Chapter 05 - Letters
Edna returned home from the church and walked in through her front door.
It was pouring heavy outside, the water angrily cascading upon Danvers. She’d learned so many things about Hildebrin and the mysterious kid that hadn’t yet fully cemented in her mind. Setting forth on a quest like this with others was far better than going it alone, but doing so with a boy and a bitter old half-Dwarf didn’t exactly comfort her. Still, there was little reason to argue when time was of essence, and they were both willing to lend their abilities.
She relit the three tall candles of her candelabra, providing enough glow in her kitchen to adequately look upon the disaster those goblins had created.
When she’d left earlier, the mess was of far less importance to her than it was now. She was about to embark on a journey she might not return from, and she would need a trusted caretaker for the cottage. Perhaps one of the oldest grandchildren could do such a job.
Kitchen utensils covered the stone floor, scattered in a terrible mess. A pool of drying blood covered her once beautiful blue rug, and a thin streak of gory mess trailed out the front door where she’d earlier dragged the goblin to the street.
Across the living space, next to the stairs leading up to her loft bedroom, were six chairs and a long bench. A rectangular wooden table nestled between the chairs and the dining top.
Memories of so many delicious meals came to mind. It would be nice to have more of those family gatherings. It would be lovely taking care of the next generation for many more years to come, but that might no longer be a possibility.
Should the situation come to it, all of this might need to be abandoned. Protecting Warfrost may once again force her to become the nomadic heroine she once was. Explaining all that to her children without sounding like the crazy old cat lady might be difficult.
The world was full of magical things everyone knew to be true. Surely her story was not so ridiculous as to appear fictitious. A valid concern might be her children feeling as though she had more love for a cat than she had for them.
This point would be difficult for her to disagree with.
The home she’d raised them all in was purposefully small and cozy. Between her and the pool of blood already drying into her blue rug, was a small desk of ornate design. A wooden chair sat before it, and above on the wall was a painting of her late husband Barrett. In it he looked middle-aged and clean-shaved, with beautiful blue eyes that had always charmed her.
She’d found him handsome from the first day they’d met, but she’d also made him work a long time to get her hand in marriage. Ever faithful and loyal to a fault, she’d never entertained the idea of looking for new love when he died after having a stroke only a few years back.
Keeping Warfrost protected was always far more important than the pursuit of new companionship, and now she alone had to redeem herself for the failure of letting the cat get taken by a filthy goblin. Without Barrett’s strength and his weapon of choice, the long sword, she would need to rely on Hildebrin’s hammer if they became swarmed.
She might also need the teenage boy if one of them was injured. How such a young man could heal wounds was curious indeed. She’d met several monks from the highlands in the north, but she knew little of them or their ways. Most of her knowledge was of other continents far away and of people long lost.
Monk novices were typically accompanied by a master. The ones she’d seen here wore different robes than this pair, but she hadn’t seen the drunk man with him this night, and never had a reason to think of them as monks until now. It was a very curious situation indeed, but not a serious concern in the moment.
Her new adventure would be difficult, for she had not tested her own mettle in decades. Becoming far too comfortable in Danvers, she had let her physical and mental prowess wane under the guise of a happily retired merchant from the big city.
All of that was about to change, and she needed to let her children know.
Stacked neatly upon the desk were several sheets of fine parchment. An inkwell and quill rested beside them, having seen heavy usage. She was fond of writing, and often sent long letters to the ones she loved. These would need to be done quickly, although they might end up taking multiple pages to complete.
She set about writing what could very well be the last letters she ever penned. One for her daughter, and then a duplicate for her son, Barrett Jr.
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My dearest Della,
I write you a long letter this day with terrible news. Do not be alarmed, for I am of sound mental and physical capability. This may shortly not be the case. It is quite possible you will receive this letter after my death. As your father and I both taught you many years ago, one should not fear the end of a long and fruitful life, especially when my wonderful children and grandchildren are blessed upon the world.
Be it known that I have always, and will always love you and your brother, your spouses, and your many children, with all of my heart. Your visits to Danvers from the big city have always been a blessing. Seeing my grandchildren taller and smarter upon each return truly excites me, and of course I love spoiling them. I look forward to many, many more visits, however the arrangement might be very different in the case of our survival, for reasons you will soon understand.
