Part I

            It all started with an apple and some missing cousins.

            I was working in the library when Lyrie walked in and said, “My cousins are missing.”

            That gave me pause. Everyone knew that her cousins had been gone for more than a month. Had Lyrie just noticed?

            “What?” I asked trying to deduce the answer.

            “I overheard my parents talking with my aunt; they sent my cousins to try and find out where the goblins have their apple tree.”

            “Really?” I asked.

            “Really, Hops.”

            Hops is not my real name, but it is what Lyrie calls me. My real name is Wekk Breece, but everyone in Oakhurst calls me Hops. Hops McGhee because of Lyrie. She was the first person to treat me well since I’d left the fey wild to come to the material plane. Being a rabbitfolk, most saw me as a pet or dumb animal, but Lyrie sees me for who I am. She even got my job working in her family’s library.

            The apple had preoccupied me the past couple of days since the auction. This single apple had gone for hundreds of gold pieces. People had traveled from all over to try and win the apple. Where I come from in the Feywild, apples grow on trees and we go and pick them. We don’t wait for goblins to bring them to town once a year. As I studied the history of this apple, I learned that it was no ordinary apple. It could cure any disease or injury, so now I understand all the hullabaloo about this piece of fruit. There was also the apple they brought after the winter solstice; I’ll just call it the not-nice-apple. Anyone who eats it dies. It does not sell for much if it sells at all.

            “You know what we should do?” Lyrie asked.

            “What should we do?”

            “We should go rescue them,”

            “That sounds like an awesome idea,” I said. This was starting to sound like something I had read about, an adventure.

            “If we rescued them, then we could become heroes,” Lyrie said.

            “Do we know where they went looking?” I asked.

            “My father said that they went up the old road.”

            “The goblins show up two days after the summer solstice and two days after the winter solstice. I believe the apple has something to do with the solstice. So, they must be within two days of travel of Oakhurst. Is there anything in that direction along the old road?”

            “There’s an old tower in a ravine.”

            “That could be it. Do you know the way?”

            “Not really, but there is a new firbolg in town and she came from that direction.”

            “We should ask for her help, where does she live?”

“She is a cleric of Pelor and usually spends her days at the temple.”

“Let’s go find your cousins,” I said as I scooped up my patchwork top hat and placed it on my head. I went over to the door to my room to get packing.

            I lived in the library. I had cleaned out a closet that was about one-and-a-half Hops wide and one-and-a-half Hops deep. It even had three levels of shelves. Lyrie was initially mad with my living conditions, but I told her it was about the size of my room in Poppy and Grandmom’s tower. And that’s not including the additional levels.

            I grabbed my pack and stuffed in my favorite book, The Adventures of Herlock Shomes, along with some parchment, a vial of ink, an ink pen, a bag of sand, the green glass bottle I bought from Lyrie’s Aunt’s store, my hooded lamp, and my carpenter’s hammer. Poppy once told me that to a hammer everything looks like a nail. I thought that would be useful and had also bought the hammer from Lyrie’s Aunt’s store.

            Lyrie wasted no time getting herself ready to go and we met up at the main door of the house. I hesitated. My nemesis was out there, he always was.

            The hawk had razor-sharp talons and beak, it patrolled the local area as if it were its very own duchy, it had a taste for rabbit flesh, and it was my familiar. I called him Gumdrop. Don’t let the sweet name fool you, he is a heartless killer and a shrewd enemy.

            I peeked out the door looking for my nemesis. I could not see him, but I knew that he was on the roof because that is where I told him to be. I put one tentative foot outside the door. Then the other foot.

            Nothing happened.

            I smiled and looked back at Lyrie and said, “All clear.”

            But it wasn’t. No sooner had I said those fateful words that the horror of feathers and claws launched itself from the roof and dove straight at me. At the last moment, I was able to dive out of the way and avoid certain death. I dashed to the temple with Lyrie skipping along behind me. She was so brave and unphased by the terror from the sky.

