Hemming and Hawing

Editor's note: Personally, I hate it when my favourite webcomic/webfic authors give long convoluted excuses for why their work isn't coming out on schedule. I mean, I'm paying you zero dollars and I expect some professionalism. I don't care about your cat's eye surgery or the lump on your toe. Stop complaining and start writing.

On that compassionate note, I'll spare you my own lengthy excuses and simply apologise. New post will be up by Thursday at the latest, and if this kind of thing is going to be recurring I will come up with a new posting schedule, announce it and stick to it. Thanks for your patience. another_poet

Day 24: A Friend in Need

I've been trying more and more to piece together just what happened the other night. It seems pretty clear that Grens doesn't have the power to reanimate Junior if he is destroyed. If he did he wouldn't be so protective of him.

That leaves me with the unsettling idea that the Demon--which is the only name I can think of for whatever is controlling us PC's--that the Demon somehow undid me and Tallow's raid. That raises even more questions though. Most notably how, why and how do we stop it.

The thing is, if the Demon can not only control our actions in the moment (how we speak, who we fight, everything) but can also go back and edit things in the past, then do we really have any free will at all? Or is the Demon some kind of Fate that hangs over every aspect of our lives?

Worst of all, where do our memories go? I remember very clearly that Tallow and I killed that skeleton. But I'm the only one, it seems, even though all four of us were there. Tallow's always acted like this PC thing is perfectly normal, and I can never tell if he's faking or really believes it. The wizard has every reason in the world to lie to me and string me along. But even Gunth acts like he doesn't remember anything, and he just about died of laughter when he saw the skeleton dead. Now when I mention it he looks at me like I'm crazy. I'm the only one of the lot of us who actually seems to know what's going on!

Well, we've got a more immediate concern. We've been following this trail, landmark by landmark, and sure enough we found more evidence that we're not the only ones. Tracks, in a few places. At first I thought we'd just found a wolf track, but the prints were awfully big and then we saw footprints farther down the way. It looks like these hobgoblins have a large number of dogs with them and are wearing hard-soled military shoes. Not a good sign.

Last night we saw smoke only one mountain away. It was from the other side of the mountain, and so faint it was hard to tell how big their camp might be. Way I figured it they must have a single giant fire in order to put out that much smoke, but Gunth wasn't so sure. We hid ourselves well off the main trail and had no fire.

So this morning we set out real slow. We went down into the next valley and as we came out of the treeline Tallow helped us put together bundles of branches to hold over our heads as camouflage. We event tied some to the burro. Not great up close but from the top of the next mountain it could fool a rear scout.

We made it across the valley and started up the next side. This side was pretty sparse on trees so we kept the bundles. It was a grueling, sweaty climb with those branches but I wasn't about to put mine down. As we approached the point where the trail broke the ridgeline, we halted and let Tallow scout ahead. He came back and reported it was clear.

From that point on we were on high alert. As a small company we were moving fast compared to whatever military force was ahead. We knew we were gaining on them. So we started walking off the trail, and pausing frequently for Tallow to scout ahead. The trail doesn't run over the very tops of the mountains, just sort of loops over their shoulders, but being near the ridge still gave us a great view up ahead. We were coming down a south slope again so there were more trees. We ditched our bundles and kept weapons out at all times. Tallow sneaked around way ahead, then I led the burro (officially making me the main target) and Gunther guarded Grens at the rear. It wasn't that I wanted to be attached to the noisiest member of the party, but I actually found it a lot more palatable than holding the wizard's hand and staring down his skeleton all afternoon.

Eventually Tallow came back from one of his scouting expeditions with a worried look on his face. "Rock outcropping ahead," he panted. "I shimmied up and took a look. They're stopped down there."

"Can you tell how many?" I asked.

Tallow snorted. "Of course I can. About two score, maybe four dozen. A few riders, not many."

"Riders?"

"Yeah on flippin' dire wolves? Gods man, you sure you were a soldier?"

I didn't respond.

Tallow went on. "Anyway, way I figure it if they're holding position we ought to do the same. I wouldn't move up on 'em till we have a real plan. Which, by the way, we're gonna need real damn soon."

"We're not gonna come up with it here," Gunher said. "We should pull back a little. They might be stopped 'cuz they know they're being tailed. We should pull back and get off the trail till we decide how to proceed."

"Yeah, that's a lot of beast men," I agreed.

"No shit. Awright, any objections Wizard? Your boner over there got any ideas?" Grens didn't answer. "Awright, let's get out of here. Peaceful contact my ass."

