The farmhouse door rattled in its frame as Nethlia pounded upon it. “Open up!” she bellowed, startling those inside awake. She startled Autumn too. Her powerful voice rolled over the hills and pasturelands like thunder. There was frantic movement from inside the farmhouse as its owner stumbled over to the rocked door.
“Who’s there?!” a voice called from inside, shaking with furious fright.
“It’s Nethlia! Now open up, there’s been an attack.”
With a tortured creek, the farmhouse door opened slightly, allowing the demon inside to peek out through the crack. After seeing that it was in fact Nethlia outside, he opened the door fully. He had a horn-tipped spear clasped in his hand. “An attack?” he asked, glancing nervously behind the pair. When his eyes roamed over Autumn, he tensed, but otherwise did nothing else.
Seeing him unharmed, Nethlia’s tense shoulders loosened. “Yes. A goblin redcap raiding party hit the village. Orzon and Carmeno’s and Morxe’s families have been killed. There might be more around. We saw some in your field, but your bull killed them.”
“Shit,” the farmer swore. He ran his hand through his hair with nervous frustration. “There were some here, you said?” When Nethlia nodded, he continued shortly after. “I’ll round up the boys and check the fields.”
“Good. We’ll warn the other farms nearby,” the demoness said. “I’ll need help cleaning up the village and preparing the funeral pyres later.”
The demon farmer nodded grimly. “Right, of course. Me and the boys will be there.” Saying that, he nodded to the pair of them and returned to his abode to gird himself with cloth armor and inform his family before heading out to scour his lands.
Turning away from the shut door, Nethlia gestured to Autumn to follow her. “Let’s be off. I want to check on a few more folks before we head back.”
Obediently, Autumn trailed behind the demoness’ broad back. She cast her eyes around the pasturelands that passed them by, seeing no more evil. Guilt soured her heart. No matter what Nethlia reassured, Autumn blamed herself for the death done on this night. If it wasn’t for her, the fey wouldn’t have come, and those families and Orzon would still be alive.
She knew nothing of this world besides what she’d gleaned from casual conversation. She didn’t know their gods. She didn’t know their nations, conflicts, laws, nor her own rights, if she had any. Autumn was a lone human in a land of demons.
She was scared.
Nethlia was her only lifeline now, and she’d feared she’d soured that connection already.
At least by the time they returned to the village, after alerting a half-dozen more farmsteads, the grim night was finally over. Dawn broke. The faint rays of morning peaked over the horizon, illuminating the vast fields and hills of the barony. Evil deeds were brought into the light and the chill was banished. And under its understanding warmth, they started cleaning up the village with extra hands lent to help them.
Nethlia led the adults in collecting their honored dead and gathering enough wood to build a series of pyres, while the younger ones helped Autumn in hauling the redcaps out for processing. As iron was rare around here, the heavy boots were looted from their foul feet before being gathered into a pile alongside their cruel blades and belt buckles.
In an attempt to alleviate some of the guilt she felt, and protect the village further from the fey, Autumn decided to make a few bone totems out of the redcap corpses. It might’ve been a day late, but she had to do something.
Unfortunately, a lot of the goblin bodies were headless. Evidence of Nethlia’s wrath. However, there was still enough for her to work her literal magic. First she sent one of the stronger young demons accompanying her to fetch the heavy cookpot from the inn and another to build a small fire. While they were doing that, Autumn stripped the goblin bodies down of anything not already looted and got to work.
She gutted the bodies first, flaying the flesh from their bones. When split open, they exuded a powerful smell that was unlike anything she’d smelled before. Autumn gagged. The younger demons around her fared little better faced with the rancid smell. And when she chucked the bloody bones in the pot to boil off the remaining strings of flesh, they openly scurried away to puke off to the side.
The air was soon filled with a grim aroma. After the bones had been boiled for a few minutes, and were clean of blood and flesh, Autumn fished them out and weaved them into a series of small totems that each reached up to her knees. Her blackcraft filled them with a twist of her will.
Once done, she handed out the goblin-repelling totems to the demons to place around the hamlet. She hoped that they’d be enough to protect the place she’d accidently brought violence to. At the very least, her chest felt a little lighter.