            I dodged several attempts by Gumdrop to grab me as I ran through town. The buildings gave me some cover but the last bit of my harrowing journey would be through an open field. There was no time to plan, but only to run as fast as possible to the temple. Gumdrop came close twice to actually sinking his claws into my hide. Finally, I made it and raced up the stairs to the temple and dove inside with just a brush of talons grazing me head. I slid across the cool marble floor, spinning completely around and coming to a stop at the feet of a firbolg. She was huge. You could stack two and half Hops to get to her height. She looked concerned as she knelt.

            Words came out of her mouth that sounded compassionate, but lacked any meaning. All I could do was stare and blink.

            She repeated the compassionate sounds which sounded like, “To you weed help weeth board?”

            “I’m sorry I don’t speak firbolg.”

            “I spake coomon tongue.”

            I just blinked. It seemed the appropriate response.

            She grabbed a piece of parchment and drew a very good likeness of a bird and a rather unflattering picture of a scared rabbit. It took me a few moments to realize she was asking if I needed help killing Gumdrop.

            “No,” I screeched. “He is my familiar and he keeps me combat-ready.”

            The perplexed look that crossed her face made me realize that she had probably never trained to be an adventurer. It is a profession that is not for the faint of heart, nor for those that aren’t combat-ready.

            “Hello, Zylena,” Lyrie said as she skipped into the temple.

            Zylena replied in her strange words. I rolled my eyes and was about to tell Lyrie that the firbolg was not fluent in common, but Lyrie replied, “Good. I see you have met Hops.”

            I stood amazed as Lyrie spoke with the firbolg.

            Their conversation ranged over so many subjects, but I was lost only hearing half the conversation. I heard something about Sir Braeford a Paladin of Pelor, but to be honest I was thinking about getting on to our adventure. I was worried that the firbolg would slow Lyrie and me down, but we could teach her to be an adventurer like us.

            I took off and fidgeted with my patchwork top hat. It was not just a head covering. It was my spellbook. The spells I had learned were written on parchment that was hidden on the inside of the hat. I had found the hat as I had trained to become a wizard. It had been sitting on top of a stack of books at the back of the library in Poppy and Grandmom’s tower. I learned those spells in secret until I accidentally blew up Grandmom’s favorite rose bush. They were mad at me, but they sent me to learn how to really be a wizard soon afterward (after I had completed a month of hard labor called chores).

            “Are you ready?” Lyrie asked me.

            It took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me.

            I plopped my patchwork top hat back on my head and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

            I marched us to the main door to the temple but stopped before stepping outside. I knew Gumdrop was out there and we were quite a ways from where the old road was and there were plenty of open fields. Not the best conditions for a bunny being hunted by a hawk. I knew a distraction would be needed.

            I looked around for a rock or something that I could throw. Sadly, there was nothing. Then I remembered my pack. I pulled a piece of parchment and folded it into a bird, a nice juicy looking bird to fill up a hungry hawk.

            I threw it and Gumdrop took the bait. I ran as fast as I could for the old road. My compatriots did not seem fazed and followed me at a leisurely pace. I made it to the old road and stood just inside the cover of the canopy of trees protected from aerial menaces. I looked back on Oakhurst and was reminded why I had stayed here. It was such a cute town tucked into the rolling hills of the region, surrounded by the fields and vineyards.

            I had woken up outside of Oakhurst and don’t recall how I had gotten here. Some bad people had tried to hurt me and somehow I escaped. Before that experience, I used to be an all-white rabbit but now I have one black ear. I think it makes me look exotic. All though no one in Oakhurst seems to notice the difference, but they didn’t know me before the change.

            Once Lyrie and Zylena finally caught up to me, we headed into the woods. Lyrie led the way skipping silently through the woods. She was followed by Zylena and I brought up the rear. I kept having to slow down because they were walking too slow.

            Gumdrop and I had a truce while we made our way through the woods. He swooped from tree to tree and only occasionally took a swipe at me to keep me on my toes. After several hours of walking, I heard something coming down the old road (these long exotic ears aren’t just for show). We quickly decided that it would be best to hide in case there were goblins coming down the road. Zylena and I hid on one side of the road and Lyrie was on the other. Soon the approaching noise grew loud enough for my compatriots to hear. Strange-looking twig men[1] came marching down the old road[2].[3] I had never seen or read about anything quite like them. I was fascinated by their strange appearance.

