Journal entry 32, 38th of Marapril. It has been a week now since the Dire Ant breeding season started, it happens every five years and we were expecting it sooner in the month. The waist high terrors are the bane of livestock farmers around these parts, especially the chicken ranchers, Ol’ Teddy will probably lose half his flock this year to the thieving bastards but that's life out in the boonies for you. The village tax clerk sent a letter back to the nearest city two days ago asking the Baron to send more guards but it is likely the other satellite villages will be asking for protection from the ants as well, so all we can do is wait and see.
I put my charcoal pencil down and close my journal placing it on the neat stack of similar leather bound books, the courier boy should be back soon, it's a days trip by foot to Hoagen one way and I have been expecting a parcel of nails over the mail from there since the local blacksmith and his apprentice have had their hands full repairing the log palisades surrounding the village, it's been a long time since they were tended to and there was a goblin spotted down by the river almost a month ago, and much like the ants, when there's one you can see, there are ten more you can’t.
“Mally, has the courier stopped by yet?” I call from my desk in our room to the kitchen where my wife is preparing second breakfast. I can smell the pork biscuits baking in the hearth and hear a kettle beginning to boil over but there is no reply. I hop off of my cherry stump stool and walk down the short hallway into the kitchen from our room, looking into the larder on the way eyeing the wheel of cheese that should be ready to split as I pass by. The kitchen is empty aside from the hearth and countertops with dishes and herbs placed about, I pull the kettle off the fire as it's starting to whistle louder than I find comfortable to listen to and call out again.
“Mally?”
“The tea is ready, do you want me to pour you some?” thinking she is maybe in the dining room. Still no answer so I pour myself a cup and the smell of the sweet wildberry tea permeates my nose as I hear a scream, and I know instantly it's Mallary, I scald my hand holding the mug with boiling tea as I drop it to the ground absentmindedly forgetting to let go of the kettle in my right hand and rush around the corner into the foyer to see Mallary on the floor scooting backwards up against the opposite wall from the door as a goblin is pulling its stone shank from the couriers back while he slumps down onto our porch, blood spatter staining the fine birchwood I had sawn and sanded myself.
To most people goblins aren't very big, maybe coming up to a human's chest if it's a hob, but to me and Mallary who are both halflings, the thing is as big as I am and I'm considered tall for a halfling. As it licks the blood off of its shank with a concerning amount of drool and eyeing Mallary all the while, still unaware of my presence, I hurl the simmering copper kettle at the warty green thing beginning to step through the threshold of our hovel striking it in the arm holding its knife, causing it to stab itself in the back of the throat, it isn't dead but it is bleeding profusely from its mouth and now screaming in agony as the kettle dumps scalding tea over its legs and feet before landing on the floor and bouncing into the wall with an empty thud.
“FOLLOW ME!” I scream to Mallary who is sitting shell shocked at the scene before her and unresponsive watching the choking goblin with horror. I have to run over to her and pull her to her feet and as I do I catch a glimpse outside, the village palisades are burning and doors to houses are broken inward or swinging idly in the wind, screaming and yelling can be heard in the streets and a commotion of breaking wood and stone clubs clashing against metal sounds out.
There is a large number of goblins milling about the fields chasing chickens and pygmy swine to haul off for food, and I can see Teddy laying in the road dead, his eyes still open and blood slowly leaking from his throat where a crude arrow had pierced it, a goblin slouched over him rummaging through his satchel and pockets, now turning its head toward the commotion I had caused, I yank Mallary harder as I pull her behind me and I can hear a wet smacking sound from the doorway. Not wanting to guess what it was. I led Mallary into the larder, kicking the rug away revealing our cellar and open the hatch. I usher her down the ladder as quickly as I can, checking over my shoulder, I can hear some kind of scuffle in the common area of the house, bodies tumbling over the chairs and small table, were the two goblins fighting? Once she is on the ground safely I begin to close the hatch.
“What are you doing Rennie? Get down here, quickly!” she said in a harsh but shaking whisper with tears streaming down her cheeks and her short red-brown curls bobbing with her motions.
“Stay here, stay quiet, I will be back soon. I promise.” I say in a hushed tone, “lock the hatch when I close it. When I come back I will knock twice slowly and thrice quickly so you know it’s me.”
She begins to protest but I close the hatch and cover it back up with the rug. Without waiting to hear if she locked it I crawl on my hands and knees to the door peeking out into the hallway, the ruckus in the common room had gone quiet and I could now hear someone stomping through the dining room, dropping the fine ceramic dishware as it rummages through the shelves and drawers and in the process shattering it. As quietly as I could muster I continued to crawl to our room. From under the bed I pulled a leather case that was about as long as I am tall and untied the bindings, inside was my gear from when I was a young hobbit, traveling with a band of mercenaries all of them either old and haggard or dead by now, the sounds of shattering dishes has stopped and its now in the kitchen.
I wrap the deep blue cloak over my shoulders and tie the drawstring, then pull my suede leather gloves over my hands, cursing quietly as I pop a forming blister on my wrist from spilling the boiling tea on myself, finally I take my shield and sword buckling the belt around my waist and tying the leather loop of the shield around my left forearm while holding tits handle. In reality these were just a steel banded ironwood buckler and long dagger but for someone of my stature they are an average sized sword and board set, well, the shield was still a little small to be a full roundshield, but it performed its job well enough. Double checking my things one last time I stand and quietly walk over to the hallway, peeking around the corner, there was a shriek from the larder that was cut off by a wet thud sound and my heart sinks into my stomach as I hear it.
