knees for the medallion. Since the latter was still giving off light, it didn’t take long.
He picked it up.
~
Lad, that wasn’t very nice what you did to my old bones, now was it?
He dropped it again and screamed.
That was twice he heard the strange voice, not with his ears but inside his head. The first time, he had dared to hope he had imagined it. This time, there could be no mistake.
He was sorely tempted to leave the medallion behind and depart without looking back, but the thought of wandering again in complete darkness stopped him.
Seeing no other viable alternative, he took the medallion once again.
~
Are you quite through with this game of yours yet, lad? I can afford to wait a few eons more but I doubt you could.
It took every ounce of will he could muster but, this time, he didn’t drop it.
~
Good! Now that you have pulled yourself together, how about formal introductions, eh?
“Who.. or
what.. are you?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound half as frightened as he was at that moment.
~
Sir Jareth Vaerix, at your service lad. As to ‘what’ I am, I used to be a Firebrand of the holy order of the Hearthkeepers. Right now, however, methink a better definition would be - do NOT drop me! - a ‘ghost’.
“A gh.. gho.. ghost?” Musadoc stammered.
~
Quite right, lad. Oh, but don’t let that bother you. I assure you I am quite harmless.. even if you did desecrate my body...
“Ididn’tdoitonpurpose!Iswear!Pleaseohpleasedon’tkillme!”
~
Cold ashes, lad! Slow down! I am not here to hurt you, quite the contrary.
“Re.. really? Why do you haunt me then.. er.. sir Ghost?”
~
The name be Sir Jareth, lad. But you can call me ‘Firechops’. My friends all do. Well, used to rather. As to the reason of my presence here, it is quite simple. You summoned me.
“I did?!?”
~
Course you did, lad! You prayed to the Bright Lady for help, didn’t you? Well, here I am! That is what us Hearthkeepers do, you know? Help and protect - no offense, lad - commoners.
“But you’re dead!”
~
You say that as if something so trivial could prevent me from fulfilling my sacred duty!
“...”
~
T’was a joke, lad. Don’t living beings have a sense of humor anymore?
Musadoc just couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. Pretty soon, he was roaring with laughter. As he rolled on the ground, holding his ribs, he could feel the tension of the past hours finally dissipating.
Even after the laughter died, he lay on his back for a while, a smile on his lips. Despite the fact that his situation had become so incongruous that he doubted anyone would ever believe him, he felt optimistic again.
“Thanks, I needed that.”
~
Don’t mention it, lad. How about giving me your name now, hmm?
“Oh, sorry. I am Musadoc. Musadoc Bramblethorn. Pleased to meet.. er.. you know what I mean.”
~
Same here, lad. Alright, back to business. What is your problem?
“You’re joking again, right?”
~
On the contrary lad, I am deadly serious. Well, deadly at the very least. Ahrm.. sorry, bad pun. This ‘ghost’ business is new to me too.
“You mean to tell me you don’t know where we are?!”
~
Not to burst your bubble, lad, but before I was sent back to help you I was spending my days in.. er.. well, suffice it to say I was enjoying my afterlife. How long have I been dead anyway?
“I have no idea. No one wears bronze armor anymore, so I figure it has been quite a while. And what’s a
Hearthkeeper?”
~
Why! Hearthkeepers are warriors who have dedicated themselves to Anwyn - bless her name! Don’t tell me she isn’t worshipped anymore!
“Oh no, we do worship her. It’s only that I have never met any Hearthkeeper (3). But then again, I have never been out of the Five Shires. Maybe that’s how you big folks handle things in your cities. Here we have Sheriffs.” He shrugged. “Say, how did you die exactly, if you don’t mind me asking?”
~
...
“Sir Jar.. er.. Firechops?”
~
Hmm? Oh, sorry. I was trying to remember and, as strange as it may sound, I can’t. I recall well enough my life - my ‘mortal’ life, that is - but the events that occurred during the last few weeks prior to my death are kind of.. fuzzy. Yet, I have this nagging feeling I should be remembering something. You wouldn’t have any wine to offer, would you? Usually helps me clear the cobwebs, if you see what I mean.
“Wine?! I’m a halfling!” (4)
~
Oh, right. Had forgotten how sensitive you folks are about that. Dreadfully sorry, lad. Apologies and all that.
“It’s alright, I guess. You’ve been out of touch with the world for a while, after all.”
~
Quite so! Thank you, lad. So, got any ale instead?
“Do I look like an innkeeper!? Even if I had some, how would you drink it? Aren’t you lacking a.. er.. body?”
~
Ah ha! That is where you are wrong, lad. I have one at my disposal.. yours!