So we back-tracked a bit, then cut even farther off the trail. Eventually we found a spot that had three things we needed: a bowl-shaped depression to get us out of the wind, real thick conifers to hide us, and a protruding rock ledge from which to spy on our neighbours. We convinced Grens to leave Junior a full 200 feet downhill from us, on the side toward the trail. That way we got the burro up where we could keep an eye on it and where the corpse wouldn't scare it. Then we set about planning.

We all agreed from the outset that just walking up to them was a bad idea. Even unarmed under a white banner of peace we'd probably be attacked. They weren't called beast men for nothing, and an unarmed human was just easy pickings for them. So we had to come up with some other plan.

I'm not gonna recount all the arguing. Basically we had three different plans, championed by three different people. Mine, of course, was the best.

What I said we ought to do is find someplace we could really fortify--a rock formation with walls on all sides, a narrow defile with lots of cover, something where a few people could hold against a large force and where cavalry (or gods-damned wolf cavalry) would be useless. We make sure to line some of the defensive locations with a bunch of sharpened poles, like we have a whole troop of levied spearmen up here. Then we light campfires and wait for the hobgoblins to come to us. When they do, they'll either attack us (in which case we hold our ground and cut them up) or realise they're in a weak way and try to bargain with us. And that's all we want in the first place. There's a chance they'd try to circle around us, but given my experience with goblins that wasn't likely.

Gunther didn't like that plan. I think he just disliked it because of the amount of work it would take. He preferred that we sneak up to their camp in the early morning, just before dawn. That's a weak time for a camp even if you're nocturnal (though these creatures seemed to be moving by day). We head in from one of the sides and do some butchering. Basically hit 'em hard, then pull out and run. Do it again if needed, with maybe a feint in between. He reasoned that the only way we're going to get hobgoblins to talk with us is if we pound their numbers down to nothing first. I pointed out that we could do that from a defensive position as I had suggested, but he just can't get it through his head.

Tallow had his own idea. He figured that if we were going to get near enough the camp to attack anyway, we may as well go in with a goal. He wanted to identify the beasts' leader and abduct the poor bastard, then force him to come to terms with us. This was altogether the stupidest plan I'd ever heard. Getting in was risky enough on its own. Taking the goblin king alive and getting out seemed impossible. And these critters weren't rational human beings like the rest of us. They'D probably disown their leader and fight to succeed him. Loyalty seemed unlikely. So we'd be left with a single useless hostage and no leverage whatsoever.

Since the knuckleheads didn't agree with me I asked Grens. I figured that no matter how much he hated me he had to value his own life and he was probably smart enough to know that my defensive idea was the safest plan we had. When I asked him, all heads turned to him.

Grens stayed silent a long time, then spoke up. "I stay at the rear. I do as I please. I support you as long as I can and if I am in danger I run. Once we pull out we'll be doing a lot of running so be ready. I'm not taking any living hostages. We damage them, we run, and we wait and see. That's the plan I vote for."

Tallow and Gunther agreed it was our best bet. Then I agreed it was our best bet. I didn't really, of course, but the Demon made me say it. So it was agreed.

"Can we at least put up some defences here?" I griped. "They're gonna chase us somewhere, it may as well be a place we can hold."

"I want to get enough rest tonight," said Tallow. "But I'll heLp you till it's dark out."

That only gave us a couple of hours. What we did was sharpen stakes to surround the bottom of the rock ledge, which would be our holdout. We had to use thin poles and knives because the sound of a handaxe chopping would echo for miles. We chose the place where we would tie the donkey right outside palisade and the place where Junior would fight from inside, so that the donkey would spook and get in the enemy's way. We piled up deadwood, dry needles and plants in several places and had firewood and tinder just waiting to be lit inside the palisade. Hopefully we could start the fire quick before they caught up to us and then stop a few of them as they came past the burn heaps. We even secured ropes so that in a pinch we could swing off the sides of the ledge to run away on the slope below. Not bad.

As night fell we noticed there was no hobgoblin campfire below us. Tensely, we went over the plan again. We would sneak down, fan out, and let Tallow scout. We'd kill any hobgoblin scouts along the way. Tallow had a signal to give if he was spotted while spying and, if not, we'd all go in together. We were each to kill four hobgoblins before pulling out. We went over tactics and battle commands and nominated Gunther to be in charge during the raid. We ate cold food in silence and then got ready for some nervous sleep. I thought bitterly of all the sliding-rock traps I could have made if I'd been given time to properly plan our defences.

Gunther and I placed our bedrolls near each other, with Grens a little farther down. Tallow was on first watch. Before I could even pull my blanket over me, I heard the unmistakable call of a bluejay.

Bluejays only come out in the daytime.

I prodded Gunther and held up one finger for him to stay silent. Another bluejay call, and then silence. It was coming from uphill, which meant there was no skeleton between us and them. Shit.