By the time she was done, the wooden pyres were built, and the funeral was ready to start.
Nethlia and the demon farmers had built a trio of funeral pyres out the back of the inn in an open field, and had placed the two families and Orzon onto one each. The wooden shrines stood ready to receive a flame. The bodies were wrapped up in burial-shrouds, and had been surrounded in solemn trinkets of treasured memories – dresses, pipes, dolls and toys.
Autumn wasn’t sure if she was welcome. But as no one gainsayed her presence, she quietly approached Orzon’s lonely rest.
The ancient demon lay concealed by cloth as he lay still on the wooden pyre. Around him lay many small trinkets that Nethlia had meticulously arranged. His forgehammer had been cleaned and polished, lying now upon his stout chest. Autumn quietly placed one of her anti-hex charms upon his body. Perhaps he could use it in his next life.
She hadn’t known him long, and had only gotten a peek at his true personality, but Autumn felt the world was a little smaller, a little dimmer, for his loss. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her words were for him and him alone.
As she stepped back, Nethlia stopped beside her, a flaming torch in hand as she gazed silently upon the demon she’d known for all her life. Her golden eyes were wet. She didn’t seem to know what to say. The words stole in her throat.
A thought occurred to Autumn. Reaching into her robes, she withdrew her lonesome gold coin. “Hey, Nethlia,” she whispered to the demoness, afraid to break the sacred silence. The demoness turned to her, curiously spotting the glint of gold in the witch’s hand. “Can you spare a gold?”
“Hmm? I can. Why?” she asked.
“There’s a tradition back home. We place a pair of gold coins upon the eyes of the dead to pay the keeper of the dead to carry them across the river Styx, the river of the dead,” Autumn explained. She knew that the ferryman, Charon, existed. She’d met him. “I’d like to do the same for Orzon.”
Silently, Nethlia handed Autumn a gold coin.
Approaching the bier once more, she placed the coins upon Orzon’s wrapped eyes, tucking them safely beneath the winding-cloth. She offered a final prayer to Death to carry the blacksmith safely to where he needed to go, just as he’d carried her. And as she stepped back, Nethlia approached and touched the torch to the straw beneath it.
The pyre quickly caught.
Nobody spoke as the three pyres burned. There were no honeyed words or melodious chants. These were simple farmers and they grieved in their own way. The silent morning saw off the dead as columns of smoke swirled high into the sky. No clouds hung in the blue above, allowing the sun to bear witness as the demonkin entered Nusraura’s embrace.
When the flames were high, and nobody was watching, Autumn slipped away back to her room in the inn. The shattered door hung limply from its copper hinges. She stepped past it, and past the sticky pools of her own blood and the redcap’s to collect her things from the floor. Her bag soon clanked with glass jars as she swung it onto her back.
Autumn let out a wince as the fresh bruises along her spine pulled painfully.
She didn’t have many provisions left, just a handful of dried fruits she’d kept since leaving the Feywild. Hopefully, it’d be enough to see her to the city.
With her things packed, Autumn turned to exit the inn. She paused as her eyes alighted upon Nethlia. The demoness stood quietly in the corridor between their rooms. Well, between her own and Autumn’s former one. Her golden eyes took in the witch and her collected things. “You’re leaving,” she stated simply.
Autumn shrugged her pack higher on her back awkwardly. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to accompany me to the city. Thanks for everything you’ve given me, but I can make it on my own from here. I’d be safer for everyone that way.”
“What about the guild? Don’t you still want my sponsorship?”
“I do,” Autumn admitted reluctantly. “But I can figure someone else out.” She didn’t want to burden the demoness any further. Looking to the ruined room, she fumbled into her robes and withdrew the last of her silver coins, holding them out to Nethlia. “I can pay for the damages.”
Nethlia looked at the silver in the witch’s hands. “That’s the last of your money, isn’t it?” A low exhale escaped her. Reaching out, she closed Autumn’s fingers back around her money, pushing the witch’s fist back lightly. “Keep it. You’ll need it in the city. Besides, I’ve already sold the inn.”
“What?” Autumn blinked, confused. “Why? Isn’t it your family’s home?”