“Mine?!? You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”
~
And so I won’t, lad. Calm down. What I meant is that right now we can talk because you are touching the medallion with your flesh but, if you wore it around your neck, I would also be able to see through your eyes, hear through your ears, and.. well, you catch my drift.
“Truly?”
~
Verily.
Reluctantly, Musadoc put the holy symbol on. He gulped, expecting to feel weird or something.
Nothing happened.
“Did it work? I don’t feel any different.”
~
What did you expect, lad? To sprout eyestalks? I said I would be using your senses, not turning you into a mongrelman! Oh, by the way, as long as you wear it you don’t need to talk aloud for me to hear you. Simply ‘think’.
“What? Like th-”
Er.. I mean, like this?
~
Aye, lad. That will do nicely. Now, about that problem of yours..?
Well, this is an abandoned level of the old Ringrise’s copper mine. We shouldn’t be too far from the surface. Trouble is: I’m lost and-
~
Correction, lad. We are. You are not alone anymore.
Musadoc could almost imagine the ghost patting him on the shoulder as encouragement. He smiled.
Right. We’re lost but the main problem is that we’re, indeed, not alone!
~
Could you be more specific?
There are others like you here, except they still have a body and aren’t particularly friendly...
~
Others like me?
Undeads, I mean. No offense, sir.
~
...
Sir?
~
Sorry lad. I just realized how ironic the situation was.
How so?
~
I spent quite a bit of time - when I was still alive, that is - tracking down undeads who were preying on the poor and the defenseless. At one point, I was considered an expert on the subject. Why, the Obedient Brotherhood (5) even invited me to join! So, to have become one is.. rather unsettling.
“I’m truly sorry, sir. It’s my fault if you’re here.” Musadoc had spoken aloud, perhaps because he felt words were more apt than thoughts to convey feelings of true regret.
~
Ah, don’t worry about me lad. You are the one that needs help, after all. But I appreciate the thought all the same. Now, let us see what we can do about your undead problem. Do you have holy water?
“No.”
~
Flaming oil?
“Nope.”
~
Silver weapons?
“Never owned one.”
~
You are not making this easy!
“Hey! It’s not like I had planned on being here, you know?”
~
Right, sorry lad. Hmm.. I suppose you couldn’t wield my sword, now could you?
Musadoc glanced at the antique greatsword lying on the ground. It was twice as long as he was tall.
“Not a chance.”
~
Ah well, we will have to do this the hard way then.
“What do you mean?”
~
Run for it.
The halfling snorted in disbelief.
**
Having a light at his disposal had made a world of difference.
After leaving what he had come to call the
burial chamber, Musadoc had been dismayed to notice the radius of light shed by the medallion had shrunk to a mere 10 feet radius. Yet, it had been sufficient.
Instead of groping around blindly in the dark, he had been able to examine carefully his surroundings. Thus, he had found the marks miners engrave on pit props and stones to indicate the shortest route to the access shafts when their mine starts to turn into a labyrinth.
Following those cautiously, he had finally reached a passage to the First Depth and, beyond, to the surface.
Despite looking over his shoulder the whole time, he hadn’t run into any more wights. Though puzzled, he wasn’t about to question his good fortune.
Once safely out of the mine, he reported the presence of undeads in the abandoned levels to the proper authorities and then went straight to the nearest tavern for a well-deserved drink. Strangely, his medallion has stopped glowing the minute he had arrived at the surface.
**
The main room of the Stalwart Mouse was nearly empty. It was still early in the afternoon and the patrons had yet to finish their day’s work before turning up.
Seated next to the hearth, Musadoc was finishing his second pint of Old Stout.
~
Now, that’s what I call ale!
The halfling chuckled.
I bet you didn’t taste anything better in your days!
~
Why, lad! I will have you know I was once invited to the High King’s court and was served ale that would be to this as honey is to vinegar!
The High King? But there hasn’t been any High Ki-
“HELP!”
The cry had come from the innkeeper. Apparently, a rough customer - a human - had cornered him and was threatening - loudly! - to beat him up because he had dared to ask the man to pay his bill.
Crud! Another wardog!
~
Wardog?
Mercenary. Cygnar is always recruiting new ones. Dunno why but they keep coming through the Shires instead of taking the northern road to Widdershin.
~
Cygnar?
No time to explain. I’ve got to do something quick or he’ll beat the innkeeper to a pulp.
~
Well said, lad! Pick up your weapon, there are citizens to protect!
Er.. actually, I was planning on fetching the Sheriff...
~
Nonsense, lad! You and I are going to solve this by ourselves.
Ourselves? How are you going to help?
~
Moral support, lad. Now, stop babbling and go save that poor, defenseless commoner!
Rolling his eyes, Musadoc stood up, grabbed his pickaxe and walked up to the bully.
