Goblin Diaries, Vol 33: The East Road and Erin's Story
5th
day of Ice Moon, 1219th Year, Human Age of Magic, just before dawn …
Late yesterday afternoon, we reached the
bottom of a gradual descent from the foothills of the Darinian Mountains and
emerged onto a broad, flat plain and the intersection of a road. I didn’t say
anything, but I immediately recognized its elven design and construction. Sure
enough, Erin announced, “We have reached the East Road.”
To the right, the road took a straight
path into dunes on the eastern horizon. Erin pointed to the left, where the
road wound its way into the mountains behind which the sun was beginning to
set. “My home is a day-and-a-half’s ride in that direction.”
“Should we continue on,” I asked, pointing
to a well-used campsite in the shelter of a nearby cliff, “or should we camp
there and get an early start in the morning?”
She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s probably
best to camp here.”
I interpreted her hesitation as indicating
her eagerness to get home, but I found out later it was not.
Erin went to get water from a stream she
knew of nearby while I prepared a cooking fire. Aside from the absence of a
well, this campsite has all the amenities of one of the waystations the elves
constructed when they originally built the North and East roads in Panprama. An
oven had been bricked into the side of the cliff, and sleeping pallets carved
into the cliff wall, away from the sand. Further exploration revealed a
well-used latrine hidden behind some large boulders that included a bucket
filled with lime to kill the smell of human waste.
I commented on all of this when Erin
returned with the filled waterskins, and she confirmed the site had been used
for as long as she could remember by the caravans preparing to cross the Great
Eastern Desert. “I’ve stayed here before, myself,” she sighed, after which she
descended into a period of melancholy that lasted through our evening meal. I
even caught her wiping a tear from her eye once or twice.
She’d not had one of these spells for
almost a week, and I’ll have to admit, it distressed me. One of the things I’ve
noticed that humans share with goblins is that, although we’re often reluctant
to share our problems with others, it often helps to do so. In the most
apologetic and gentle manner I could muster, I asked her why she was suddenly
so sad.
As I had feared, my question brought about
more tears. But she told me a story that confirmed many of my suspicions about
who this remarkable woman really is.
Erin Callen is the young novice the dragon
Pieter told me of who was tasked by the Guild of Dream Walkers to help the
mercenary Tsing fulfill the prophecy of Ka’il Idreth! I am certain of it.
And, oh, how she has suffered from being
drawn into this cruel joke played upon the human race by those mischievous
faeries, Fauche and Floreze! And I’m not without guilt, for it was my poking
around that forced their hand in releasing the artifact into the hands of the
warlock Mazuom.
After hearing her story, I’ve not been
able to sleep. If there was ever a human being who less deserved the burdens
placed upon her, it is this young woman. I must find a way to help relieve her
of them. But how?
