Chapter Text
ARRGGHH!!!
Viertes roared with insane fury, charging at the four young men who approached him, half-dressed and barely armed. His breastplate was covered in blood and hair from the man he’s just cut down at the door, and something similarly gruesome dangled from his sword hilt as he brandished it. The four paused as one, faces white as sheets, then ran, one tripping over his loose trousers which had slipped from his waist, then hoisting them up and bolting with the others. I turned, checking the doorways of each house for signs of life, my hand fused to my rapier with drying blood. I pushed a stray strand of hair from my eyes in a red smear, stepping clear of the pile of bodies I was standing over, and saw Walagorn across the courtyard locked in intense combat with two more of the mercenaries. Seamus was closest and leapt to join her, leaving a trail of half-dead men, blood pouring from their ears, the entire scene lit by the roaring fire we’d made of the Mayor’s mansion.
I suppose I should go back a little to explain how we got here.
Yes, the bandits, flying down the cliff. Viertes’ greatsword drawn. My naive decision to step out into the clearing unarmed before the others could act.
Moonlight made my linen dress glow as I stepped toward the men who had descended from the cliff. I had dropped my pack and weapons in the bushes and now held both hands up in surrender, clutching only a piece of cloth in one.
“Please, I’m unarmed. I mean no harm.” My voice echoed against the cliff, drowned by the river’s constant white noise. This has not been the plan. We’d been through it; according to them, these bandits needed to die. But I couldn’t possibly live with that, days after the battle we’d had with their troupe where I had killed that young man, watched him die. The cloth I held was a scrap of his tunic which I had taken before Vasellia dragged me away from his body. I had lain awake at night since, swearing I would somehow make it right.
“Hey, little girl. Charlie, look it’s just a girl!” The first of the bandits spoke, gesturing with a short sword to where I stood against the trees. Aramil appeared next to me, uninvited but apparently my escort for this peacemaking endeavor. “Oh you’ve got a friend, do you, sweetheart?” The other men fanned closer to us, weapons drawn, looking much larger and fiercer than I remembered from the battle.
“We don’t want any more killing. We- I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to kill him. The people in Wheatmoor said you were ruthless bandits, but maybe that isn’t true- we have seen that you don’t take lives. What happened between us was a misunderstanding-”
“You not satisfying her, man? I bet we could make her happy, come here little girl-” One of the men reached out toward me and I shrank back, but then held out the bright green cloth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, you the lot that killed John? He was dead weight. Taken out by a girl!” The men laughed, but didn’t take their eyes from us. “We’ll forgive you if you come over here and let us show you a good time.” Aramil stepped forward and in front of me without a word, but I pushed him aside and appealed again, “Please, just say there will be peace between us.” I was crying now.
“Just go on, get out of here. If we see you again, you’ll wish you’d killed us. Especially you, wench.” And they backed away, breaking into a run in the darkness down the road.
The rest of our party appeared from the trees then, surrounding me and scolding me all at once. Viertes was miffed if only because of the loot we might have scored, but the rest were genuinely angry that I had put myself at risk, and everyone spent some time telling me so.
I didn’t speak a word of what was in my heart, and it festered. They were right, those bandits were terrible, horrible men in need of killing. There was no honor there, not even respect for a fallen comrade. And I couldn’t make a death right. As we wound our way through the trees along the road, I dropped the green scrap of wool. John. That was his name. If we had not killed them, if they had captured us, would I be alive? Would I wish I were dead?
The days that followed were a blur. We had a scare with some wolves one night and the next day rested our feet for awhile, riding in a cabbage wagon with a farmer and his son. I found I was still able to do small things despite my heavy heart, mending some of the farmer’s equipment in exchange for cabbages that we added to Roxanne’s load. The farmer brought us to Turock, a lumber town, and bid us farewell.