I motioned to Tallow, and he looked up to where I was pointing. We both reached for weapons. Just then, another sound:

"Peash! Pegash in par-ten, shudder mon." We all stayed perfectly still, waiting for the inevitable attack.

And waiting.

"Peash eh shay, un come in peash, non fighteng tirnight!"

I didn't know what to do. Did it just say what I thought it just said? I guess it did kind of sound like goat mating, the way they talked. It was similar to the goblins I'd heard but deeper and a bit more garbled.

"If you come in peace then show yourself," yelled Gunther.

"In come out, non fighteng! Non shooting! Treat wish regard!"

"Okay, just come out."

The brush rustled on the ridge above us. We saw a single silhouette emerge and slowly put his hands in the air. I couldn't believe it. This thing was as big as a tall human! And strong, and a veteran by his looks. He was nothing like the little goblins I'd fought!

"In come to rirquesht. In come fon friendership. Need help orf human. Need help en camp."

"Did you come alone?"

"Non! More up hirll. More watcher men. Come fon help orfet!"

The guy's accent made me want to chuckle, but my nerves were stretched tight enough to pop. I didn't like this. I worried they had a trap for us. Tallow, to his credit, played it cool.

"What help? What can we do for you?"

"Many wournders. Wourn--wournded. En camp. Come help heal, come help heal!"

"Grens, they think you're a healer," whispered Gunther.

"That's becaause he is a healer," I hissed over to him.

Tallow continued. "We would be honoured to meet with your leaders, and help your healers as best we can."

"Don't do this, Tallow!" Now it was Grens' turn to whisper desperately.

"Arren healersh not livern. Fire birng--fire es bad! Arren healersh die in fight. Many wourn, wourndeds. Come wish!"

"Please Tallow, don't do it," continued Grens.

"We will come with our healer, if you do not attack us. We will come only on our temrs. Do you understand?"

"Esh! Come!"

"Do you understand?"

The hogboblin looked almost angry from impatience. "Esh! Conme on urreh termsh! Come on owrn termsh! Come nahr!"

"Okay guys," said Tallow. "Looks like we have a relief mission to do."

I have to go--

Editor's note: The entry breaks off suddenly. Nothing further was written that day.

Update!

I promised updates on Mondays from now on, but this one is officially delayed. Check back tomorrow (Tuesday, 4/22) and you'll find a new tale of adventure and debauchery awaiting you.

Day 22: Bone of Retention

Prepare yourself, O journal, for a tale of wonder and excitement.

Last night after writing, I thought some more about my plan to talk about the skeleton. I looked around the campfire at my companions and thought, well, maybe these aren't the right people for a little town hall meeting. Maybe not even the right people to bring into a town. So I cooked up a plan.

"Tallow, I can take second watch tonight."

"Well aren't you a sweetheart Cap. Sure thing. Gunth, first or last?"

"Last."

"Junior can stand watch," Grens objected.

"Junior can suck the sweat off my unwashed ass," replied Gunther.

Grens didn't say anything, but he waved his hand. Click-click-rickatickatick, and over comes the skeleton, spear and all. Gunther didn't move at first, expecting Grens to call it off before it got too close. But the skeleton just kept coming.

"Quit it, man," said Gunther.

"What? Your desire is our command. Better living through cadavers."

"Call it off, Wizard!"

"Say please."

"Fuck you."

"No, my friend, I won't join in. That's between you and Junior."

At this point Gunther was standing, the mule was kicking and shitting (but luckily tied up at a tree), and "Junior" was closing in, reaching one hand toward Gunth at pelvis- or ass-level.

"This isn't funny, Wizard!"

"No, but so romantic. Watch out for his teeth though!"

Gunther tried to make a stand but as soon as the skeleton's bony finger touched his rear end he jumped a good three feet off the ground and darted away. "Call it off!"

"Say please!"

Gunth ran out of the campsite in a fit of cursing, while Tallow and I laughed so hard we almost wet ourselves. I might not like the skeleton but I sure like Grens' improved attitude.

Anyway, eventually Gunther said please and Grens stopped horsing around. They went to sleep, as I should have too. But I acted like I wasn't tired and stayed sitting against the log with Tallow. I waited till I was really, truly certain the others were asleep. Then I spoke.

"Tallow," I whispered. "Are you alone?"

Tallow didn't say anything at first. He stayed real still and thought it over. Then he said, "D'you ever think maybe I don't know what you're talking about?" He said it just as soft as I did, like he didn't want to wake anyone either. So I waited. I must have waited three full minutes for him to go on. "But if I did know what you're talking about," he said at last, "Maybe the answer is yes."

I nodded. "I want to get rid of that skeleton."

"Yep."

"You in?"

"What're you thinking?"