            They must have seen Zylena because they made a beeline right for her position. I jumped out of my hiding place as soon as I knew the jig was up. I said the right words and made the correct gestures to create a firebolt. I won’t say specifically how I did it because a wizard does not write down their secrets.

            Except in spellbooks.

            This is not a spellbook.

            This is a storybook.

            As soon as the firebolt left my hand it felt right. I knew it was going to hit the strange stick-man. It lit on fire immediately and brewed up brighter than I thought it would and died. It seemed especially susceptible to fire.

            I lit up two more and Lyrie downed the other one.

            “That was exciting,” Lyrie said as I poked at the remains of one of the stickmen.

            “We proved to be combat-ready,” I said. I made sure not to point out that the firbolg had not been very helpful in the fight. It is best not to pick on someone for their shortcomings.

            We continued into the forest until about dinner time. In all my excitement, I had skipped lunch and my tummy was particularly rumbly. I had kept an eye out for a nice place to eat but all I saw were trees. Forests would be much more interesting without all the trees.

            “We should stop here for the night,” Lyrie said.

            “Where’s the inn?” I asked.

            “There’s no inn,” Lyrie said.

            “You know someone that lives near here and we’ll be staying with them?”

            “No, we’ll be sleeping under the stars.”

            I gasped.

            “It’ll be great,” Lyrie said.

            “How is this taking so long?” I asked.

            “What do you mean?”

            “In the first story of Herlock Shomes, He goes from Baldur’s Gate to Waterdeep in one sentence.”

            I pulled the book from my pack and opened it to the page and pointed to the very sentence.

            “That’s not how it works,” Lyrie said.

            “How does it work?” I asked. This adventuring stuff seemed to be endless amounts of walking with a little bit of magic-ing.

            “We have to walk to get places. We bring food-.”

            “Food?”

            “And shelter-.”

            “Shelter?” I asked. “I couldn’t possibly carry the library with me although that would be nice.”

            “You didn’t bring any food or a tent?” Lyrie asked.

            “I had no idea that I would need either,” I said as I looked in my pack. The parchment might not be bad to eat and I could wash it down with the ink in my ink bottle. I decided the sand would be the last thing I’d eat, that might cause chafing.

            “I have enough food for both of us,” Lyrie said.

            I gave a big sigh of relief. I’m pretty sure the parchment wouldn’t be all that tasty and the ink would stain my teeth. Lyrie handed me some food which I immediately downed.

            “Here is blanket,” Zylena said or at least that is what I guessed that she said as she handed me an enormous pile of fabric. Calling it a blanket is like calling a dragon a lizard.

            As I stated before, Zylena is two and a half Hops tall. Her blanket was four Hops wide and five Hops long. I proceeded to wrap the blanket around me. I was soon lost in a sea of fuzzy goodness.

            As wonderful a feeling wrapped in this “blanket” was, it occurred to me that instead of wrapping myself in it, I could make a tent.

            I proceeded to find a low branch and draped the blanket over it. I used rocks to hold the sides out since the branch was barely half a Hop wide. There was still enough blanket to bunch into a pillow. It was no inn, but I could call it home for tonight or for as long as our adventure lasts.

            I heard Lyrie and Zylena talking about taking a watch or something. I didn’t know where they would find a watch out here, trees don’t need to tell time. Lyrie said she was going to meditate then she would take the watch. So, I guess that meant it was Zylena’s watch they would be sharing.

            I lit my hooded lantern and pulled The Adventures of Herlock Shomes from my pack. Then it occurred to me that I could help Zylena with her common and teach her to be a better adventurer.

            “Zylena, would you like me to read you from my favorite book?’

            She smiled and nodded her head. I had to assume that meant yes even in firbolg.

            I opened the book to the first page of the first story and read. It was not my favorite of the stories, but it makes no sense to start in the middle.

            The story was good enough as Herlock discovered a coven of hags that were causing problems for the local community. Herlock used his brains to trick the hags and win the day. Not that he wasn’t combat-ready, the goblins he met on the road that tried to steal from him learned the hard way that Herlock knew how to use a rapier.

            When I finished the story, I closed the book and said, “Wasn’t that great?”