We lingered for a day in Turock. Walagorn taught me to make sauerkraut from the cabbages, an overt attempt at warming my spirits that was effective for awhile. I had grown used to his lack of interest in me, and frankly since I’d killed John even I was disinterested in me. Everything I believed in was a fairytale and I was so naive that I’d nearly gotten myself killed (or worse) chasing after it. It hurt to think of my Master, allowing me to idolize such drivel. His weapon was what I believed in now. It could pierce heroes and villains alike, it’s blade the only reliable thing he’d given me.
Soon after Turock we neared Grimrock, the town this chapter found us in at the beginning. We approached it knowing from the locals in Turock that it was a mining center famously closed to visitors, but they could not tell us why. A large inn and shanty-like ferrier’s shed sat near the road on our approach, and behind those the stone walls of the town, gate closed, guard tower obviously occupied, its baleful lanterns glowing in the foggy evening.
The Inn was large but vacant, except for one drunken innkeep who was of no use. Our attempts to scale the wall set off an alarm of some kind and we had a narrow escape from a mob of guardsmen. Eventually, we crept around the edge of the walled town until we could see the village below. Suddenly a bell rang and a line of men and women emerged from what appeared to be the mine’s entrance. I watched for someone to wander from the crowd and was successful, spotting a young man veering off towards the dark housing units, and I slid down the rocky slope to use my whiles.
His name was Roger Abernathy, a man of 25 years who worked in the mines as a slave. According to him, they all did- the town had been taken over and everyone forced into labor for the Mayor and his cronies. I warned him that I was using magic to keep him calm, and that I meant no harm by this, but rather hoped to keep him safe. Embellishing our position, I told him that Walagorn of Kirkland and his army were coming to liberate Grimrock and that we needed the help of the villagers. My spell, along with carefully placed smiles, worked marvelously. He spilled everything he knew to me.
The mayor lived in a mansion in the middle of town, having taken over with the aid of a wizard who also dwelt there now. The old Founder was petrified in the center of town as a warning, and anyone who disobeyed got the same treatment. He figured there were about 30 mercenary men working with the mayor, and he explained that they lived in the larger houses near the mansion.
I didn’t want to have to charm this man again so before I left him I promised I’d return, holding his hand in mine, hoping to give him the wrong impression. It wasn’t hard to pretend; Roger was, by all accounts, a handsome man. But I digress.
I returned to my companions with the information, and we mulled it over. It seemed like the mineshaft was going to be the path to the temple we’d seen on the map. No roads led north, and a rough location was all we had to go on. I lamented the fate of the townsfolk and felt an honorable desire to make good on our promises of liberation, imagining these cronies as the bandits in the woods, all hungry eyes and filthy tongues. The town was living in hell, forced to mine day and night for them, and who knew what else...
“Yes, we have to do something. But what?” Aramil looked at us all in turn.
“Let’s burn the mansion down.” My own recklessness shocked me, and I purposely imagined us dying down there in the ensuing battle only to find that I didn’t care. “It’ll be fun.”
“What?! Are… well, it’s not a bad idea. Go in at night, start some fires, kill everyone that tries to flee…” Seamus was on board. Walagorn put on his gloves, thinking.
“We could have Mr. Abernathy warn the innocent to stay indoors and away from the square,” the ranger said, half to himself. Viertes shrugged. “Let’s kill some bad guys!” We all turned to Vasellia expectantly.
Her golden eyes twinkled like stars. “Burn it.”
And so fate found us in the square, bathed in blood and losing count of our kills. The mansion-fire lit the entire village in its garish glow, and cast long, dancing shadows in the bloody dirt where we stood when the deed was done.
The town hailed us as heroes, and we let them- even encouraged it. And they were liberated. Roger Abernathy helped us set up temporary relief for the village, a natural leader, distributing food and weapons. We found more guards in the mines and turned our heads when the villagers “took them into custody,” never to be seen again. It was a bloody business, and only got bloodier when we found sex and drug slaves in the mines instead of a temple.
I was truly an adventurer, with brave companions and heroic deeds. But a numbness had taken hold of my heart. Why were we here? What were we doing?
—
The parchment of my precious journal curled and cracked, black in the flames. I had clung to that book for so long- those words were meant to be legend someday- but found I felt nothing as it turned to ash at my feet.