I told him we should drag Grens off a little way, then force him to destroy the thing. Tallow chuckled, then admonished me. "Grens is alive. Junior is dead. If we're going to bring out weapons it should be Junior."

"Yeah but how? Maybe you didn't see in the mine but blades barely scratch it."

Tallow laughed for the second time, a little louder before catching himself and looking to make sure the others were still asleep. "You don't get out much, do you Cap?"

"What do you mean?"

"Of course blades don't. Blades are meant to go through flesh. They usually stop at the bone. But bones can be broken."

"So what... rocks?"

"Nah, I'd make a pair of clubs. All we need are some branches that are the right size. We can find 'em around here no problem."

"So now?"

Another pause. Then: "Sure, now."

I went first, walking off into the pines in the direction that wasn't toward the burro or the bone man. Once he was sure I hadn't woken the others, Tallow got up and followed. We picked up a few pieces of dead wood, but it was too dried out and light. I pulled on a branch of a tree but it would be way too loud getting the thing off. We had to spend some time looking around, and I just kept getting tempted by the big loose rocks lying around. We could use those. But they'd be awkward to wield, and we had to take the thing down quick. We went to three different thickets of trees before we were able to find two already-fallen, still-green, not-rotten chunks of wood.

I set about with my knife skinning the bark off of them, and Tallow sneaked over to camp to make sure we weren't missed. Within a couple minutes of fairly quiet work I had a pair of clubs with smooth (if sticky) handles. Tallow took one and we circled around toward the skeleton.

I wasn't really sure how this would work. Would it fight back? Would it wake up Grens? Anything? Just in case, I stayed on the near side of the bastard and Tallow went wide around to the other side. I waited, unable to see or hear my partner and barely able to see the skeleton standing sentry.

"Phweeet!" I cringed inwardly at the whistle. He could've at least made it sound like an owl. Still, I charged.

As I burst out of the brush and skidded on loose rocks, I had a moment of fear that I was all alone. I didn't see Tallow anywhere. But then he was there across from me, charging toward our mutual target.

I strangled the war cry that rose in my throat, trying to keep as quiet as possible given the circumstances. Tallow and I hit the bastard at almost the same moment, sending him reeling.

For his its part the skeleton wailed: a keen harsher and longer than any bereaved woman could raise. It was a rising, warbling, hollow howl of--warning? I guess he took this guard duty thing seriously.

I swung again, and so did Grens. We knocked the shit out of it. The thing danced away from us, its bare leg bones stepping high over the loose terrain. Just when I thought we were going to finish it off it struck a fighting posture and raised its spear high for and overhead stab. I dove to the side in defence, while Tallow made himself small on the other side and prepared to deflect it with his club.

The spear point glistened in the night, gleaming with what little light there was. I waited for it to come down, planning to try to block it.

It didn't move.

Bewildered but not stupid, I skipped forward and quickly smashed its face. Teeth went flying everywhere. Tallow took the opportunity to get behind the critter and knock it hard in the spine.

"No!" A shout from behind us. I ignored it, pressing my attack, hitting it over and over. Tallow knocked apart its free arm, I collapsed the crown of its head, and then it fell to its knees.

I recognised the movement--I'd seen it before when goblins or men died on their feet. The spreading of the arms (or arm, in this case); the slow kneeling down, the trembling as they go. Thing is, they're supposed to fall face-down after that and gurgle. Instead, the skeleton simply disconnected. Whatever forsaken force held that thing together just evapourated all of a sudden, and the bones disarticulated and fell to the ground. A short, gruesome shower.

"You pricks!" Grens ran up beside us. There was true fury on his face. Tallow and I just stared at him.

"Do you have any idea what that cost me?" he shouted. "You... you... Augh, one more spear! We had one more spear, one more fucking ally! There's four of us, gods help us, four against what? How many? And he never slept! Do you have any idea what you just did to us? You fucking pricks!"

We let him go on like that till he ran out. He looked at us like we had answers for him. Tallow just shrugged and started back toward camp. I shook my head.

"It's wrong, Grens. It's just wrong."

He was shaking all over, actually shivering with rage. He clenched his fists, but he didn't take a swing at me. Up the way I heard Gunther call out.

"What is it?" he yelled.

"Me 'n' the Captain just killed Junior."

A brief silence. Then: "WooooooHOOOO!" Gunther came jogging down the way, sword in hand, and found the pile of bones. He promptly started to dance a jig on them, kicking them all around the path and crushing them with his big feet. "Serves you right, Wizard! You grab my ass again, you're gonna get a buh-buh-buh-buh-beat-down!" Yep, he said that. Then he picked up the fibula and held it lewdly in front of his crotch like an erection, thrusting it toward Grens and laughing with glee. "Eat it, Wizard, eat it! In your face! Woooo!"

