A Witness and his Book

It was a very grey day.  Not so much raining as having a constant wetness that caused him to twitch, hood down around his neck.  The grass sparkled in the lantern light of the early morning, clouds dampening out any other pre-dawn illumination.  A witness got up early on days like these, waiting for the next group of zealous fools.  He had seated himself next to the cave mouth on a rock, grey as the rest of the stones in the area.  His lantern sat beside him, farther up so as to shine down on his tome, lying open with the inkwell balanced at the top in the center.  This was not his first witnessing, and it would doubtless not be his last.  Many witnesses had come before him, many were still here around the lands, and many would come after him.  The sharp clink of steel upon itself came from down the path in the thin fog.  Footsteps, muffled but sure of themselves, joined in.  No voices though.  When he had seen them in the inn they had all been jolly, happy, normal people, but they knew what they were getting into.  It was a veteran troupe.  All that meant was that they had come out alive from one of these holes.  As a matter of public record, that put them in the top half, but it was only one delve, only one week.  They had gone in a few towns over, found nothing near the surface, and popped back out.  Activity was not so scarce here though.  Not on grey days like this.  There had been noises from down in the earth two days ago.  So as they approached, he did not smile at them, he gave them a look between pity and respect, though how much he conveyed he might never know.

"Names and Titles, Sirs and Madam"  The woman was less heavily equipped than the rest of them, but she had a large bow, not that it would help all that much down there.

"Francis of Arleton"  A tall man, shining in his armor with a sword to match his height.  Things will see his shining steel a mile away in the lamplight.  He wrote down the man's name in the book under the date; third week after the planting festival, second day, party of four.

"Godfreid the Hammer"  This one was large, but carried himself lightly, a god sign.  His gear was another matter.  Rusty, patched up, well worn, none of which would serve him well in the depths.  His name in ink under the first.

"Clancy of the House of Tine"  If it was a great house it must have been in some far off land, and he did not look all that noble to begin with.  Probably a bastard of some small earldom in the south, but who was he to judge a young man, hardly past sixteen, who would go to confront death in its tomb? Ink on paper.

"Aelysa Keeneye, witness."  She had steel in her voice, so perhaps she had seen something in that pit a few towns over after all.  Still, it wasn't a big party.  Hers as well in the book, which he set aside to dry, standing up.

"These are the traveler stones for our town, bear them down into darkness, and with the light of Aunim return to us.  His grace upon you seekers of that which was lost."  As he spoke he fished in his robes pocket for the stones.  Small grey things with a sigil burned into them in the blacksmith's fire, numbered the same way on the back.  He had already written down the number he would give them next to their name, and made sure to give them over successfully.  The priest had soaked these ones in holy water just last week, if that would help much.

In they went then, and when they finally turned that ever familiar corner, the witness still stood there for a moment.  Dawn broke, though it was much the same as the time before with the clouds where they were.  He knew because of the countless times before that he had come to this spot.  Tomorrow he would come again, and the day after, and its day after too, if they were still in there.  Nothing happened for two weeks.

The day after that, four grey stones were piled at the entrance, the witness updated his book, then cast the stones off to the side of the entrance.  It was also a grey day.  Most were.