“It is, but I won’t need it anymore.” Now that Autumn was looking at her, Nethlia looked ready to travel. She had a weighty pack on her back, and her warhammer was slung in between it and her back. “Those fey will still be after you, and I’m not the type to forgive and forget lightly. Don’t get me wrong, I like you, as a friend, but I want to teach them a lesson they won’t forget.”
“...me too.”
“Good,” Nethlia nodded. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to team up with you. I’ll reinstate my adventuring license and sponsor you. I also know a place we can stay that I used to work at as a guard. It’s a little…unorthodox and a bit out of the way, but it’ll be more private than staying in the guild’s bunk halls, and we can make a little money on the side as guards.”
“Are you sure?” Autumn hesitated.
“I am. Only the gods know what the future holds, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let outsiders play their twisted games when I can do something about it.”
Autumn ducked her head at the demoness’ heated words, sweat pooling along her spine. She hoped she wasn’t lumped into the same cursed category. “Will the city be safe for us? Won’t the fey come for us there? Wouldn’t we be placing others in danger?”
“No more than any other adventurer,” Nethlia reassured her. “Duskfield is a very well-defended place, and it has a decent guard. It’s the second largest city in the region, only succeeded by the barony capital further to the southwest, and its population reflects that. That’s not even mentioning the amount of skilled adventurers taking residence there. We’ll be fine there. It’s getting there that I worry about.”
“How far is it? You said before that it’ll take you a few days to get there?”
Nethlia bobbed her head in agreement. “That’s about right. We’ll take my wagon, sans the village’s goods for the market. They need it to deal with repairs and settling new folks in. Once we get to the city, I’ll inform the Duskguard, and they’ll send some people to search the area for more goblins and send supplies.”
The cold grip of loneliness finally thawed from within Autumn’s chest. “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, huh?”
Shrugging, Nethlia turned, gesturing for Autumn to follow her out of the cramped hallway. “It’s not my first time doing something like this, unfortunately,” she said. From behind the counter, she grabbed another pack bursting with travel rations and clanking with pots and pans. “Besides, I still haven’t fully learned what humans can and can’t eat. I can’t just leave things half-done like this.”
Autumn snorted, shaking her head. “I’ll look forward to it then.”
Leaving the inn with their packs in hand or on their backs, Nethlia led Autumn around to the side of the inn where a covered wagon rested. It was larger than Autumn was expecting, sized for the large demoness beside her. The wooden frame behind the bench had a thick sheet of waxed-leather covering it to keep out the rain and other elements.
After loading their supplies and packs into the back, including a bundle of furs and bedrolls alongside their rations and firewood, Nethlia fetched one of the enormous Angoroth cows to harness it to the front of the wagon. “This is Kira. Kira, meet Autumn, she’s going to be traveling with us for a while. Be nice to her,” she said, patting the cow affectionately.
The massive cow looked at Autumn with its two-pairs of intelligent eyes. She snorted in the nervous witch’s direction, flicking her tail dismissively. “Behave,” Nethlia scolded the cow. “She’s a good girl, but she can be a bit of a handful.”
Autumn didn’t know which of them Nethlia was referring to. She chose to believe the demoness was talking about the bovine, just to soothe her pride. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said as she clambered up onto the riding bench as Nethlia harnessed Kira to the wagon.
The wagon bowed down slightly beneath Nethlia’s weight as she climbed aboard to sit in the center of the bench. Taking up the reins, she gave them a gentle flick, spurring Kira on. “Let’s go!” The cow snorted, taking them onto the dusty road at a plodding pace.
A soft breeze brushed Autumn’s cheeks as the pastures and fields passed them by. She tilted her hat low, shading her eyes from the midday sun. They’d left a bit late, having spent the morning dealing with the cremations.
Time rolled by as they plodded down the road toward the city.
They passed by small road signs and more farmhouses as they headed north along the Emerald Road that stretched all the way from Port Emerald in the south to Duskfields to the northwest. The road wended and weaved around the low hills and forded the small creeks that sprinkled the land. Along the way, they spotted more signs of travelers along the oft-traveled road. Mainly in burnt campfires and leftover firewood.
As they traveled further north into flatter land, the grassy pasturelands steadily turned into fields of dusky-toned grains that the region and city took their name from. Duskwheat. The gray fields stretched on to the horizon, broken up only by farmhouses and scarecrows.
