Firehearth

Underground on the cold, dark, and narrow path to Firehearth, the Cres family moved slowly along with thousands of refugees from the city of Steil. Children and families shivered vigorously over the noise of stone wheels rolling over the cavern floor. Stone carts carrying what little possessions were deemed worth bringing on the dangerous journey rumbled along the tunnels of the cavern these people knew as their world. The caravan slowed, as a tight bend in the tunnel opened up to a massive area of bone, rock, and filth that was all too common in the dark.

Benvolio held his twin sister Bella close as fear crept into him and created a lump in his throat. “What is it?” she whispered behind her coat that she hugged close for warmth. “Just stay close. It’s going to be alright.” Benvolio’s mother, Bellarose, was lying in the stone cart behind them sick with hypothermia from the previous night. With her were the two youngest Kara and Mara. Katrina, the oldest, laid her hand on Benvolio’s shoulder as she passed to the front to stand by their father and patriarch, Benicio Cres. As she passed she made eye contact with Benvolio and willed him to protect the last of his sisters.

“Korina, Mary, Kassandra, stand behind me and keep an eye out for mother.” His voice was a whisper in the fog of his breath, but it boomed in their ears as they moved back with urgency.

“What do you see, father?” Katrina asked, “The road has been quiet, we should tread lightly.” Benicio was down on one knee peering into the black abyss and said nothing. Silence fell over the entire caravan of thousands. These people were not seasoned in combat by any means and an attack of any kind would be devastating. The few soldiers that were among the refugees stayed in the back and front of the line. One of them, Nim Carlyle, was resting on his metal spear to the right of Katrina now. Also ignoring her statement, he peered out. Benicio’s eyes finally adjusted to the dark as a swift shadow passed. As he gasped, Nim lit a torch and threw it into the dark revealing a herd of Umbranian, a people bred in the shadow exiled from the underground cities or born and raised in darkness. Some seemed to have changed in form with larger eyes to see in the dark after a thousand years of evolution in a cave. Regardless, the Umbranian were a violent race of the underground.

“BACK!” ordered Benicio as he drew his family’s great sword.

Benvolio gasped for air as if he had been struck in the stomach. “Was wondering when ya’d come to again. Was about to have this fella next to ya help me drag ya into the street.” Standing over Benvolio was a stout bartender drying a stein with a disapproving look.

“That won’t be necessary my goodest of sirs for I fully intend to continue drinking!” Benvolio’s words tripped over each other like the feet of a drunken fool that he made of himself, “Another round!” He slammed his hand down on the bar with all his dead weight knocking over a tiny wine glass to his right. Behind the glass, stood a young darker man now staring into Benvolio's deep green eyes with a sad look of concern.

“Excuse me sir, are you alright? You seem to be drinking yourself into an early grave.” His voice was loud but without malice and clear with soft intent. He had a stigma about him, that social cues were not clear but all he wanted was to be good, kind, and fair to others. All of which came through in his tone with ease.

“You also, giant man, if you was me! I’ve had a day to say the least, and least I shall say that you are not welcome unless you gift me some more ale. I seemed to have run empty my finances. Odd, I had plenty…” he trailed off as he dug through his pockets. During which a heart shaped locket came loose from behind his white linen shirt. The heart was made of dark wood and hung from a metal chain. The tall man’s eyes widened as he saw it. Wood had been extinct for nearly 50 years now and any amount was considered precious.

The bartender leaned into his ear, “He’s been here over a week. I think he’s lost track. He kept pouring out gold so I didn't put up too much of a fight but he ran out yesterday before falling asleep.” He gave a nod of understanding and turned his attention back to the drunk, now on the floor scavenging for loose coins.

“Sit sir, what’s happened to you? What has you down?” He lifted Benvolio into his chair and tucked his trinket back into his shirt. “That's a very special piece around your neck. How did someone in your state come by it?” He placed two silver on the bar for the bartender to bring another round. Benvolio, dramatically trying to stand his ground, shoved the stranger off and reached for his wooden heart.

“My father has denounced my inheritance and my mother,” his eyes began to water but were held back,” was killed this morning on the migration to this wretched city, for which the only part worth seeing is this tavern!” After a sip of beer his false excitement fell to quiet speech. “The locket was my mother’s.”

“That's a mighty piece of remembrance my new friend and you are lucky to have it. But there is so much more here than this tavern! We are all in this together in Firehearth! What can I do to help you?”

“Well my new giant friend…”

“Please, my name is Yaren Hanaar,” he interrupted.

“Yaren, I have no money as I have spent it all on ale and no place to sleep it off or….” He turned to vomit on the floor. He wiped his face on his sleeve and continued unphased, “or job. One could say I’m very lovable, but aside from that I have no skills as I was raised to rely on a large inheritance now removed by my lovely father.” Sarcasm was truly a second language to him. The bartender and Yaren looked at each other with disbelief and disgust as the bartender left in search of a mop.

“Get him out, Yaren! He could be a Grandview, Royalist or even a Cres and I wouldn't let him stay any longer!” he called, irritated from the backroom.

“Technically I am a Cres.” Rebutted Benvolio lifting his hand, but he gave little fight before he lowered his body to the stone bar.

“If you need shelter and rations I know the perfect people! Let me take you to my church, they’ll help for sure!” He looked down to find Benvolio asleep on the bar once again, his hand still in the handle of his empty stein. Yaren gawked in disbelief and eventually bent to lift Benvolio into his arms and carry him out of the tavern. Yaren carried him through the streets with diligence. The city of Firehearth had massively wide streets that were packed with the refugees that have made the migration from cities that have lost their light over the years and officially gone cold. Firehearth housed the main source of energy underground and was still full of light and life despite the sad circumstances. As Yaren weaved through the streets passing the shops and homes built into the rock and stone of the world, he came to the stairs of his church. A sight that took his breath away every time as he stood at its steps. The stairs to the Underground Faith climbed nearly a thousand feet into the sky of the cavern ceiling where a steepled mansion rested. There was an ambient light that filled the stairway that gave off the illusion that the passage was leading to a higher power. Yaren had devoted his whole life to the calling of the Underground Faith. When he turned fifteen, the legal adult age in Firehearth, he became an official servant of the Faith, and has been carrying out their bidding ever since. Now 3 years later, he brings the drunken outcast of one of the most prominent families of the most recent city gone cold. “The Underground Faith will help. They always know what to do.”