You may hear of a small goblin attack suffered by Danvers before this letter reaches you, as gossip often spreads faster than action. Our beloved orange cat, Warfrost, was stolen from our home during the thievery. At this time, I do not believe the cat-napping was intentionally devious beyond a random act. Goblins are known to cause mischief, bang an awful music against pots and pans, and are want to randomly steal anything shiny. They also have a tendency to eat small pets, as you are well aware.
I do have slight concern to believe something far darker might be afoot.
When you became adults, your father and I shared with you one of our greatest secrets. Very few people know of my past. Your father carried that to the grave, god bless his soul, not just to protect me, but also to protect Warfrost. Barrett was truly an honorable man, and you should be proud of him. I know I loved him truly, and still miss him greatly. With regards to Warfrost, you know I have always pampered the cat, and sometimes to great family ridicule.
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There was a very good reason for this.
Please believe me when I tell you that Warfrost is no ordinary cat. He is the last surviving descendent of the mythical Ramorai you learned of as a child from historical texts and bedtime stories. His entire family, and all known kind were killed at the Last Battle of Ramorai. Long before you were each born, I was there with him, and I witnessed the end of that empire. The Betrayers hunted Warfrost and I, and then also the man who would become your father, for more than a decade. We fled across too many realms to recount on three different continents, before arriving here.
Fearing we might waste our lives always on the run from dark assassins, and as we were growing older, Warfrost’s soul was extracted and bound to the glowing crystal you once found in my closet while playing hide and search. You might now understand why I was so upset that day when you played with the orange crystal, or why I was always so protective over a simple housecat. Better yet, why you probably sometimes heard me having one-sided conversations with him.
The problem I face is one of honor and loyalty, and you know I have always espoused the value of integrity in all spoken agreements. I failed in my promise to keep him safe to the end of his life. I may never live down the feeling of shame I now have, allowing a pitiful goblonoid creature to carry away my beloved friend of nearly half a century.
Age has actually been far kinder to me than I expected, but after all these quiet years in Danvers, I have concern I am no longer the deadly warrior I once was. Still, I would not be able to continue living each day without knowing I did everything in my power to save Warfrost from the terrible fate I allowed to happen.
I have a magical being’s soul locked within a crystal, and only the orange cat can call upon it. I must reunite them, or die trying. It is my responsibility to protect him. This was my promise. He must at least have the opportunity to once again be his true self if he so desires. I carry a burden you might not agree with, but we must all forge our own paths in life, and I am not afraid of dying for what I believe is right.
Two people are joining me. No others are willing to make the journey to Keggma’s Grotto. Townsfolk and farmers are not nearly as brave or capable as they brag, and we do not have the luxury of time, or enough patience to call upon other heroes. Hildebrin, the angry old half-Dwarf, will accompany me. You might recall her and Magdelina. You were always terrified of the bitter, hateful twins, and rightly so. They were always candidly rude. Hildebrin is older than I am by many years, but that is not too old for her kind, and she has a heart full of hate for goblins. That will serve this adventure well. She brings with her a suit of armor and a heavy hammer the likes of which I have not seen in a long time. She was once a famed protector of her king. It appears I am not the only one in Danvers with a hidden past, and it will be interesting to learn more of hers.
A poor boy named Makaik will also travel with us. I believe he is fourteen years of age, though he may be younger. His father or master is a drunkard and a beggar, for I am told the former but suspect the latter. The boy barely gets any field earnings after each long day spent toiling under the sun, and then the man regularly steals that from him to quench his demons. Hildebrin and I were persuaded by valid arguments he made on his own behalf, primarily when he healed a small wound on my hand seemingly by ease. Few people have such a gift, and especially at his age. These two old ladies could use a young man such as he.
I never thought I would go on another adventure, but I also never thought goblins would steal my cat.
In summary, we depart Danvers immediately upon my completion of these two letters, one for each of you. The first hour has not yet risen on this rainy day, and the goblins struck just last night. I carry with me the burden of my past, and the love of all my children and grandchildren. I seek to slaughter hundreds, thousands, or millions of goblins, if that many exist, until Warfrost Ramorai is reunited with his true soul. Regardless, the secret no longer has to remain one. We shall either be dead, or The Betrayers will feel the return of his presence and may begin hunting us once again. Things will never be the same, no matter the outcome.