“Duskgrain is the primary export of Duskpoint Barony,” Nethlia had told her as they plodded past the waving oceans of gray. “Along with the meat, hides, and the bones and horns of Angoroth cattle. If you go further northeast along Dusk Road out of the city, you’ll find more Palegrain farms as the weather is wetter along the Flooded Coast. The elves introduced it to us and buy it in bulk at fair prices.”
“We export tons of food everyday to feed the rest of the empire.”
Autumn listened to Nethlia with relish. She had always enjoyed learning before everything in her life went to shit, and the more she learned about the place she was going to be living in for the next how-ever-long it took her to find a way home, the better.
Aside from Duskwheat, Palegrain, and Angoroths, the barony also produced a fair amount of fruits like Camisofruit in great orchards, fish from the bay of emerald waters, and a small amount of copper from mines in the western hills. They also hunted various monsters in the few remaining primordial woods and marshes along the northern coast that’d resisted a few millennia of colonization.
Nethlia also briefly spoke of Dungeonhold. It was a small town of ruins built upon ruins surrounding a deep dungeon that was infested with monsters. No one knew how deep it went, and those who delved the deepest were unlikely to return.
The demoness was reluctant to speak of her experiences there, and Autumn didn’t pry. A tone of sorrow tainted Nethlia’s voice when she mentioned it. Autumn recalled that the former adventurer had said she’d lost friends down there. Likely her last party.
Slowly, the sun sank toward the opposite horizon, seeking slumber.
Nethlia pulled the wagon to a stop at the farmhouse of a kind farmer, guiding Kira to an open area beside the home where they could bed down for the night. They declined dining with the farmer’s family, preferring instead to cook their own dinner.
Jumping down from the wagon, Autumn stretched out her complaining muscles. Her butt was numb from hours of travel sitting upon the wooden bench. She’d felt every rock, divot, bump, and jump the wagon had rolled over. She cursed this world’s lack of modern suspension and comfortable seating. Next time, she was putting some furs down to sit on.
As she was complaining in her mind, Nethlia was hard at work. After unlimbering Kira from the wagon and removing her harness, the demoness fetched a handful of firewood from the back of the wagon along with her pots and pans, and quickly and efficiently constructed a small cooking fire enclosed by small stones.
An embarrassed flush bloomed across Autumn’s face. She swiftly joined her companion to help her prepare their evening meal. Truthfully, it wasn’t that hard to get a nice travel soup going. The water they fetched from the farm’s well, and the meat and grains came from their supplies.
Autumn stared up at the pink sky in between mouthfuls of spicy soup. While it wasn’t as hot as before, Nethlia had yet to get the level of spiciness right for her human tongue. It was still good, even with the slight spicy burn.
Stars emerged as the sky dimmed, glinting across a bright red nebula. It was looking to be a clear night tonight. As such, they’d decided to sleep beneath the stars.
Before they slept, Autumn did add one final thing to the campsite – an alarm.
The Ward of Alarm
The ward of alarm is a useful bit of spellcraft. Place a length of hair across any accessway, such as a door or window, then imbue it with your intent and magic. If broken, it’ll let out an obnoxiously loud alarm. Dark hair works best as it’ll blend in better with the environment, especially at night.
To cancel it without setting off the alarm, simply withdraw the magic you placed inside.
Autumn plucked some hair from her head and set up the tripwires around their resting spot using a few sticks as anchor points. Her dark hair blended into the night perfectly. “Nethlia! I’m setting up some magical tripwires around the camp,” she said, pointing them out to the demoness. "Be careful not to break them. It’ll set off an alarm if you do.”
“Useful,” Nethlia praised. “Put some across the back of the wagon as well, just in case.”
After doing so, and after putting away their used bowls, the pair settled down on their bedrolls and under fur blankets. As they were on the road, they both opted to wear their full outfits as they slept. Autumn stuffed her knife beneath her pillow.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Nethlia said. “It should be fine here, but it’s a good routine to get into.”
Autumn nodded, yawning, before she tucked herself into her bed. Sleep claimed her tired mind fast, lulling her into the land of dreams once more.