A Candle in the Mire

Arthur stared back at the old lady with a raised brow, though the darkness veiled his face. In the time he'd spent working for Sir Bertrand, he'd heard of pilgrims, but he knew next to nothing about them. But now a venator? Now he had no idea what she was talking about.

Arthur coughed, remembering to answer the question. "Pilgrim? Venator? I don't know about them, but no I could never."

"Ya don't know about the pilgrims?" the crone asked, shaking her head as she guided Arthur down the stairs and added:

"Young'uns these days know nothin' 'bout the hard work of those who risk their lives to save ours. All ya need to know right now is that you're more than ready to become a Pilgrim."

"Look, madame…"

"Oh, just call me nan."

"O-okay. Look nan, I appreciate it, but I'm not cut out for this kind of work. I'm just a random guy who'd rather stay inside than go and fight those monsters! What I did was only a fluke!"

"Whatever ya say," the crone replied as they finally reached the basement.

Much like the upper levels, darkness blanketed their sight. Only the small flickering flame of a candle resting atop a table was visible, bravely fighting off the darkness that threatened to swallow it whole.

The air felt damp, tinged with the scent of all kinds of vegetables, while the muffled shuffling of footsteps above sent light tremors throughout the ceiling. Everything about the old woman, from her clothing to her home, spoke to Arthur that she wasn't exactly a noble, but neither was she a mere commoner.

"I'm sure ye'd make a fine pilgrim one day," the crone continued, mindlessly navigating through a minefield of rustic bags filled to the brim. "Did ya know that old Wendell was a pilgrim when he was younger?"

"He wanted to… show me his skills before he was devoured by that same creature outside." Arthur awkwardly looked around as he thought:

'Based on what she said... the pilgrims fight monsters, and Wendell was a pilgrim... No wonder the old man was practically insane!'

"I heard him arguin' with somebody, took a look out," she continued, "and that's when I saw ya layin' on the ground as he whacked ya with his cane, o'er and o'er again." She ushered Arthur to a seat and took one directly across him in the darkness, staring into his eyes as she added:

"Then I heard him yellin' again and saw ya on the ground again, but this time, that crazy old one had his pilgrim weapon ready to get a taste of your blood!"

"Y-yes… he definitely gave me a beating," Arthur stammered, pursing his lips as he restricted him from saying that he was just being nice to the old man, averting his gaze as he remembered those moments. But as his mind returned to her last words, he quickly looked back at the crone and asked:

"Wait, nan, that was a pilgrim's weapon?"

The crone shook her head as she chuckled, wearing a wry smile as she shook her head. "Young'uns today know nothin' 'bout the pilgrims, eh? Yes, that scythe is one o' their weapons... Back when I was younger, 'round your age, I used to see those pilgrims walkin' 'round the streets and sometimes fightin' those monsters… They call 'em, eldrites."

"Eldrites?" Arthur repeated, staring at the crone with wide eyes and his curiosity riled up, as though he were being read a bedtime story. "Those monsters are called eldrites?"

The crone raised a brow as she looked at Arthur out of the corner of her eyes. "What's a young'un like ya doin' everyday not knowin' the very thing that plagues our home?"

Arthur held his silence for a brief moment, reflecting on her words. "Everyone always called it the scourge, and I was always working for Sir Bertrand that I never got to know much about it. He sighed, before adding:

"It was always just," he made air quotations, "the scourge has plagued Erthyl beyond repair, or we need to salvage as much as we can before the scourge… that's what I'd usually hear."

"So ya never bothered to ask?"

Arthur was ready to immediately say that he never got the chance, but he realized that was, in fact, a lie. He always had the chance, he just never wanted to know. What more would he have wanted to know? Erthyl was ravaged, and his life was already tough, so wasn't ignorance bliss?

"I… no, I didn't," he stammered, looking down at the table.

"Almost 'alf the year we call Totalis 'as passed, and yer only now learnin' 'bout it?"

He nodded, letting his silence speak for his ignorance, feeling the shame of it grip his heart and throat. It never occurred to Arthur just how much of a problem the scourge was until he saw what was born out of it:

'Death and people forsaking each other.'

It wasn't until this realization that he realized that he should've learned more when he had the chance. Perhaps then he would've been prepared, even if just by a bit.

"Well, ya can't help it now, can ya?" the crone continued. She looked up as the muffled sounds of bricks crashing against the ground were followed by the loud, nerve-racking wails of fellow Erthyllians, unfortunate to be found. "We just need to hide until the Pilgrims make their way o'er."

"How long will it take for them to arrive?"

"Oh, it might take 'round a day or so, s'posin' they even make it out 'ere."

"You... suppose?"

"Well young'un, it's like the old Wendell—Sabaoth bless 'is soul—once said: Ya can't just stroll along and clean up the mess... it's a toilsome job, innit?"

"I... suppose," he replied, startled as he darted his gaze at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of rubble scattering through the land. "Have you ever experienced the scourge before, nan?"

The crone laughed. "Young'un, the scourge only happens once every three centuries… or so they say. We're all just unlucky ones to be born in this era, eh? But don't fret over it, dear." She began making her way back to the stairs as she added:

"The night is long, and this old woman sure is growin' quite tired. There's a bed o'er there in the corner for ya."

"Where will you sleep?" Arthur asked, looking back to find the bed, feeling guilty that he'd be the one resting in the comfort of a bed.

"Why, I'll sleep up top, of course."

Arthur wanted to yell, protesting the idea, before remembering he needed to keep quiet. "But what if the eldrites destroy the top floor?"

"Young'un, frettin' o'er the old'uns like me is pointless. Ya got a long-life ahead o' ya. I lived mine long enough." She laughed, remembering just how long of a rather tough life she had put up with for so many years as she made her way to the stairs as she added:

"Blimey, at this point, I'd rather they take me into that bloody Black Sun they come from! Erthyl's ne'er been a great place to live in… 'specially when you're only livin' in fear of the scourge! It's all anyone can talk about! Ya learn 'bout it when you're a child and ya ne'er get to be a child. You're an adult the minute you're born.

Arthur felt goosebumps sprawl across his body, with his heart sinking as he thought about just how rough life must've been. Living for that long with the fear of some bloody monster walking around and devouring you?

That's not life. That's survival.

"Dyin' in me sleep would be perfect, actually," the crone continued. "Oh for Sabaoth's sake, I'm turnin' seventy-two this year 'round! Most don't even make it to their fifties! So, head on to sleep, alright? I'll wake ya in the mornin', and if not, you're goin' to wake up on your own, and when that 'appens, you're goin' to know what happened to me."

Arthur watched as she disappeared into the darkness. Her words haunted him, lingering in his ears as he feared that fate. Watching Wendell be devoured was already something scary, and unfortunately, a memory he could not get out of his head.

He didn't want to wake up, only to learn that the only person kind enough to give him some shelter was gone, taken by the scourge.

But beyond even that, he feared being alone. Seeing others with their families for the past decade, he felt hollowed, as though a piece of him was missing. He wished he could've been with his parents.

Not wanting to flood himself with sadness, he shook his head, got up from his seat, blew out the flame, and hopped into the bed that made him realize just how sore his body was from such an arduous day. His legs, torso, and arms ached from all the running and tasks he had to perform… though Wendell and the fight against the eldrite did contribute a decent bit towards it.

He chuckled as he thought about just how he was supposed to sleep with the idea of monsters that wanted to devour everyone, roaming the streets above, creating a shockwave with each step.

But as soon as he closed his eyes, Arthur found himself drifting into a deep slumber, sleeping as peacefully as a baby.