Officially, Grens went to bed, Gunther ran around screaming insults and obscenities then went to bed, Tallow resumed his watch and I sat with him for a few minutes before going to bed. Unofficially, Grens lied awake gritting his teeth, Gunther nearly passed out of hyperventilation, and Tallow and I kept two eyes open between us all night in case the wizard wanted revenge. He didn't come at us, but I'm not gonna believe for a minute he doesn't have a grudge. Only time will tell that.

What we know for sure, though, is that our victory was short-lived. In the morning, after finally managing a short bout of sleep, I woke up to find my club missing.

"Alright Wizard, where's the club?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the fucking club I used to put down your sick pet. Where is it?"

"Haven't seen it."

"Hey Tallow, could that be used in some kind of spell or something? Could he use that for something?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Captain?"

"Shut it! Let me shit in peace!" The voice was Gunther's but it came from behind a particularly tall cluster of juniper.

"Roger, if you lost this club around here, maybe Junior can find it."

Stare of hatred.

"What do you mean Junior could find it?"

Grens laughed. "He might not have eyes but he can see. I told you he's useful. You'll get used to him."

I jumped up and ran to the edge of camp. There, at his post along the trail, was Junior. Fully intact, at full attention, his spear at his side and his eye sockets staring right at me. Cursing, I ran to the trees along the path. Looking around, I found the copse where we had gotten the clubs. I pushed branches aside and scoured the ground. There! There were the two nice pieces of wood we had made into clubs. Already fallen, still green, not rotten. And not skinned or smoothed in any wise.

"Fuck!" I stalked back to camp and glared at Grens. Then I glared at Tallow, just for good measure. Gunther came around from behind the juniper and I shot him one too.

"We were supposed to be burying him--it!--this morning."

Grens simply chuckled. "You'll get used to him," he almost hissed. "You'll get used to him... you sack of shit."

Angry corpse magician. Outstanding.

Day 21: Learning to Track from the Bottom Up

We're trying to follow one of the trails marked out on the burnt map. Ater all, someone obviously went to a lot of trouble to keep it secret. When you're squished between a lying asswart of a constable and an imaginary band of hobgoblins, that's reason enough. And if the damn critters are real they were mentioned in the same stack of documents as he was, so maybe we can find out something useful before we go back to town and crack his skull open.

To get there we had to head west, entering the mountains and leaving the Snakebacks behind. The trail we settled on runs from where the mountains meet the sea in the northwest, south along the east edge of the mountains, and then to somewhere else. Right, we don't know where--that part of the map is gone. But either it's the steppes to the west of Tine Gorge, or Tine Gorge itself, or else the map was made by a drunkard.

Meanwhile we have this walking corpse to deal with. The thing is still with us, and Grens is strutting around like the only rooster in a henhouse. Frankly it makes me sick. It never gets tired and it's always staring at us. When I take a break to swig some water, it's right there with its spear. When I stop to pass water, it's there with its spear. When we go to bed at night and get up in the morning, there it is. (I suppose it'd be even more unsettling if it wasn't there one morning, but still.)

Tallow seems to feel the same way I do, but neither one of us comes even close to matching the burro's reaction. For some reason--and I just can't figure out why--it isn't too happy with a grinning heap of bones walking alongside it. Burros are supposed to be slow, but the presence of the skeleton whips this one into action: jumping, bucking, kicking and shitting like it was getting paid by the pound in diamonds. We can't go anywhere unless the skeleton is as least a hundred feet away from the mule, and downwind and out of sight. That's convenient.

When I suggest getting rid of the skeleton Grens just listens thoughtfully and then gives me some flippant response. "Go easy on him, he's dead." "Those things aren't easy to make, you know." "Just takes some getting used to." "If we put him down today and need him tomorrow, there's no bringing him back." "Maybe things would be easier if the mule was a skeleton, too." Ugh.

It just seems wrong. I mean, I know it was already dead when Grens found it in that mine. But what about its soul? Does it have one? I don't even know how that would work--if the priests are right, the soul left the body when it died and crossed the River of the Dead. So did it come all the way back when Grens raised the thing up? Is it suffering? Does it resent being treated like a slave? I sure would.

I'm not built for this kind of thinking. I'm not a philosopher. But the more I think about those questions the more I feel like we should just put it out of its half-life and give it a proper burial. Give the man some of the respect and dignity he clearly didn't get inside of that terror chamber. It took me two days to get my resolve up, but I'm going to talk to the others and see if they agree. Maybe one of them can come up with some way to convince Grens and, if not, we'll just have to do it without his leave. I never signed up to work with a graverobber.

