2971, Spring
Dear Sister,
It is with immeasurable anguish and grief that I write this letter. Pomma is dead! Had it not been for my vow to write you every season I doubt I could ever overcome the struggle to put words on paper. I sit now in Mithlond in a pit of depression, too wracked with sadness to accomplish anything of value.
The cruel twists of events which prelude her demise have struck me with an unbound rage. As planned, we departed from those great safe Halls of Harmelt after the spring thaw had rent Old Man Winter from the mountains. With Annabelle at our sides, Pomma and I traveled north through the foothills of the mountains. The creeks and streams were high, but they proved no challenge to us. The route was easy, and the company of another brought great comfort to me. The days seem to pass more quickly and, in the aftermath of the events to follow, I cannot be certain how many days actually passed before we came upon that dreadful gulch in which lay the old dwarven mine.
An awful portent seemed to fill the gulch as the three of us descended. The pines in the gulch held no needles, some being just stumps which appeared to have had their trucks seeming wrenched apart by some primordial force. Evil hung so thickly in the air that one could chew it as it in return sunk its teeth into our skin. At one point, Annabelle had exhausted her spirit and would proceed no further despite our desperate attempts of encouragement. It was just as the light was dipping below the mountains when we found the old mine’s horribly sneering mouth. We decided it best to camp just outside the entrance of the old mine and proceed into its depths in the morning.
That night, I was plagued by awful nightmares. More than once, I was jared awake by some malicious daemon of imagination. At one point, whether in a dream or in reality, I heard a horse scream. At last, in sorrow, I resigned myself from any further attempts at sleep and charged myself with creating a pot of tea to help calm me. But the accursed wood from those evil pines refused to catch light and in a fit I hurled the small kettle against the stones of my fire pit.
The terrible crash rang across the gulch and stirred Pomma from what appeared to be peaceful slumbers. She rose from her spot and, in a manner that only she could achieve, placed a hand on my shoulder. Oh, what immense power of comfort that woman possessed! My anger had been quenched and my fear drowned by the sea of gentle life which flowed through her fingers. That power that she had taught me to imbue in silver and gold she contained in flesh and blood. What divine creator forged her with those magics?
...
Daylight had finally swept over the ancient mine’s mouth and we crept into its belly. Each of us bearing a lantern forged over the winter, the light revealed a well carved passage. The walls were smooth and the floor held a distinct set of recessed tracks. At about a hundred yards from the entrance we emerged into a large chamber! It had obviously been employed as a foyer to the rest of the mine. A dozen passages branched off in all directions, each with their own set of rails. A dozen mine carts populated the chamber, some resting on the old tracks which used to guide them and some stacked up, waiting for their chance to carry untold wealth from the ground. A multitude of ornate iron chandeliers dangled overhead, occasionally dwarfed by large chains belonging to ancient cranes.
I was bewitched by this chamber, but upon further examination my fascination quickly turned to horror! For every mine cart that I could reach bore, in its complete capacity, the skulls of our ancestors! I did not suspect it then, but we were soon to meet the agent of their terrible fate.
Pomma and I spoke no words in that miserable chamber. In resolute silence, we pushed deeper into one of the adjoining passages. We did not need to travel far before the venerable mine gave up some of its secrets. Dancing in the light of our lanterns, the remnants of a brilliant silver vein traced the wall. With a great blow of her pickaxe, Pomma took a great chunk of silver ore and I packed it away for analysis later.
Convinced with what we had discovered, we thought it best to return to the surface and begin thinking of future plans and endeavors. However, as we approached from our bountiful passage that great foyer we became acutely aware of a strange noise. We slowed our pace and approached the chamber cautiously to discover the bright light of another’s lantern. Squinting in the dark, there was Hjolin! He was digging through one of those wretched carts, the lantern hung from a large crook stuck in the ground next to him.
Pomma could not hold back words and charged Hjolin to explain why he was here. Hjolin, not one to be florid with his words, professed that he had followed us after his brother had refused his request to journey to these old mines. His voice started to rise. This place, this history, had been Hjolin’s dedication for his entirety, and the cruel torture of seeing some outsider come and claim it had pushed his composure past the limit. Hjolin was now here, and now he could rightfully stake a claim in its discovery, he exclaimed.
