If you have found this, it most likely means I have left this earth, physically. My name, given to me 63 years ago, is Bilbi Nottingward. I am writing here now because I feel a change in this world and it causes me concern. I’m not sure exactly what has shifted, but I sense it, and it feels urgent. Severe. The woods are different. The smaller creatures scurry about as normal, but their eyes reveal a different look than before. The forest plants sprouted this past Spring as usual, but there was a different aroma. It was thicker, and slightly sour. Even the Wind moves differently among the branches -- a bit too cold and sharp. It is Autumn now, but there is no warmth in her days. I am now in Sandpoint. But first, a bit about how I got here.
I grew up in a small home in the south Sanos Forest. I lived among a small community with my parents and spent most of my days with my friend Frenobyn. He and I were of the same birth year and grew up together in the forest, discovering its mysteries together every day. We spent hours learning who the animals were, honing our abilities to speak with them, even playing games with them. Frenobyn was best at speaking with the rabbits, even the Giant Rabbits, who were known for kicking you with their large back feet, even if you offered them their favorite food. We explored the numerous forest paths from sunup to sundown. The forest was ours, or so we felt. However we knew we weren’t alone. There were other creatures exploring and having their own fun around us -- namely, the goblins. We knew of them; our families and other gnomes in our community never had anything pleasant to say about them. But as for Frenobyn and I...we had not had any encounters with goblins of our own.
One of our favorite pastimes involved hunting for wollyworms in the forest. Fren said he was finding more and more crawling on the trees when he was tasked with gathering magical vines for the Shelter of Protection, an area in the center of our village that was marked as a last protection against goblins. He and I had a theory that these little creatures may know more about the forest than any of us did. We had read about an ancient magical gate that lead to a completely different world, and that a way to recognize its location was seeing a high concentration of wollyworms, especially those of the caramel, purple, and black tri-coloring. Occasionally Fren would ask questions about the gate to our elders, while assembling vines in the Shelter. But any time he did this, his curiosity was scolded, and he was quickly shut down from asking any more questions. We were sure the gate must exist. If nothing else, we loved the idea of the possibility of something new to explore! So we spent many hours wandering through the forest, chewing bridleberry stalks as we chatted and speculated about where the gate may lie.
As we aged, we obsessed less and less about the gate, and focused more on caring of the plants and animals among us. The Shelter of Protection had come into play more often in the recent months, as the goblin raids had become more frequent. One afternoon, while out collecting blackberries, we encountered two goblins on the other side of a creek from which we had stopped to drink. I grabbed Fren’s arm as we both stared at the pair across the gurgling water. It felt like a long time, both parties silently staring. But eventually a horrendous screech erupted from one of the goblin’s tooth-filled mouths, jolting us out of our stupor. We ran.
We were quicker, but they were chaotic and persistent, smashing through the forest brush with clumsy ease. I dared not look behind us too often, but on one occasion, I noticed the number of goblins had gone from two to eight.
The forest opened up and we came to a stop in a small clearing, breathless from the chase. More goblins emerged from the dark edges of the forest. We were surrounded. From here, it’s very painful to recall the details of everything that happened next, but I must record it. Frenobyn, my beloved friend, my equal spirit in life, was killed before my eyes by the goblin hoard. I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do. The goblins had tied me to a large tree, but only by my wrists. The vile creatures began chopping at some trees, trying to finish some sort of ritual that had begun with Fren’s death and his life blood. I watched in horror. I knew I was also soon to play some final part in this ritual and realized my only chance to escape was while they were preoccupied with their preparations. I cut my bindings against a sharp piece of the tree bark and made myself run. I ran as quick as I could into the dark edge of the forest, then deeper into the trees, and then picked my way back home through thick brush with hot tears stinging my eyes.
As I got closer to the village, I smelled burning. I felt pain in my body. I knew that all was gone even before my eyes confirmed it. The goblins had raided my beloved village, killing and setting fire to everything there. The Shelter of Protection still stood, alone -- the bright green of its vines practically glowing against the charred backdrop of what used to be the village. Within its protection was Fren’s mother. Our eyes met, and she knew, just as I did, that we had both lost everything.
The next day, Fren’s mother began Bleaching. I tried desperately to heal and feed her. I found fresh roots and did my best to make elixirs for her to connect with her spirit again. But it was gone. She no longer wanted to experience anything. She had no desire to continue. We lived together in the forest, in the Shelter of Protection, for the next 2 months before Frenobyn’s mother finally died.
I meditated, and I planned. This was the world now. I must protect
what I can.
what I can.
That was two months ago. For the past two weeks, I’ve been tracking another band of goblins, if not the exact same group -- I don’t know. They are all the same to me: vile, nasty, creatures that don’t deserve life. I have learned to move calmly, following them, learning their behaviors.
