Chapter III: Hearth and Hilltop Comforts
Evoker Kalo stood in his burrow's cozy kitchen, his stubby hands busy preparing a feast worthy of a Koopling who had been away from home for far too long. The earthy scents of the hilltop garden mingled with the warmth of the stone hearth. He had gathered the freshest ingredients: plump, red tomatoes still dewy from the vines, fragrant herbs he had clipped that morning, and a fowl that had unwittingly wandered too close to the heather, now plucked and roasting over the fire. From his cold larder, he retrieved thick slabs of butter, a wheel of nutty cheese, and a jar of golden honey, its sunlight glow undimmed by the cool shadows of its storage.
As the bread baked in the clay oven, filling the room with its yeasty, wholesome aroma, Kalo prepared a pot of his favorite beverage: spiced acorn brew. The rich, nutty smell of the steaming drink curled through the air, blending perfectly with the smoky scent of the quail eggs frying in the skillet.
Kalo finally settled at the wooden table, its surface worn smooth by generations of Koopling meals and quiet mornings. Sprig, his loyal companion, happily devoured another quail egg, its small tail tapping eagerly against the plate. Kalo smiled as he tore into a thick slice of bread, its crust crackling under his hands, slathered with butter and honey. Comfort radiated through him as the warm, hearty meal filled his belly. The soft creak of the oak above his burrow and the distant hum of bees in the heather made him feel whole again.
The morning passed with a sense of purpose. After his breakfast, Kalo set about tending to his home. His magic broom swept through the burrow with a will of its own, whisking away stray dirt and dust with barely a glance from its master. He fetched fresh water from the well, its cool splash on his hands grounding him. Firewood was neatly stacked by the hearth, and the burrow's air, sweetened by the breeze filtering through the open windows, seemed lighter than it had in months.
By afternoon, Kalo retreated to his library, a cavernous nook carved into the hill, its walls lined with shelves brimming with books, scrolls, and peculiar trinkets. He settled into his favorite chair, its cushions worn just right, and began his work. Quill in hand, he scribbled furiously into his journal, recounting his recent adventures. His illustrations, though crude, were brimming with life: sketches of the gnarled hags' tree of effigies, maps of shadowy groves, and symbols he had seen carved into ancient stones. His pipe, filled with a blend of dried heather and sweetgrass, kept him alert as he worked, the smoke curling lazily around the room.
As evening fell, the burrow took on a golden glow, the last rays of sunlight slipping through the round windows and casting long shadows across the floor. The distant hoot of an owl signaled the onset of night. Kalo lit a stout beeswax candle, its steady flame chasing away the dark. He shuffled into his bedchamber, a room that spoke deeply of Koopling comfort and care. The bed was a nest of plush quilts and pillows, stitched with patterns of oak leaves and hilltop flowers. Shelves held jars of dried herbs and small carved figures, tokens of his adventures and the life he loved. A small, round table by the bed bore an oil lamp and a well-loved book of Koopling tales.
The room smelled of lavender and pipe smoke, and the air was warm from the hearth's dying embers. Kalo stretched out in his chair for a moment longer, reading an eyewitness account of the Hag of the Heath passed down through generations of his family. The words blurred as sleep overtook him, the journal slipping from his hands to the soft rug below.
Later, he stirred just enough to climb into his bed, sighing contentedly as he burrowed into the covers. The candle flickered once, then snuffed out, leaving the burrow quiet save for Kalo's gentle snores and the comforting creaks of the great oak above. Outside, the hill slept under a blanket of stars, and all was as it should be in the Koopling's haven.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
Chapter 4: The Visitors and the Hidden Door
The rain drummed steadily against the small, arched door of Kalo’s burrow, its rhythm broken now and then by the low grumble of thunder. Inside, the warmth of the fire chased away the chill, casting flickering light over the cozy space. Kalo sat in his armchair, pipe in hand, while Sprig balanced on the edge of a biscuit tin, nibbling away. The broom leaned idly in the corner, as though content with a quiet evening.
