Cloaks

Chapter 9: The Hero Found

Samuel rowed his boat with the whole party out onto the lake. The trip had been full of laughter, stories, and many, many dad jokes. The conversation died, however, as the dark shape of an overgrown island loomed out of the mists. The boat's hull crunched against the rocky shore, and the team piled out.

"I will wait here for you to finish," Samuel waved at them as they walked into the dense vegetation.

A faint path wove through the overgrowth, leading them deep into the middle. Just when the group was thinking they had taken the wrong route, a small cabin appeared ahead of them.

"He's home," Malakos whispered, looking up at the smoke curling up from the chimney.

"So how do we do this?" Deruque asked.

"Wish I'd made cookies. Visiting people is always easier with cookies," Ruby said.

"What, we make cookies and pretend to be Kobold Scouts?" Bardy asked.

"You'd fit the profile," Malakos shrugged.

Bardy shot him a dirty look.

"Anyway, I suppose our charismatic 'force of nature' should approach the door, cookies or no," the tiefling continued.

Bardy looked at the cabin. It had appeared small, from far away, but closing the distance had made it evident that the proportions were simply off. It was not a small cabin with regular doors—it was a normal-sized cabin with towering doors. The person who would build such a place must be at least eight feet tall and three or four feet wide. The halfling gulped.

"I'll go with you," Ruby said, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bardy reached up and knocked on the wood, then immediately turned and scampered off the porch.

"Ohwellnoone'shome,guessweshouldjustleave!"

"Wait, I hear something," Ruby said, still on the porch. The rest of the party moved closer, Bardy clinging to Malakos's leg.

Heavy footsteps approached. The door creaked open, revealing a deep gloom inside. From the gloom emerged the biggest person any of them had ever seen. His face was gaunt, bedecked with a long beard. He was surprisingly young, despite the haunted look in his face, and his considerable body mass was mostly muscle on broad shoulders and formidable limbs.

"Holeee...." Bardy started.

"Holy Mace," Ruby spoke over him. "We wanted to speak to you."

The man's face darkened at hearing the name. "I do not answer to that title. It has been a long while since I'd even heard it spoken."

"Yeah, I imagine you haven't—there's no one here to speak it but the squirrels," Bardy quipped, under his breath. Holy Mace looked at him, and the bard quickly stuttered, "W-we've heard great stories about you—stories of heroics unmatched. Of goodness and greatness in word and deed. We've come to beg your aid in the name of the oppressed."

"My aid? What good could the aid of a warrior long gone and forgotten be to the forces of good?"

"W-well, we're leading a revolution. Against a tyrant king. You've overthrown your share of those, if half the stories we've heard are true."

By now, the party had followed him into his cabin. He hadn't invited them, but he hadn't closed the door on them, either. Ruby looked around. The house consisted of one room, with a table and a chair, some pots and pans, and a hunk of meat, drying on a hook from the kitchen ceiling. A small fire smoldered in the chimney, and above it, on the mantle, rested a large mace as long as one of her legs. The Holy Mace, from which the hero before them took his name.