Raze

Reis awoken to the smell of burning wood.

He rubbed his eyes and cracked his stiff neck, after spending the night in the wilds again. He rose to his feet and scanned the horizon. Scant motes of ash were floating in the air, swept by the wind across the meadows. There was no mistake – it was the smell of burning wood, and pitch. Reis walked about to determine the source of the fire. He drew his eyes across the tree lines and soon after, he spotted a column of black smoke rising in the air. He pondered for a second, and he looked up at the sun to decide his bearings. It was then a cold shock grasped Reis like an icy claw to the spine.

Fieri.

Sabre’s lush coat was glistening with the beast’s sweat as both him and the rider tore through the forest, crushing the ground following their trail back to Fieri. As they race through the forest, Reis felt a looming dread hung around him. Whatever lies ahead, it would not be good. He urged Sabre some more.

The smoke got thicker as Reis cleared the forest. Ahead, the black column of smoke gave no mistake to the source.

The town of Fieri was razed.

A Tale.

The light from the scant coals in the fireplace flickered across the goblin's creased, ancient face as he spoke.

"Your father lived in this town in a time long forgotten, back when it was a bustling center of trade, and not this sorry excuse of a horse's watering hole. But I suppose you knew that, didn't you?" He peered sharply at her.

Shierra nodded briefly. "My mother spoke of this place once, when I was but a child. I believe she has forgotten that she ever mentioned it, but I never forgot. My father was born and raised here, and it was not far from here that they first met, whilst she was on her own pilgrimage all those many years ago. But I know nothing else. All I know was that, being a human, his life was brief, and that he was no more long before I was old enough to remember him."

"And you came here, hoping to learn more about him, I suppose?" Morohtar asked. He scrutinized her face carefully. She appeared to be telling the truth. He was still rather distrustful, although Kraeven apparently knew her. If he had his way, he would have slit her throat the moment he had shut the door behind her, no questions asked. Better safe than be the sorry receiving end of another assassin's knife. But the goblin apparently had other plans, and he grudgingly complied. It was not his abode, and therefore not his place to interfere, however decrepit the place might be.

"Yes... I did," Shierra said, replying his question. "I thought I could find some hint here, some clue as to who he was, what he was like. But it was so long ago, not even the oldest man in this town would be able to remember him. Human memory is so short-lived." She turned sharply to face the goblin. "But you tell me you knew him."

"Indeed, I did," the goblin said, making a horrible sound that may have been a chuckle or a snort of derision - it was hard to tell. "Back when he was nothing but a village wiseman of sorts, treating people for warts and curing diseased crops. He used to come to me to purchase... ingredients." His black eyes glinted, but he spoke no more of the nature of his business. "Hah! All that changed after he met Kirriana."

"My mother," Shierra gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Indeed." He grinned at her, his sharp teeth displayed to their fullest. "He felt he had to prove that he was somehow worthy of her... some nonsensical human notion. Of course, any kind of relationship between a human and an elf is a ridiculous idea to begin with. But he studied the arts more diligently after that. Your mother taught him a few tricks, but he eventually became so adept that he came up with more of his own."

Shierra listened intently, her attention focused on the goblin. She did not notice when Morohtar left his seat by the dying embers of the fireplace, nor when he disappeared into the next room.

Kraeven's beady eyes briefly followed Morohtar's movements, but he continued with his story. "Once he was able to do more than just cure warts, people started coming to him with more and more complicated problems. Eventually, people wanted love potions, poisons for revenge..."

"Idealistic human that he was, he refused some of these customers, but they continued to grow in number. Eventually, when they realised that he would refuse them still despite the gold they offered him, they became enraged. Rumours started spreading around, and all ills that befell anyone in the town was blamed on him."

"One night, your father's house, which was located on the outskirts of town, was burnt down. Nobody knew who started it, but most people could guess why. Your mother managed to escape, but no one ever heard of your father again after that night. Odd, though. Although the house was located on the outskirts and downwind, the rest of the town caught fire as well. People say it was as though the fire took on a life of its own. And once most of the town had been burned to the ground, any attempt at rebuilding it or restoring it to its former glory has failed."

"Cursed, the humans in this town say," he sneered. "Anyway, I don't think your father ever knew you existed... you were born after the fire, I believe."

"Fascinating tale, o ancient one," a voice sarcastically interrupted. Morohtar had returned to the room. "I had no idea you were such a gifted storyteller."

The goblin cackled. "But of course. I do what I must to earn a living."

Shierra looked up, startled and confused. "What?"

"You tricked me, you foul creature," Morohtar snarled. "And you had me running errands all these past couple of days, making me think that you actually needed dried up old herbs, when all this time you were just buying time until they came!"

The goblin grinned. "What made you realise? Ahh... they are here already, are they not? I can sense it from that panicked tone in your voice."

"Be damned with you. I knew something was up the moment you let her in and fed her some long-winded tale. You weren't much of a conversationalist last I checked."

Shierra had gotten up and backed away from the both of them. "Was any of what you said true?" she asked, her tone desperate.

The goblin laughed. "Some of it, some of it. Maybe all of it, maybe none of it. But what does it matter now? They are here, and I shall have the reward on both your heads!"

Morohtar turned to look at Shierra. "There is a bounty on your head as well?" he asked, surprised. Indeed, she did not look the type. But you could never tell with some folk.

"There... is?" She was just as surprised as he was. What had she ever done to earn a bounty on her head, having lived naught but a quiet existence in her village?

But there was little time to think now. Morohtar raised a hand for silence, his weapons readied. Nervously, Shierra tightened her grip on her staff.

"Here! In here!" Kraeven shouted.