The peaceful mood was interrupted by a firm knock at the door. Kalo hesitated for a moment before setting down his pipe and padding over to answer it. Standing on the stoop was a badger, his travel-worn cloak dripping rainwater and his fur slick from the storm. Despite his haggard appearance, there was a steadiness to his eyes.
“Begging your pardon,” the badger said, his voice deep and gruff. “The storm’s caught me out. Might I trouble you for a bit of shelter?”
Kalo opened the door wider without hesitation. “Come in and dry yourself by the fire.”
The badger introduced himself as Thane, a wanderer of the heath. As he settled in with a steaming mug of tea, Kalo listened as he spoke of strange happenings—shadowy figures in the wilds, unsettling whispers on the wind, and an ever-present feeling of being watched.
Before Thane could finish his tale, another knock came. Kalo raised an eyebrow at Sprig, who chirped in a mix of surprise and concern. This time, a young hare stood on the threshold, her simple dress clinging to her frame from the rain. She held her arms close, shivering slightly.
“Please,” she said softly. “I won’t be a bother. I only need a place to wait out the storm.”
“Of course,” Kalo replied, ushering her in.
The hare introduced herself as Miri, and soon she was warming her paws by the fire, her nervous energy gradually melting into the comfort of the room.
A third knock came not long after, and when Kalo opened the door, he found a faun standing there, rain dripping from his small antlers and down the embroidered trim of his moss-green cloak. A carved wooden flute hung at his side, tied with a ribbon that fluttered in the wind.
The faun, shy and quiet at first, introduced himself as Eryndor after a bit of gentle prompting from Kalo. Once settled by the fire, he even played a soft tune on his flute, the notes mingling with the crackle of the hearth.
The room grew lively as the storm raged on outside. Sprig flitted from one visitor to the next, his curiosity getting the better of him. Thane spoke of his travels across the heath and beyond, Miri recounted tales of her bustling warren, and Erynn shared snippets of music and stories of the forest. Kalo served stew and bread, and the broom, perhaps sensing the warmth of the gathering, began sweeping the corners of the room unprompted.
As the evening wore on, their conversations turned to darker matters. Each visitor had encountered the same figure on the heath—a crooked, shadowy hag whose presence brought unease. Thane described symbols burned into the ground near his burrow, while Miri recounted the whispers that seemed to follow her in the tall grasses. Erynn’s voice wavered slightly as he revealed that the hag had stolen something precious from him—a pendant left to him by his mother, imbued with protective magic.
“Her influence is spreading,” Thane said gravely.
Kalo leaned back in his chair, his pipe now cold and forgotten. “If we’re to deal with her, we’ll need more than good intentions,” he said thoughtfully.
It was then that Thane mentioned the old legends of hidden doors beneath the heath, passages said to lead to far-off places and ancient secrets. Kalo’s eyes glimmered with intrigue, and he stood, motioning for the others to follow.
He led them to his larder, where shelves of jars and baskets lined the walls. At the back of the room, he pushed aside a heavy barrel to reveal a plain wooden panel. With a careful tap, the panel clicked open to reveal a dark, spiraling staircase leading down.
“This is one of those doors,” Kalo said, holding up a lantern. “It’s been here as long as I’ve lived in the burrow. I’ve only ever peeked inside—there’s something old and watchful down there.”
The others leaned in, curiosity mingling with caution.
“Where does it lead?” Miri asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“To places that don’t always want to be found,” Kalo replied with a wry smile.
By morning, the rain had softened to a light drizzle, and the group sat down for a breakfast of toasted bread, mushrooms, and boiled eggs. There was a quiet determination in the air now, a sense of shared purpose that hadn’t been there the night before.
Thane tightened his cloak around his shoulders, Miri tucked a small dagger into her belt, and Erynn carefully polished his flute, as if steeling himself. Kalo packed a small satchel of supplies, his broom floating dutifully by his side.
“Are we ready?” Kalo asked as they gathered before the hidden door.
The others nodded, and together, they descended into the tunnels. The lantern light flickered across the damp walls, and a faint hum of magic seemed to linger in the air. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.
Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3
