Marrow Hole (pages 01-02)

Transcript

“Gareth,” he introduced himself. “Gareth Dowdin? I’m here because– well, I had heard you could help me with–”

“Yes. I know your name. I had heard you would come.”

“Then why–”

“Why are you…” she pointed a tiny, bony finger at the gnome. “here?”

Gareth looked around at the dark, cramped wulpit – an infirmary, of sorts, or the closest thing goblin society seemed to have to one. This one was apparently among the best, or at least among the few known outside of the subterranean world. It had a strange, harsh goblin name, but Gareth had been told the rough translation: Marrow Hole.

The only light came from a lantern affixed to the cave ceiling. This room was cold, uncomfortably so; more than the surrounding caverns he had traveled on his journey inward. The wulpit was lined end to end with rickety beds – goblin beds, of course – as well as countless cases, cupboards, drawers, and boxes. Out of the corner of his eye, Gareth could swear he saw movement behind or around these fixtures, but in the dark he could not make out a figure. Vermin, he supposed.

His eyes finally settled back onto the stoic professional before him. She was small and gray – entirely gray – with gnarled hands and dry skin that hung … [cont.]

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