So far the only group discussion was the day we left the mines. When I suggested we leave the corpse behind Grens objected that "we haven't even given him a name yet". That got everyone going:

"We get to give it a name?"

"It's coming with us?"

"Let's call him Grens Jr."

"Nah, Skeletor."

"Xykon!"

"How about Dr. Bonesalot?" That was me--that came out of my mouth. How about Dr. Bonesalot. Truly our most productive heart-to-heart so far.

I haven't given up, though. I'm going to try to bring it up when I don't feel that thing around. Maybe if we can talk when we're all ourselves we can get it over and done with quick, without any nonsense words or poop humour.

Which reminds me. We found the first landmark on the trail pretty easily--a pair of rock outcroppings that almost grow together at the top and make an arch. So we adjusted our bearings to go toward the next landmark, but we got turned around. It's hard to estimate distance in the mountains and by yesterday evening we were starting to worry we'd overshot it. Our plan was to camp for the night and then backtrack in the morning.

Well, when I woke up today I went to "do my business". I was squatting in this little yew grove, keeping an eye out for biting flies, and all of a sudden I put my hand in something I wish I hadn't put it in. It was scat. Poop. It was fairly old, and had dried out and hardened instead of decomposing, which surprised me. But what really got my attention was the size.

It wasn't from a deer, or a bear, or a cougar. It certainly wasn't from a human, though it was big enough. That didn't leave a lot of options. After I got my pants up I called the others over for a rousing round of being mocked.

Once they worked the jokes out of their system, someone actually bothered to ask me what was so important about it.

"I'll show you," I said, and I did. I crumbled a little bit of it open, showing no grasses, no bones and no fur inside. Everything had been thoroughly chewed.

"So?" Tallow asked.

"So I think it's hobgoblin shit."

Gunther and Tallow laughed like crazy. I think Grens did too.

"So you put your hand in the enemy's crap?" asked Gunther.

"Careful guys," added Tallow. "He just happened to choose the same place to shit as the hobgoblins? Seems suspicious to me. You got fangs, Captain?"

We're pushing forward looking for the next landmark. I'm sure someone else is using this trail. Don't know if they're hobgoblin or not, but hopefully they aren't too far ahead--even dried out, scat doesn't last forever. And neither will this quest, I keep telling myself. Neither will this quest.

Postscript to Day 19

Editor's Note: Here is the first of what I hope to be many mid-week extras. Some (like today's) will be short journal excerpts that wouldn't really make a whole entry on their own. Others will be commentary, behind-the-scenes stuff or historical facts about the time period Sir Darkesworde lived in. Hope you enjoy!

The following postscript was scrawled without a date under the Day 19 entry, presumably added in later on the same day.

I got a chance to look over my shield in full light. It's already warping pretty badly. The wood is splitting near the edges but the rim is holding it together. I'm sure it'll only get worse. Pretty soon it'll be more of a danger than an asset, so I'm going to have to learn to get by without a shield for a while.

The good news is I still have the sword I found in that hellhole. Has a little rust but pretty minor. Must've been well-maintained. Nothing compared to the Darkesworde family blade, but still pretty nice. I've never owned two swords before!

I've been watching the way Gunther fights and how he uses his sword for defence. He says he never uses a shield. I think I'll ask him to show me some of that. I always told myself I'd never be one of those pricks who runs around with two swords - they just look so stupid! - but if I can learn to guard well enough to do without a shield for a while, I guess it's good enough for me. We'll see.

Day 19: Dawn

I didn't have a chance to finish writing yesterday's entry. So much happened, and we were all pretty exhausted. I'll try to catch up to this morning.

First off, Tallow. Poor Tallow. Yeah he's a dirty shit, but he ran in to help me out while Grens headed in the other direction. Once we finished off ol' doghead we took a look at the sneak. He was dying, no two ways about it. I tried to do something for his wound but it was too much. Grens just stood there while I worked on him.

"Back off," the wizard said at last. I looked up at him and he glared at me from behind his cowl. "Back off," he growled.

Uncertain, I took a few steps away from the guy. I made sure to stay away from his skeleton, too. "You need to understand I can't always do this," he told me. "And if I can it's not gonna be for you guys. Don't come begging when someone gets hurt. I'm not a healer, alright?"

I nodded.

"Turn around."

I did. I stared out in the darkness, at the shadowy crates at the edge of the light. I don't know what I expected - a flash of light, some kind of chant or song, something impressive. But all I heard was a shuffle, a moment of silence, and then coughing and sputtering. When I turned around Grens was standing up from kneeling beside Tallow, and Tallow had his eyes slightly open and was looking around weakly.

"Captain?" he asked. "Did we get 'im?"

"Yeah. Nice move, death wish."