If I do not return to Danvers within a single fortnight, I have instructed a very trustworthy individual to deliver to each of you my will. I now have many goblins to hunt down and kill, and a soul stone to return to my cat.
Your loving mother,
Malayna Ednarite Moonstorm
First Daughter of the late Moonstorm Throne,
Blade Singer of the Renoxyl Guard, Highest Order,
and Honorary Foreign Citizen of the late Ramorai Empire
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She thought upon the letter for a minute, considering whether or not she’d missed anything vital on the three pages. Already it had taken her some time to pen the long tale, and she knew time was important. Hildebrin and Makaik were both likely waiting for her.
It would have to be good enough.
Duplicating the exact story onto three other pieces of parchment did not take nearly as long. The pages were each folded over once, then rolled into a tight cylinder.
She opened a small drawer, removing two pieces of pre-cut twine, and tied one around each of the rolled letters. Finally, she placed several small cubes of blue wax into a round spoon, holding them over one of her candle flames until it had turned to liquid.
With a metal stamp in her healed left hand, she poured half of the melted wax over the knotted twine of each letter, and pressed her family seal into the hardening material. The outline of a housecat had been pressed into the solidified wax. She smiled at the design, because Barrett Jr. had given her grief for many years over the usage of a cat for the family’s design.
Quickly scribbling the addresses of her children, the letters had one last step before completion. To further protect the parchment from what appeared to be a very long, and very brutal storm, her letters were placed within a rabbit-fur satchel. This would hopefully endure the trip to Baytown, where both of her children lived with their many grandchildren.
Exhaling, she sat at the desk for a moment, realizing yet again that this might be the last time she ever set her eyes upon a significant portion of her life. Barrett had carved the writing desk with his own hands, god bless his soul. She would miss this life. She stood, looking around her humble little cottage. It held so many memories that would one day vanish, forgotten as time crept ever onward.
The rain outside would continue. There was no reason to wait. Sun would not be there to help guide them if only they waited, and no one else was likely to join their party. Keggma’s Grotto was a weak dungeon, and few adventurers traveled great lengths from the big cities just to plunder looted utensils and the bones of house pets taken by goblins.
It might still prove a hard challenge for an old lady. Difficulty didn’t concern her. Warfrost was the most important thought in her mind. She had to save him no matter what.
Knowing it was time, she did feel a bit nervous, for she had not done anything like this in so long. All she had to do was pack a few necessities, lock up, and hand her letters over to Father Iverson.
Bag packed, letters in hand, she stood just outside her front door, looking in one last time. The rain soaked her grey hair and plapped upon the shoulders of her now-snug armor. She’d worn them through so many great adventures, and now she was headed for a new one.
Time had been both kind and mean to her. She’d had a good retirement while it lasted, but life without a cat was no life at all.
Goblins took her cat. Now she would take their lives.
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Hildebrin watched Edna hand the letters to Father Iverson. “Letters?”
Edna smiled back to her. “For my children and grandchildren, should I die.”
“Oh!” she nodded. It made sense to her the old tall woman might be fearful of dying, and wanted her kin to know. “That’s sweet. Are we ready to go?”
She looked to the boy. Makaik was overburdened by a large rucksack. The fat bag of food was larger than he was, and weighed heavy upon his shoulders.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Edna shook her head. “Poor boy.”
“He’ll be fine.”
She looked over to Father Iverson with another thought. The church man watched the group standing near the front doors, just inside in order to stay out of the rain.
“Father,” she said.
“Yes, Hildebrin?”
“Can you write me a letter informing my family of Magdelina’s death?”
The priest nodded, “I believe so. What would you like it to say?”
She thought about it. “Magdelina Hammerfeet is dead. Frack you and frack the illegitimate king.”
Father Iverson blushed. “I’ll… do my best to flower that up nicely-“
“No,” she cut him off, “just like that. They don’t even deserve a letter, honestly, forsaking their own blood the way they did.”
He looked hesitant.
“And don’t worry about a specific address, either. The Vanguard at Beamery Shire, south of Mountaincrag Deep across the ocean will know where to take the letters from there. It will take many weeks to arrive, if it ever does, I’m sure.”
He nodded.
Lastly, she looked back to Makaik. “You need to say anything to your father? Or that guy who’s obviously your monk master?”
The boy seemed surprised at this. “No.”
She nodded. “Alright then, let’s go kill some goblins."