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“Please tell me you locked it.” I whisper to myself covering the gap as fast as I can no longer worried about being quiet and as I round the corner I see a goblin standing there with a small worn crossbow in its hands, pointed into the now open hatch to the cellar. “MALLY!” I scream as I jump into the goblin, it tried swinging its empty crossbow at me but it simply bounced off the shield as I lashed out with my dagger, stabbing him repeatedly and bashing its face in with the metal edges of my shield shattering teeth and breaking skin until my arms were weak and I was covered in gore, each plunge of the dagger sending a spray of foul blood into my face and hair, drenching my vest and slacks reddish black. The wretched things screams and croaks turning to gargles as blood welled into its lungs and throat and only after the beast fell to the floor with a thud did I scampered down the ladder missing the last rung and falling. Not bothering to pick up my soiled blade, I pull my wifes' now lifeless corpse into my arms and began weeping uncontrollably, pleading to any god that might care to listen to bring her back, after which willing and pleading for another goblin to come into my home and end me.
No more goblins came, the local guards that were still alive had rallied and pushed the remaining goblins into retreat but not without a staggering loss of life for the village. I sat there kneeling in my cellar until the undertaker with his cart entered my home to find our corpses. After neither Mallary or I showed at the town square to be confirmed alive we were assumed dead and being one of the last houses to be searched, the undertaker seemed quite shocked to find a halfling clutching his dead wife and the corpses of two goblins, granted he didn't know I hadn't been the one to kill the first goblin, only wounding it and I didn't care enough at the time to set the story straight. With the carnage done and my wife taken to the graveyard, my house was in shambles. I began cleaning, though I didn't get very far past throwing out the charcoal lumps that were to be our meal the day before with the hollow feeling in my chest eating away at my thoughts.
The graveyard keeper came back to my house the next morning and meeting him at the threshold, he placed Mallarys’ wedding band in the palm of my hand, closing my fingers around it into a fist,
“You truly have my deepest condolences, master hobbit. She was a good woman, a dear friend and mentor to my wife before she passed.” He said in his gravelly voice, his skin saggy and wrinkled from years of scowling but now he just looked tired. I tried to thank him, but the words caught in my throat and I sank to my knees sobbing and unable to breath. He stood me up, placed a hand on my shoulder and led me to the bench on my porch where I sat down and he sat next to me, being a human and a rather tall one at that, the sight would have been humorous had the previous day's troubles not happened.
I started to calm myself, placing Mallary's ring in my breast pocket and fumbling for my pipe and matches. The goblins' blood had soaked the booklet through my pockets and wouldn't allow them to light now that the thick coating of black red had crusted onto them. Losing my patience I threw the matchbook into the yard, and rubbed my forehead picking at my wedding band on my left hand with my thumb making it spin on my finger as my pipe lay on my lap spilling flakes of redweed onto my ruined slacks. Looking at myself, I still haven't changed garments other than taking off my cloak and buckler. And I seriously needed a wash.
Snapping his fingers without a word the graveyard keeper held a small candlelight flame in my direction, flickering out from the tip of his thumb. I gratefully accepted it, nodding to him and puffing on the stem until the embers caught and were self-sustaining. Taking a long drag feeling the stress ebb slightly as the smoke fills my lungs and calms my nerves. The graveyard keeper also lights his pipe after watching him pack it with a deep purple herb that smelled strongly of vanilla and nutmeg. We just sat there for a while wordless, me just trying to feel anything at all and him following the light breeze that passed over the town, pushing the ashes and residual smoke into spirals cascading into the green morning sky.
”I've buried so many today, all of them were supposed to outlive me, including my grandson and a few of his friends that he likes to play tag with by the church.” he said quietly and cleared his throat.
“I have lived in this little hamlet my whole life, and never once in my sixty eight winters have I seen such loss and pain. I understand what you're feeling, just know that it will continue to eat at you until you move forward with your life.” he said with small tears in his eyes.
”I’m not long for this world, my age is catching up to me and I feel I won't be able to move on from all this death of the people I've watched grow and live only to be violently snuffed out over greed and hunger. You may be older than me, master hobbit, but you still have time to spare. Move forward, and be all the stronger of heart for it.” He let out a groan as he stood from the child sized bench, rubbing his knees and back before heading to the steps.
“What if…” I say , trying to get my words right, "W-what if I don't know how?” He turns and looks at me, with his eyes sullen and gray outlined by bags from a sleepless night,
“Then find something to force you to move forward.” and with that he stepped out into the gentle sunlight and strode off towards the church and graveyard, stopping to pick a flower from Mallary’s garden, an orchard daisy, Mallary’s favorite, the green-blue petals the same color as her eyes. He nodded at me and turned away whistling a sad tune as he walked, spinning the flower between his thumb and pointer finger where it wilted as it rapidly dried and then burst into cinders, the delicate black ash left behind caught by the breeze and whisked into the forest beyond the village.
The next day after a bath and change of clothes I packed some things, a blank journal, some charcoal pencils, and a week's worth of dried meat and berries along with some other supplies into a camping pack. Then I equipped my gear from my past life and headed to the local tax office with my property deed and a heavy heart to sell my home of forty years where I lost the love of my life.