            Zylena smiled and nodded.

            “I’ll read to you every night. Would you like that?”

            She nodded.

            “Well, good-night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

            I climbed inside my impromptu tent and fell asleep until morning.

#

            In the morning I folded up Zylena’s blanket and handed it back to her. Lyrie shared her rations with me again.

            We continued on our journey with little fanfare. We stopped every once and a while to rest.

            We came across giant pillars with strange writing on them standing on the edge of a ravine. I didn’t recognize the words but Zylena said a word that I understood, “Dwarf.”

            We found a rope that was tied to one of the pillars and led down into the ravine.

            “Are we sure it’s not a trap?” I asked.

            “How would we know?” Lyrie asked back to me.

            That was a good question. I would need to look into that and find out how one knows if something is a trap.

            “We could avoid the rope and just jump down,” I said.

            Lyrie looked down into the ravine and said, “That seems awfully far down.”

            “I have a spell for that,” I said. “We could jump and just drift down like feathers.”

            “Why? When we have a perfectly good rope.” Lyrie said.

            I shrugged and was disappointed that I couldn’t show off some of my magic and said, “I guess you’re right.”

            “I’ll go first and show you it’s safe.”

Lyrie easily climbed down the rope, and I had it in my head to quickly follow.

            She looked back up at Zylena and me and said, “All good.”

            A startled look crossed her face and she drew her sword and spun around. If the giant rat had been a normal-sized being and also had not been tripping over a rake or poorly placed book, Lyrie would’ve taken its head clean off. Instead, her sword swept over the giant rodent and got stuck in the wall of the ravine.

This is the moment I’d been waiting for since the day we met. I was going to save Lyrie. Not saying that I wanted her to be in mortal danger or even a bit of risk, but I’d been training to be combat-ready for just this moment. Without even thinking, I hurled a firebolt down at the rodent. It died leaving behind only the smell of singed meat and burning hair. I was both made hungry and disgusted at the same time.

            I had forgotten to take my turn climbing down, so Zylena took my turn.

            Zylena slipped and was falling into the ravine.

            I reacted quickly and cast Feather Fall including both myself and Lyrie in the spell. As I floated past Lyrie, I said, “Jump.”

            We all three proceeded to float down to the bottom of the ravine and landed on a battlement that had once stood tall above the surrounding lands but was now sunken into the earth. A door into the citadel stood before us.

            It felt momentous. It felt like this was the moment we would start telling the story of how we rescued Lyrie’s cousins, found the apple tree, and defeated the goblins. But that can’t be right, because I’ve been writing about this for several pages before now and I don’t think you, the audience, would understand what had happened to bring us to this moment without all the other words. But maybe I should get right to the action. If I decide to get right to the action then this is where the story will begin. If this is where everything is starting, then just know we saw some stuff and did some things to get to this point.

            Lyrie stepped toward the door and disappeared. The floor fell out from underneath her and only her cat-like reflexes saved her from falling into an inky darkness. She had grabbed the edge of the pit and was dangling over the pit. Zylena pulled her up as I tried to help, but being strong is not one of my fortes.

            “That was a close one,” Lyrie said as Zylena set her down.

We search and found a loose stone next to the door. Pushing it in and we heard something click into place. I gingerly stepped on the spot where Lyrie had nearly disappeared.

            Nothing happened.

            I tapped my foot.

            Still, nothing happened.

            I jumped up and down. And I fell to my death.

            Just kidding. Who do you think was writing this if I died?

            After confirming that the floor was solid for my stouter friends, we turned our attention to the door. We opened it. Inside was a round room with two other doors evenly spaced along the wall.

And four dead goblins.

[1] Note to future self – Research the name of the plant-men so that I can put their proper name in my text.

[2] Note from future self from a time when we have broomsticks that can fly. I don’t have one personally, but while I was researching the name of the Twig Blights, I went down a rabbit hole and learned about flying brooms. They have to be the most practical magic item that I’ve ever heard of. Not only can you fly, but you can sweep up the library with it. You could use it to remove bats from the belfry. I wonder if it would be useful against hawks? Note to future-future self – buy a broom.

[3] Note from future-future self: Done.