Now, however, Hjolin’s declarations were cut short. His last word echoed through the mine. Overhead the faint jingle of a chain was heard. The trio of us froze in stunned silence, before I started to slowly turn my head up towards that dreadful noise above. Sure enough, in those shadowed vaults, goblins were descending upon us! Upon catching my eye, they dropped from those chains! There were a dozen of these denizens of the dark on the ground, and more above swinging from the chandeliers.
I was immediately surrounded by four of them. Assuming these creatures were the catalyst for our forbearer’s demise, I attacked with a fury of revenge in my heart. I fell a goblin with a mighty blow, the other’s barbaric knives bouncing off my sturdy shield. A couple crude arrows were shot from those goblins swinging from the ceiling chains and one caught me in the thigh, my sturdy armor unyielding to its request for blood.
I rid the world of another goblin with the next swing of my ax and soon I could get a better look at the battles around me. Behind me, Pomma was holding her ground, two goblins lay at her feet while she maneuvered against a further pair. In front, the old lore-master was surrounded by a hateful group of four. In a decision I shall regret for the rest of my life, I pushed the pair of golins assaulting me towards Pomma and rushed to help Hjolin.
The fight was fierce. Ripping and tearing at those monstrous evils, I afforded Hjolin an avenue and ordered him to escape. Hjolin initially refused, but then I caught an arrow in my side and the resulting picture convinced the lore-master to flee. I had two goblins left to contend with. I checked on my companion, she too had a pair of goblins before her. She looked worn down, but appeared overall to be unharmed. We could hear, deep in the depths, the mobilization of those foul creatures and knew that the time for escape was nigh!
A crash from my ax cleaved one of my foes, but another terrible arrow found its mark. I was weary, and nearing the last of my strength. The time to retreat was now. I called out to Pomma, she rending a goblin to bits. She looked up, and in that dreadful, horrible, awful moment of distraction that last daemon found its mark. She gave a shudder and grimace. Focus gone, the awful monster drove the knife in again. And again. And again. Until Pomma dropped to the ground. Her lantern hit the ground and its flame went out. That was the last I would ever see of Pomma.
It was then that depths birthed their vile spawn. The squealing and jittering formed a cacophony which implored me to leave. But even through that evil noise I could hear the sound of the lantern, the pickaxe, the armor, the tools, the clothes being torn to shreds by that hideous mass. I ran. I ran with every ounce of strength afforded to me towards that dome of light at the end of the tunnel. Outside I saw Hjolin, hoisted him to his feet, we continued to run until every fiber of my being was spent.
We collapsed on a horrible stump. It was then that Hjolin finally noticed the absence of Pomma. “Where’s Pomma,” he said.
I hope you understand that what happened next was the pitiful display of a broken man. I dearly beg for your forgiveness, as the trauma of the events which preceded this comprehensively depleted mind, body, and soul. For, in hearing his inquiry, I leapt to my feet with a guttural roar and upon his frame. I screamed and I screamed into his face. I spouted oaths that should never be addressed towards those of our kin. And, in one final display of primitiveness, I crashed my lantern next to his quivering frame. Seeing the smashed lantern brought me back to my senses. I wept. For what felt like an eternity I wept.
I walked Hjolin back up the gulch, presented him with Annabelle and the silver ore, and said goodbye. He need not ask why I was not returning to the Halls of Harmelt, for that wise old lore-master already knew. What has become of him and that silver ore, I do not know, nor do I wish to at the present.
I traveled, alone, at a sorrowful pace through the bright budding plains south to Mithlond. It is here that I intend to spend the remainder of spring and the entirety of summer in thoughtful retreat, attempting to regain any confidence in the good of the world. In the autumn I plan to take the long journey back home to you. It is there amongst my family that I will recover, and there maybe, in due time, the wanderlust for knowledge may grow again until I set forth on adventure once more.
Affectionately,
Rori
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