“Er.. sir?”
No reaction.
~
What the.. !? You call that a challenge, lad? You will have to do better than this!
“Prithee sir, would you kindly stop what you’re doing?”
Still no reaction.
~
Lad, don’t make me hurt you..
“Hey, you! Skunk-breath!”
The man turned around. He was rather short for a human, which meant he was still twice the size of the halfling. Burly, he had greasy black hair and sported a 3-days beard. His nose had been broken - several times - which only served to reinforce his ‘roughneck’ look. He wore a leather armor that had known better days and carried a short sword with a serrated blade. His eyes were a bit clouded, which meant he was probably drunk.
~
Not exactly subtle, but it got the job done.
“Whut in tarnation does yo' want Shorty?”
“Sir, you’ll pay your bill and then leave this establishment. I think it’s fair to say you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Musadoc raised his pickaxe a bit to underscore the veiled threat.
~
Oooh, I liked that! You even thought to include a remark about what he owed. Nice touch, lad.
The man’s face turned red and his eyes bulged. “Fry mah hide! Make me!” He drew his sword.
I’m sooo dead...
~
No, you are not. Anwyn favors those who find the courage to risk all for the defenseless.
The ghost’s voice had sounded oddly solemn for once, but the halfling didn’t have time to wonder about it since the thug chose that moment to charge him while snarling insults.
~
For I am the Shield of the Weak and Virtue is my Strength!
Musadoc didn’t know how or why but the ghost’s words resounded like a thunderclap in his mind. He felt raw energy suddenly coursing through his veins, enlarging his muscles and bolstering his stamina. Time seemed to slow down and the human’s movements became sluggish to his eyes.
The halfling dodged his first attack easily, almost contemptuously. He giggled, still astonished at what was happening.
~
Careful, lad. Don’t let it go to your head. I know it is exhilarating but you have got to remain in control. Besides, I suggest you to use it while it lasts.. which won’t be long.
That news sobered up the halfling.
Right. So, what do I do now?
~
Given he is trying to kill you, I think defending yourself would be the obvious choice.
Musadoc having dodged the attack, the human walked past him, his swing carrying him forward. His back was totally unprotected. The halfling raised his weapon to strike but hesitated at the last second and held back his blow. The human regained his balance and turned around again. Disbelief was written all over his face.
~
That was a mistake, lad. Never hesitate. If you do, your opponent will capitalize on it. We serve Anwyn, not Morwyn. If killing is unavoidable, don’t shy away from it.
Easy for you to say! I.. I’ve never hurt anyone before!
The human advanced on Musadoc again, more cautiously this time.
“Yo' li'l weasel! So, yer a trick one eh? Wal, ah have got a few tricks of mah own.”
~
I am sorry you have to go through your baptism of fire like this, lad. Sadly, innocence is the one luxury you can not afford right now.
The mercenary suddenly kicked in a nearby stool, sending it flying in Musadoc’s direction. His aim was off but it was enough to distract the halfling for a few seconds.. which was all the human needed. He came in low, with a reverse cut aimed at Musadoc’s abdomen. The halfling managed to dodge it but just barely. His shirt had been cut and a thin line of blood blossomed from underneath.
~
Listen to me, lad! It is self-defense. He drew blood first!
Musadoc was still holding back, fresh pain adding to his indecisiveness.
The two opponents circled each other warily, one bent on bloodshed, the other on avoiding it.
The human tried to bull-rush the halfling, intent on pinning him to a wall. Unfortunately, he stepped on the stool he had used earlier and that was now lying on the floor. Slipping, he fell forward, spreading his arms wide instinctively to try to regain his balance.
~
Now, lad. NOW!
Gripping his pickaxe two-handed, Musadoc launched himself forward. He rolled under the man’s right arm and came up behind him, swinging his weapon backward and down with all his strength.
The pickaxe connected to the base of the human’s skull with a thud.
The mercenary’s body fell to the floor, jerked convulsively a few times and then lay still.
~
Well done, lad! Lad? La-
Musadoc fainted.
**
He regained consciousness on the floor to the sound of multiple voices all battling for his attention.
“Mister?
Mister?”
~
Lad? Talk to me, lad. Lad?
”SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!”
Blessed silence, finally.
He felt weak, nauseous and tired, all at once. Groaning, he sat and massaged his temples for a minute till he began to feel a bit better. Sighing, he opened his eyes.
The innkeeper was crouching next to him, a worried look on his face.
Gazing around him, Musadoc saw the thug’s corpse a few feet away, his pickaxe still embedded in the skull.
Crud! And here I was hoping it had all been a nightmare...
“Er.. mister? Are you feeling alright?” The innkeeper’s voice held a note of apprehension.
