Editing They Have Gone

This story came from a writing-by-request thread where someone asked for a story about the effects on a typical D&D village of the resident heroes going on their last quest. The result is reproduced below.

==They Have Gone==

“I’ll take another, Jeanna.” The old man gazed at the barmaid, remembering fondly when she used to wear the low-cut dress.

“You’ve had enough, Torvald. More than enough.”

“Someone’s got to… keep this place going. Or where else will you work?”

“I don’t know, I’d probably go to the city. I hear they’re looking for girls to pour beer in the docks.”

“Jeanna, you’re too naïve for that. Any fool knows it won’t be drink you’d be sellin’.” A mug of mead appeared before Torvald, and he took a draught from it. “This stuff isn’t as good as before.”

“Nothing’s as good as before.” A man sitting beside Torvald looked grimly at the mug, and idly scratched the stump that had once been his left hand. “I rememb’r when ord’nary folk like us could let our childr’n play. Not hafta worry about no bloody goblins or whatever them little grey swine are. Bastards took me bloody hand off.” Eirik had reluctantly taken up the role of leader of the town militia in the face of marauding creatures. Creatures who had never troubled the village of Valyeis before. At the foot of the bar stool, a young child played with a crudely made doll, fashioned from a clothes peg swathed in scraps of cloth.

“Daddy, you’re the best a girl could have!” She embraced his leg.

“And you’re the best child a father could have. But it shouldn’t be like this.”

“I hear… what did I hear? Thassit, there’s better prospects in Suneisle, much better ever since the dwarfs paid ‘em a visit.”

“How could we afford to get to Suneisle? No-one’s going to let me borrow a cart to go there, and it’s a good day or two’s walk. Might as well go to Eisport, there’s prob’bly some noble wants a farrier or sumthin’. Lily’s good at the cleanin’ an’ that, she’d get work. An’ the Temple always’s look’ng for kids, they’d teach them to write an’ all. Hell, I wish I could write. But it shouldn’t be like this.”

“I’d sooner take my chances getting to Suneisle.” Jeanna smiled.

“I wouldn’t. Don’t think I could protect the wife and kids, what with the hand an’ all. I’d hate to hafta see it happen. Come on, Tilly. Let’s get home. It’ll be dark soon.” With his good arm, Eirik picked the girl up and sat her on his shoulder. Torvald stared into his drink, and wondered what would happen now.

Outside of the Sheaf Inn stood the statue. The bad things had only started happening since they’d needed the statue.

It was of a graceful elven woman holding a curved sword, and had an inscription at the bottom. “Here lies Suneara Sunloved, protector of Valyeis. May Pelor protect her soul.”

Suneara had moved to Valyeis after the war against the marauders, and kept her sword-arm strong by hunting the creatures who would do the town harm. Then the wizard had come to town. He had been a stout grey-bearded man, accompanied by a ticking, grinding construct of metal and wood and a pair of halflings with belts garnished with daggers. He had mentioned something about a creature called a “terrask,” apparently. How it needed to be stopped, or Eisport would be in danger.

Suneara had gone to do her duty. Her body had been returned months later, after long, uncertain days where men like Eirik were the village’s only line of defence. They had all died. The wizard, the clerics said, had been gored to death. The construct had sacrificed itself to try and help Suneara escape, but she had been weighed down and unable to flee its jaws. The halflings were also presumed dead, but with no remains it was uncertain. A cabal of mercenary wizards had ultimately killed the Tarrasque.

Without Suneara, the town seemed to be frozen in place. The steady flow of mercenaries looking to train under a hero of the war dried up, and suddenly there was no market for the swords and armour Eirik could forge. Jeanna’s clientele dwindled to a few regulars like Torvald and Eirik. And at night, it was no longer safe.

Wolves, boar and other creatures were getting bolder. By day, kobolds and goblins would try and harass farmers and steal cattle. And the coming winter was said to be the harshest yet. One by one, the families of Valyeis drifted away, never to be heard of again. Some went to Eisport, others set off into the hills to try and find a new village to farm in.

Then Eirik had lost his hand to a large kobold with a wicked chain, and he was finding it harder and harder to help fight with the militia. He hadn’t told anyone, yet, but he was certain that this year would be their last.

---

A man was standing at the statue, kneeling low to the ground. He wore a hood, and carried a staff like the wizard who had taken Suneara had. “Sir Eirik?”

“I am no knight, lord. Just a man who wants to protect his family.”

“I can… offer assistance. What would you give to see your precious… Suneara again?” He had had to look down and read the epitaph, and his voice was oddly persuasive.

“Anything, for a man or woman of her skill with the blade.” Eirik spoke without thinking.

“Might we have an arrangement? I will… teach your daughter to write. Let me tutor her, and let me live in the inn. And your village need no longer fear the night.” Eirik accepted, and ran back into the inn to tell Torvald.

He didn’t realise Tilly wasn’t at his side. The lich creased his parched flesh into a grin that bared his black teeth, feeling the dried grey skin crack and rip, and placed a skeletal finger on the young girl’s shoulder.

“Oh yes, my child. I will teach you.” As Torvald and Jeanna followed Eirik out, he quickly rose and with a muttered syllable restored his glamour, lowering his hood to reveal a healthy complexion, elven features and flowing blond hair. “A pleasure to meet you, gentles all.”