Tallow sputtered again, trying to clear his throat. "Up yours, Cap," he said. "I coulda handled him on my own." His eyes drifted over to the other figure in the pool of light, and he took a moment squinting and refocusing. After about five seconds his eyes widened and he jumped. "What the-- get it!"

His hand scrambled for his sword, but Grens forced him back to a sitting position with one hand. Tallow panicked and started struggling.

"It's on our side!" I yelled, trying to quiet him.

"On our side? It's on-- we have-- we're a--" He looked at Grens. "Holy fuck, you're a bone-chanter? What the--"

"TALLOW!" I shouted. He looked at me. "Shut up before I knock you out again." I turned to Grens. "What about Gunther?"

Grens didn't answer right at first. He looked from me, to Gunther's body, and back at me again. Finally he said, "Didn't you listen to me before?" His eyes smouldered as they locked on to mine. He was pissed. "Gunther will be fine."

With some effort and a lot of arguing, I convinced Grens to make the skeleton set down Gunth. He was still breathing and his pulse seemed stronger. Grens was right, with some basic care and a little more time we had Gunth awake, though dazed. I thought we'd be going through another scene with him when he saw the skeleton, but he didn't seem nearly as upset. Surprised, but not upset. He had probably fought a lot of the things at Arero.

Still, I'm uncomfortable with it. Or him. What do you call a corpse? Gods, it could've been a woman for all I know. I asked Grens how we should get rid of it - do we re-kill it, or what? He laughed that dry laugh of his. Told me it'll go when it's time. "You have control over it though, right? You're it's master?" He laughed again.

I convinced Grens to come with me while I went and got my shield. It wasn't damaged in the fall, but it's warping from being in the water so long. We'll see how it turns out.

We also scoured the whole room with the cages. It looks like someone had a pretty sick setup in that mine: all along the wall outside the big cage were shackles, so probably slave labour. Inside the cage must've been where the dogheads were kept, with their own little water supply at the back, so the slaves must have been in constant terror. Looks like the slaves were also used as rations for the dogheads.

Once we were sure the whole holding room (as we call it) was cleared out, we rested for a while. Gunther was up but he wasn't in good shape. We slept fitfully, or at least I did when it was my turn. Tallow and I took turns standing guard and toward the end Gunther horned his way in too. It helped to sleep, but I can't shake the feeling that whatever that mushroom hit me with is still in me. My limbs are just weak, like soggy bread.

Staying in the holding room was creepy, but not as creepy as what happened after. We were gearing up and putting the last of the oil into the lantern when Gunther stood up straight and spoke. "Time for the looting."

"Oh yeah!" Tallow.

I didn't say anything, but I found myself walking over to the pile of eaten dogheads against my will. Setting down my shield, I started rooting around in their remains. Gunther started breaking open crates and barrels, while Grens stripped the clothing off of several near-mummified human bodies shackeld to the wall outside the cage. Tallow ran back and forth, looking over all our shoulders and directing us to check this or that.

I couldn't take it. This was desecration, and it was revolting. I know I've been the target of a few spells in my days, and sometimes I was able to break free or shrug it off. With all my might, all my will, I tried to pull my arms out of that anatomical slag heap. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I gritted my teeth. I pulled my arm as hard as I could, praying and grunting as I struggled.

Not only did I not break the spell, but my arm didn't even seem to notice. It reached further into the skull of a doghead, turned the skull over and my other hand reached in and checked the teeth. Checked the teeth! For what? Gold teeth? Am I going to walk into town and pay for a round of drinks with some goddamn gold dog teeth? I think that's about the time I vomitted.

After our little orgy of greed we pooled what we had found: a handful of silver coins, a few copper, one gold, two arrows, a hammer, a gold tooth, a bronze ring, and a wooden mug. Tallow offered to hold onto it for us, and we silently handed it over. Ugh.

After that it felt like a relief to be merely exploring the rest of the mine. I was trepidatious at first but given the slave situation I figured we had to try and find out who'd been using this place, and how long ago. Considering the surviving doghead and the state of the bodies it didn't seem like the place had been abandoned more than a year ago. Most of the shackles were empty, so most of the slaves had been either taken somewhere else or disposed of. Yet the monsters had been left behind in their cages to die. The whole thing seemed, well, mysterious.

The layout of the place was actually pretty simple. The weird altar over the pit I fell into is where the main tunnel branches, but both branches connect up after a while. They basically form one big circle. Several dead-end mineshafts run off of the main circle, and it looks like work was stopped abruptly in each of those.

