TFL 17.02.17

The Halfling peasants of Grey Hollow had dealt with the vexing Boggarts for time out of mind, but they had always been just that; vexing. The filthy critters had stolen tools, and food, they’d given more than a few haphazard hikers or adventurous children a start when they wandered too far into the damp, mossy woods. On rare occasion, they’d even been bold enough to swipe a piglet or lamb, but never in living memory had they dared take a human child. Still, when the Mud farmer couple found their beautiful, golden eyed child suddenly missing with no sign as to where it might have gone or why, the boggarts were the only reasonable culprits. The culling which resulted from this shock to the community was absolute and swift. The mud ran red that autumn. While no trace of the child was ever found, the town at least felt some reconciliation that they’d meted justice, though the parents were never the same. No further children disappeared, thus the matter was considered concluded, and word of the incident traveled only slowly, and not far, else the Sun Dwarves of the Golden Hills far to the west might have heard the tragic tale.

Those peculiar Dwarves, known for favoring the sun soaked rolling wheat hills where they could brew their mead as opposed to their stereotypical cousins of stone and steel, had never heard the tale of the vanished Halfling. They couldn’t know, years later, when one of their own young vanished without a trace, that it wasn’t the first to suffer such a fate. One day it was safe and sound, named Sun Seer for it’s exquisite golden eyes, with a bright, long future of song and ale ahead of it. The next, nobody could say, for in it’s place all that was left was a great sorrow, and a greater rage. These dwarves dispersed into the expansive fields, for months did they search, demanding answers of any unlucky traveler they happened upon, all to no avail.

Still, word of the typically jovial clan turning hostile and paranoid of all who crossed their lands spread, as did the story of the missing child, though it was never found.

It wasn’t until years later that a truly shocking occurrence transpired. A high elf couple, deep within the Gossamer Wood, had a child with exquisite golden eyes, only to have it snatched away. This they knew, for their keen eyes caught glimpse of the abductor, fleeing swift and silent, shrouded in a pale hooded cloak. They gave chase, confident that no intruder could possibly escape their retribution within their own labyrinthine woods, yet inexplicably the trail went cold, and the child was never seen again.

Word of this did travel far and wide, even if only whispered in taverns or amongst housewives knitting around the hearth. The story of the golden eyed baby snatchers became lore, superstition, not always credited, not known to all, but known nonetheless. So it was that when, in the human township of Shepshed, a mother was not as overjoyed as most to deliver a healthy girl, for she’d heard the tales, and knew that this child’s golden eyes may well be its undoing. The child’s parents did all that they might to protect her. All in town vowed to never utter the words “golden eyes”. She only ever left the house cowled in over large hoods, which was infrequently, and never without an armed escort. In this way, she grew to be a healthy, if not happy toddler. She was the sharpest of children, she missed nothing, and soon her curiosity got the better of her. She snuck out one afternoon, taking advantage of only a momentary lapse in supervision, and she never returned.

The father, having spent years doing all he could to protect her, but also blaming himself for her disappearance, fell to drink. He’d meet the barkeep first thing in the morning, whether because he’d spent the night passed out outside, or not, and there he’d stay, telling any and all who might listen, and many who would not, his tale of woe.

Somebody or some group of people took his sweet, bright child, and he’d pay every penny he had to find out who. The only reason he was allowed to carry on in this belligerent manner was that he also happened to be the Lord of Shepshed, and had been a good lord at that, prior to this tragedy. He no longer cared for his office, rather, he offered every last bit of his fortune, which, while not a king’s ransom, was known to be no small sum, for the return of his daughter. He proclaimed, drunkenly, and often, that he’d also accept the head of her abductor.

You, adventurer, have found yourself in the Shepshed Tavern, and have just heard a most intriguing tale.