A Hobbit's Story

[Wolfskehl]

This is my first attempt at background writing so please let me know what you think with that in mind.

Part One - Into Darkness

As I stared into the water I realized that I was not alone. Not as though Acaessa had come back but a piece of me had grow stronger since she died. I carried with me her smile, her gentleness and her unfading hope – perhaps my own magic was her greatest gift to me…

That night I had left to go to the library of Illarion where allies awaited to join our party. Some villagers and myself sought a menace, the rotworms of Demon’s Cave had burrowed farther south then ever before, but by then we knew where they hid. A human child had been taken in the forest, first thought to be skeletons prowling close to the village.

We had all grown up on stories of the forest and the deadly beasts that moved about it but we were secure in our belief the lights of the village would keep them away. Once the trees began to wilt, Lothaybaen suggested dark magic may have a hand in this new evil. But not until Barenad had seen the very soil move did we know the evil came from where our lights could not reach and that it was no magic that spoiled our lands.

Alan stood just ahead of me as we moved in file toward Demon’s Cave. He had not been the same since his daughters blood stained cloak was found near the strawberry patch. He walked the walk of the dead; his daughter was all he had left after his wife, Ellowan, had passed away nearly two harvests ago.

Ellowan was truly beautiful, as human females go. She had fair skin with a thousand tiny freckles that would return each spring. Her hair was amber, as though it had taken the color from a setting sun. She was slender, much thinner than any self-respecting hobbit woman, but it didn’t seem to bother Alan. In fact quite the opposite, he believe her to been an angle that slipped off a cloud. Admiringly, her hand could work a magic at the hearth that rivaled even my own bride’s. I had the great fortune of begin a guest at their table shortly before Gwynn was born. I dare say you could have found no happier man in all of Illarion.

Now to see him, was to see what happens when hope dies. Alan and I didn’t speak much anymore. Not from a lack of trying I assure you though. He rarely slept these days and mumbled about nightmares when he did speak. Most men had given up on inviting him into their homes as the weeks passed after Gwynn’s disappearance. His home, his life had quickly fallen into disarray. Many of the villagers believed he himself would fall ill and die, if it were not for Barenad’s discovery of the rotworms. The prospect of vengeance on the creatures that stole his little girl gave him a purpose. A certain ill life, as it was. His thought turned to constant anger. He gave up us love of fishing and the beach to spend time alone in the forest. Sometimes at daybreak a formless shadow could be seen near the strawberry patch. Even from a distance the wails of torment could be heard. No one went to investigate, as we all knew in our hearts what… or who it was.

Until that evening, as we walked, I realized for the first time that Alan carried a mace. While the few farmers accompained the party carried makeshift tools to the cave, Alan was the only farmer that had a true weapon. I had never seen Alan use a weapon before and knew enough of him that he never allowed weapons in his house with his daughter. He always kept a lantern burning just outside the entrance and one at the side window. Fact was most farmers had no money for weapons. As the mace moved just out of rhythm with Alan step, a light from a torch he held made visible a binding near the top of the shaft. Sewn among the threads was a silver clasp, the same one his daughters cloak had had sewn in it.

The trek was fast and tiring to this hobbit, who must take two strides to men’s and elf's one. I kept pace well enough but had fallen to the end by the time we arrive at the cave. Aside for a brief diversion to avoid a nesting scorpion, we made the journey in little fewer than two torches.

A set of six torches could last the well into morning if burned in wall mounts but the pace we kept made the torches burn hot.

The men gather at the gapping hole. A rope ladder fashioned by a market tailor was attached to a rock and lowed down the dark shaft. Alan was the first to go down. Each member had to go one at a time, as the craftsmanship of the rope was good but we had to guarantee that it remain intact -- it was our only escape. The first to go was going to be chosen by drawing sticks but Alan volunteered. The other men did not argue, it would have done no good. (I believe to this day because no other man wished to go first.)

Each in turn descended into the hole; I was eleven of fifteen. We left all but our weapons tied in a bundle hosted up into a tree nearby. I carried with me a sickle, a hobbit sized sickle but I had become quite proficient over the years. While my wife was quite the cook, she was never a good grower. She enjoyed sitting and talking with me as I worked in the garden. She would occasionally bring books with her that she had kept in a chest near the foot of the bed. She would scratch tidbits in the margins, I suspect with a quill pen she also kept in the chest. I never asked what she read or wrote, as she always seemed uncomfortable with the topic. Despite my curiosity I never opened the chest, I guess because I believed we all need a secret, one thing to call yours and yours alone. I knew only that her mother had given her the chest when she was to marry me. She held the chest in as high regard as the hand sewn wedding crown I made for our special day. She placed the crown atop the chest each time she closed it.

As I reached the bottom of the ladder, I realized that it was a good eight feet to the ground. For the men this was a survivable fall but to a hobbit whom stands half the size of a man, this was a bit more dangerous. Sokor took notice of my dilemma and alerted Celild and Lothigo who all agreed to catch me. I was a bit embarrassed at the idea but quickly realized that the only other option was to climb back up. I moved my hands to the bottom rung as my left foot dangled in the air. I removed my right foot and a jolt ran through my body as my arms stretched out. For a moment my body pressed up against the root filed wall and a bit of dirt crumbled and fell onto my feet. I pushed off a little bit and let go. I felt the exhilarating feeling of falling. Similar to the time as a child when I would jump from the rope my father tied to a tree near the pond.

As I felt the arms of my comrades slow my descent a burning air filled my lungs. The smell of the place was dank and unnerving. Decayed life seemed to fill the room. As my feet reached the ground I could feel the earth give a bit. Much to my disgust it seemed to be cover in unnatural mucus. Quickly the other four members of the party descended the ladder.

A brief moment later I heard Derald, the last to descend the ladder, ask Lothigo where Alan was. I had been so preoccupied with our surroundings that I hadn’t taken count of the men. Lothigo just shook his head and said “He was not here when Sokor arrived just after him.” The party exchanged glances but nothing more was said about the missing member. Many of us didn’t expect the night would be without losses but in Alan’s case perhaps it there was sympathy among the men, knowing death was what he was seeking.