The Golem in the Kitchen

Everyone needed a rest and the cellar seemed ideal. Nothing had been in here for hundreds of years. Fixlla sat with his back to the wall, where he could see the door they would open next. It was late, perhaps midnight. Fixlla thought about how the day had gone. Was it only this afternoon they broke into the tower and fought the knife fingered figure, then met Alfred with the goatee and, finally ended up in the kitchen of this old garrison.

Wiz was lucky to be alive, thought Fixlla. It was mad in the kitchen when they first burst in. Massive shark jaws with a sack of skin flapping underneath, snapping and chomping as it lurched through the air towards them. What the hell? And behind that, a beast made of beasts. A hulking man-like thing made of parts animals. It had the right arm from a bear. A sorcerer had made that thing.

Patron had taken down the flesh golem with swift strokes. Lona and Fxlla dealt with the flapping jaws. That was when Wiz got into strife, thought Fixlla. The first he realised was when lightening flared in a room off the side of the kitchen. When they got there, Wiz was huffing and pointing to a cloud of gas seeping into the cracks in the stone wall. Wiz looked burned and tired. Fixlla wondered what the Sorcerer had looked like and why he had taken to living here alone and hidden.

The tower at the entrance of Backgammon’s Peak had been their first target that day. The four adventurers spoke to the Wolfen elder, telling her they would be back and not to bar the doorway. In the wall of the massive arched entranceway an iron bound door had been opened revealing a guard station with unlit torches still in their hangers. Beyond, the door to the tower on the left and a broad corridor the heading into the mountain.

The Hobbit thief picked the tower door’s heavy lock and pushed open the door. Light filtered from above, where an iron circular stair punctured the wooden ceiling 20 feet up. The round room took up the entire base of the tower. A circular table, ringed by a dozen chairs, was piled high with torn, ragged books. There were other things on the floor too: shields and swords, crumpled tapestries and one picture, leaning on the wall.

A cloaked figure appeared at the top of the stairs, dragging something on the ground. The Hobbit darted under the table and Paton the Elf loosed and arrow. The cloaked figure flowed like smoke down the turns of the stairs, suddenly reforming at the bottom. A pale bone of a skull was visible under the figure’s hood and long bone blades took the place of fingers. The figure moved again, towards Patron and the others in the doorway. Patron backed up and started murmuring a spell: Web.

Fixlla turned and grabbed a torch from the wall. The robed figure became engulfed in sticky, ropey web shooting from Patron’s outstretched hands. Lona’s spear flew past its head, clattering into the staircase beyond. Fixlla sparked the torch and it exploded in his face, scorching him and pushing Patron into the room. Lona dashed in to retrieve her spear. The long bone knives of the skeleton flicked and flashed under the web.

Patron stepped forward with sword and shield, smashing the figure while it was webbed. The bone knives sliced and cut, freeing an arm from the clinging webs. Lona came from behind the creature, stabbing through the web. Patron cut again and suddenly the figure lost its shape. The robes fell to the ground, the mass of webs over them making an untidy heap.

The old man, Alfred, was interesting too, thought Fixlla. They had surprised him, coming through the secret way from the tower, but he kept his cool. Admirable.

It was all Alfred could do to hold still. He had jumped out of his seat when he heard the old stone door open. Now he was looking at a Hobbit on the far side of his room. The rugged little man had emerged from the secret door Alfred never used. Tomb raiders, adventurers, he thought. Alfred’s heart raced. Were the pack okay? Has there been fighting? How many raiders are there? Alfred thought he could see and hear others in the background. After the shock had subsided Alfred took a deep breath and offered the greasy Hobbit a drink.

Wiz, the Hobbit, struggled to make sense of what he was seeing: a gentleman standing by a hearty fire, sipping a drink, in a homely room scattered with the trappings of daily life. There was one other door, lounge chairs, a dining table cluttered with food and cooking, a four-post bed and other drawers and chests. A writing desk and dark tapestries gave a sense of culture. The man was tall, slim and grey haired, with a wispy goatee.

“Can I offer you a drink,” said the man with the wispy goatee.

Wiz, approached, disbelieving. Why not, he thought. He looks more worried than me.

The adventures emerged from the secret way. The Hobbit introduced the Elves, Patron and Fixlla, and the woman, Lona. They were heavily armoured and carrying packs. Alfred asked after the Wolfen pack and was relieved to hear the adventurers had brokered a peace of sorts. Another sign that things are changing, thought Alfred. An overwhelming sadness and fear threatened to choke him as he listened to the adventurers. They seemed very determined, Alfred thought, we will have to move. Perhaps, this moon is or chance.

Alfred and the adventurers talked for a while. The adventurers understood there was a secret way to the forest from this room – but did not push Alfred to disclose its location. Alfred offered a way to the old mess and halls beyond. He explained that he kept the door locked and had no interest in venturing that way. Alfred wondered what the adventurers would meet. The Wolfen told stories of ghosts and imps and slime on the walls of the corridors deep in the lower halls.

The woman, Lona, had something odd about her. Alfred could smell it on her. It seemed the moon was ghosting the woman’s aura. She was not a lycanthrope, but there was something tying her to the moon, something beyond this world. Alfred was curious and held the eye of the woman. He saw the moon, full and tinged with blue. And he saw a bear reflected in her eye; a bear hunting; hunting in the full moon.

Alfred was grateful. The adventurers were going to pass through. He would get to collect his things and leave when he was ready. The pack will be worried and will call on him at the full moon. He will need to be ready. The woman, Lona, she would need help too. But the pack would come first.

Fixlla dozed. Alfred was no ordinary man, Fixlla knew that. He suspected a werewolf. What was he to the pack of Wolfkin? What were they to him? Something to follow up, Fixlla thought. Before that though, they were going deeper into the lower halls.