1.8g - Molinar Crossing

When at last Gwenllian left the outpost, she was surprised to see it was again early evening.

“Have I really only been away from home for three nights?” she wondered to herself, looking at the early stars that attempted to pierce their way through the low lying clouds.

On her way to Molinar Crossing Gwenllian tried to picture in her mind the way the city had looked on her past visits; the large homes, the towering statues, the grand squares.  As she entered the village she found it much changed.  The homes appeared smaller; the statues no longer cast impossibly long shadows; the air of activity that the city once exuded, even at night, was replaced by the silent, ghostly images of the spirits of the dead.

Though as she looked, she found that not all of the ghostly spirits emitted the negative death energy she felt all around her.  On the outskirts of the town, pacing around a young tree, she saw the spirit form of General Stanig again.

Knowing he would like to know the results of his plan, she walked toward him.

“Well met, General.” She said with a smile.  “I am glad to see you here.  Your plan to clean the woods was a success.”

“I know child.” He said, looking down at her and, although Gwenllian bristled at being called child, from the General it did not feel like an insult.

“It seems foolish to ask, but you know why I have come to this town.”

“I suppose,” the general said, “it is for the same reason I have.  With the woods cleared, and the distraction of the death touched lifted, I recall greater personal demons.  I lived here once, and it doesn’t seem so long ago now.  After the close of Hammerknell, Gorvaht turned his dark gaze to the families of the Runeguard.”  He looked at her with sorrow.  “They all perished in the attack and now, even in death, my family needs protection.”

“I have to enter the gates to find the relics of Bahralt.  Maybe I can cast a protection spell on your home while I am there.”  Gwenllian suggested.

General Stanig looked pleased for a moment and then his face returned to grief.  “It pains me, but my family’s treasured belongings could be used to possess their spirits.  I cannot let that happen.  Use this torch to burn their belongings.”

Gwenllian looked scandalized.  “Wouldn’t you rather I bring them back for you?  If their spirits are linked to their worldly goods, perhaps if you kept them safe, their spirits would be freed from them.”

The General began to pace again.  “It would be better to have them freed and untouchable. My family was a happy one.  They will move on together.   Do this for me, Gwenllian?”

Gwenllian took the torch in her free hand and set off into Molinar Crossing.  She walked the streets without thinking of the way, as if her feet remembered the way of their own accord. The ghosts of the dwarves who had died hear glowed with the death energy that had consumed them and, although they stared at her as she passed, they left her to her task.

Before long, she reached the village square that held the large city bell.  Gwenllian was discouraged to find it shattered, but quickly found a large enough piece of the bell intact that it could be struck.  The sound was first muffled, and then resonated through the village.  She struck the bell again, and the sound became fuller.  After a third strike the ghost of the bells honor guard appeared, dressed in their ceremonial uniform.  A perfectly intact bell, made of nothing more than smoke and memory, stood in its proper place behind them.

“The sacred bell has been struck!  The people of Molinar Crossing can finally find rest now thanks to you, Ascended one.” chanted the chief honor guard.

Gwenllian smiled at them and they vanished as quickly as they had appeared, taking with them the death touched spirits of the towns people.

With the town now empty, Gwenllian made her way, uninterrupted, to the different Altars to Bahralt.  The Altars of the Bellows and the Axe still held their relics safely behind their wards, but she found the book, the stein and the cloth to be missing.

“What would the Abyssal want with these relics?” Gwenllian questioned, but without strong evidence, she filed the question away and set off to her final task.

Gwenllian found the Stanig home and pushed open the door.  The level of dust on the table and counters suggested the home had not been in use for several years, yet the dust on the floor had been disturbed more recently.  The chest and the family plaque were easy enough to find on the Stanig family shelf, but even after turning the home over in her search, Gwenllian could not find the Toy Anvil Stanig had asked her to search for.

Closing the door tightly, she made her way around the home to the back garden.  Behind the withered and decayed vegetable garden stood a work shed, and inside the shed stood one large anvil and one smaller.  Gwenllian taped gently on the small anvil.  Although it looked like the hardened steel of the larger, it gave a hollow reply.  She picked up the piece.  It weighed less than her old cat.

Disappointed in herself now, deciding that General Stanig really should have seen the items before they were burned, Gwenllian decided to leave the crossing the toy, instead of destroy it here and now.

As she walked she heard quick footsteps behind her.

“Hey!  Wait!” called a voice.   “That’s my toy anvil I used to play with!”

Gwenllian turned to see a dwarf, slightly older than she, rushing towards her.  “I think my dad gave me that, but it was so long ago.”

Gwenllian smiled in amazement.  “Your father?  Is he...” but the dwarf cut her off.

“Can I have this?” he said, pulling the anvil out of her loose grip.  “Maybe I’ll remember more.”  He smiled at her.  “Thank you. I knew you would understand.”

He left as quickly as he had come, leaving Gwenllian feeling dumbfounded.

General Stanig was smiling when she returned.  “Were you able to burn the objects?”

“All but one.”  Gwenllian said.  “Another dwarf came to take the anvil before I could... destroy it.”  She had been about to say leave, but thought displaying her ineptitude and poor judgement might not be in her best interest.  “He said his father gave him that toy long ago.”

“This dwarf recognized my son’s toy as his own?  Perhaps my boy could still be alive after all!  This fills me with great hope.  Thank you Gwenllian.”