Oh, right. He must think I am crazy.
“Thank you, I’ll manage. Sorry about my outburst earlier. Let’s just say I’ve had a bad day.”
“No problem, mister. I just wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue. Damn humans, always up to no good!”
Musadoc picked himself up and walked to the corpse. He pulled his pickaxe free and concentrated on not throwing up at the sight of the grey matter that was stuck to it.
He bent forward, yanked the human’s purse loose, and threw it at the innkeeper.
“I believe this is yours.”
“Thank you, mister!”
The innkeeper examined the contents. He counted carefully what money there was and then turned to Musadoc.
“I’ll just take what he owed me. The rest will be used to pay for his funeral. Does that sound reasonable to you?”
“Sure, whatever.” Musadoc made a dismissal gesture.
Why the blaze is he asking me?
~
Because he sees you as a man of action, lad. The kind that takes charge. Want it or not, that is what you became the minute you decided to help him.
But I don’t want to be one! I just want to be a miner and mind my own business.
~
Do you now, lad? I wonder. Your faith was strong enough to pull me back to this world. No small feat, I assure you! You chose to involve yourself in a dispute that didn’t concern you. And when the time came, you risked your life selflessly to save another’s. It seems to me you have the makings of a Hearthkeeper. I would be honored to act as your instructor.
But.. but.. I never.. I mean, I always thought I would..
~
And that is exactly as it should be, lad. Do you seriously think that I woke up one day with an epiphany? I was chosen by the Bright Lady, same as the others. And, at first, I resisted her call, same as the others too. But you can’t deny her for long, lad. She draws you to her like a moth to a flame, mark my words! Eventually, you will give in. So, it might as well be now, eh?
I guess there is no harm in giving it a try...
~
That is the spirit, lad!
“Mister?”
Musadoc looked up to see the innkeeper standing next to him. Engrossed in his conversation with the ghost, he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings.
“Aye?”
“I know you didn’t do it for a reward but I want you to have this all the same. The human had it in his purse and.. well, it’s not like he’ll be able to use it any time soon.” He put an item in Musadoc’s palm.
A small silver key? I wonder what it opens...
“Er.. thanks.”
Still looking at the key in perplexity, Musadoc made his way back to the hearth.
~
Lad? Where are you going? We have to start your training.
I only intended to finish my pint first, if you don’t mind.
~
Lad, I like the way you think. We are going to get on famously!
**
Back in the mine, the equipment and bones of a once-valiant knight lay in sad disarray on the cold ground right next to a wall of debris. Obscurity filled a room that had been illuminated by the will of a goddess since before the Cataclysm, and silence reigned supreme again. The room wasn’t empty though. A dozen shaft wights stood in it, motionless, as if waiting.
Had someone else been present - someone whose eyes could pierce the gloom - that person would have been privy to a disturbing spectacle. From the exact spot where the holy symbol had hung for so long, ebony tendrils of darkness were now working their way across the rubble, outlining every crack no matter how minor. And wherever they spread, stones started to crumble. As the tendrils grew, the wights’ bodies turned slowly to dust, their vile essence contributing to the destructive and relentless process.
Eventually, a hole appeared in the middle of the wall and a sepulchral voice whispered words that carried the ring of a dire portent.
He sang in celestial tones,
awakening spirits old and sly
who wait for breech amongst the stones,
to curse and hunt who would defy.
The lesser, the mere baits,
strike fear into the hearts of men.
The greater beyond the tomb waits;
Once woken, will never sleep again.
And in a darkness that knew no light,
something stirred...
**********
(1) Anwyn (aka The Bright Lady), goddess of the hearth, is the halflings’ most beloved deity. Usually, they honor her once per week during a ceremony where they bless her name through the Prayers of Ale, Bread, and Flame.
(2) Maal is the god of the dead (and justice). All who die have to journey to his kingdom to stand trial for the actions they committed during their mortal life.
(3) .. which is comprehensible given that particular holy order has been defunct since before the Cataclysm.
(4) In this world, wine is associated with Zheenkeef, goddess of chaos, madness and prophecy. According to the halflings’ oldest legends, she tampered with their race - for fun - as it was still growing on Eliwyn (see note (2) in Prelude - part 2). As a result, instead of being tall and willowy, halflings were born short and.. ahem.. round
They never forgave her for it and, to this day, no halfling will pay respect to her in any way. Thus, they stubbornly refuse to drink wine. Indeed, the surest way to insult one of them is to offer him a glass of wine.
(5) The Obedient Brotherhood is the name given to holy warriors of Mormekar, god of death. They are hailed as the most efficient - if not ruthless - undead-slayers.
**********
.![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