At the opposite end of the circle from the altar is a rough stairway that goes down. It leads past several sealed-off rooms, past a guard station with fresh water, and then into the huge holding room. Simple, right? One part mine, one part compound. Not as big as I worried it would be at first, but huge for a mine. Most mines are just one shaft, maybe two, no more than a hundred feet if that. The amount of time and effort it must've taken to excavate the giant tunnel system we stumbled into--well, the mind boggles.

We were all a little hesitant to open the sealed doors, but if there was anything of interest that's where it'd be. Wary of more traps, Tallow had us stand back while he checked the first of the three doors. It was clear. Putting his criminal background to good use, he had us through the door in no time--but it was just a tool storage area.

The second door he thought was clear too, but when he opened it we were greeted with a collapsing support beam and a shower of dirt and soil. We had to dig Tallow out in a hurry, but he was mostly okay. Looking it over, the thing was rigged to take out a lot more support beams than just that one. Lucky for us it had been set a long time ago and part of it failed to trigger. With a string of curses, Tallow opened the door the rest of the way and we found what had been so jealously guarded:

Several crates of now-spoiled food, a couple pieces of furniture, and an empty chest. Yeah, this quest is really one for the sagas.

The third and final door Tallow checked twice. He also checked the tunnel support beams. He proposed we dig around the door instead of going through it, but before he could even finish he knelt down and started working on the lock. I sighed and stood back.

No traps went off, but when Tallow opened the door and held up his light he started cursing. A swarm of rats the likes of which I've never seen came spilling out onto him, and then toward the rest of us. I can't say it was a difficult fight, but we got bit pretty bad and it was near impossibl to hit those things. Plus, they just weren't acting natural. Maybe it's what happens to rats who are constantly stalked by dogheads looking to breed them into little cannibals.

With a number of bites and scratches we killed most of the rats and drove off the last few. The room beyond was the armoury. There wasn't much left, though--several bits of leather armour, a number of clubs and whips, a spare pair of soft-soled shoes, a shortsword and several spears. I took the shortsword. Inside one of the drawers of a beat-up old bureau we also found a tiny bottle. Grens confirmed it's a healing elixir of some kind and I almost jumpd up and down in excitement. I was overcome just holding the thing in my hand, but we decided Gunther should hold onto it since he was he one who kept getting the beat-downs.

At that point we had cleared everything out and were about to get the heck out of the mine. But something was bothering me. Tallow seemed to notice.

"What's wrong, Cap?"

"That trap."

Gunther snorted. "Well we lived through it, right? Let's get out of here."

I shook my head. "No, I mean... why trap the door to the food room? Why not the armoury?"

The four of us exchanged a look. The skeleton clattered a little as it stepped over beside Grens. Then we all jogged into the little pantry, or whatever it was. The room was narrow, but long. The opposite end from the doorway was the obvious spot. I was in the lead so I ran over and knocked on the wall. Being made of dirt, it was hard to tell anything by ear.

"I don't see any signs of a hidden safe or anything, Cap," said Tallow.

"Me neither," I conceded, "But let's make sure." Wresting the spear away from the skeleton, I jammed it into the earth wall as hard as I could. It drove through and into an empty space beyond.

With hoots of laughter and excitement, we ran and got mining tools and busted through. About a foot of packed soil masked a heavy wooden door. It wasn't locked so we stood back and had the skeleton open it for us. Not traps! We crowded closer.

The door opened into a small closet. It held just one thing: a cast iron urn with ashes and scraps of paper in it. We groaned.

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Fuck."

"Maybe there's gold in the bottom?"

"How do you lose out on the slave trade? It's like the most profitable job there is." That one was Tallow. I kicked him.

Still, someone had gone to a lot of work to make sure nobody would ever see these documents. By lantern light we went over each scrap carefully.

They hadn't been burned very well. It seemed like whoever did it just threw some embers in a pot with the paper and then sealed it all in a dirt chamber with no air. Smart. Most of the documents had still been destroyed, but parts were legible.

There was a map, apparently of the Snakebacks, that showed several roads or trails that none of us had heard of. A number of landmarks were labelled along each route, which told me the paths probably weren't clearly marked. We couldn't tell much else.

We also found a number of pages of a merchant's register, probably records of slave transactions. Not much good.

There were two documents of great interest, though. One was almost impossible to read but had "hobgobl" in clear penmanship in the middle of one sentence. Tallow wanted to give up at this point, and began wrapping the scraps in a piece of cloth.

"I can try to decipher more of this in better light," he said. "We might be able to get more details out of these scraps."

"I think we already did," I told him.

"Whaddya mean?"

I handed him the last document, part of a letter. There was a date and a salutation; the rest was too smudged with ash. But the salutation was all we needed. It clearly read:

Dear Master Argon

Tallow whistled.

I beamed.

Gunther almost whispered: "The gods-damned Constable."