It was quiet for a minute as the council digested Boone's words. 

Essie Towne, one of the elders and what the locals liked to refer to as a tough old bird, stood up with the help of her gnarled holly cane and spoke up. 

"What caused you to leave Sorrowfell and come back here?" She asked. Her voice was quiet but full of authority.

Boone stood out of respect for her age and bowed his head slightly.

"A promise m'am."

She fixed him with her sharp gray eyes. "A promise to who?"

"The Tinker m'am."

The reaction to his answer was almost comical to witness. Nearly all of those who had come to the meeting looked at each other confused, wondering if that name was supposed to mean something to them, while the reaction of the two chieftains, Sky Hair, and a few of the elders was one of unabashed disbelief.

"Poole…" Said Foster under his breath as he rose, his hammer in his hand, seeing out of the corner of his eye his cousin do the same with his ax.

The Hammersent who were spread out around the gathering were all suddenly at the ready with hands on weapons.

"What kind of promise did you make to the Tinker?" Njal asked. Poised and prepared to fight.

Boone dropped his cup in the dust and raised his hands slowly. He had a near smile on his lips and it ran contrary to just how much danger he was in.

"It ain't like that." he said firmly, but his smile lingered.

"What on earth do you find so amusing?" Asked Sky Hair, voicing the question that everyone was eager to have answered.

"This…" he motioned around at Foster, Njal and the others tensed over their weapons and ready to fight. "Poole said that this is exactly how it would go down. And he told me how to reply."

"Well then, you best get to it." Foster said, growing quickly impatient.

"May I fetch some paper out of my pocket?" Boone asked, pointing at his jeans.

"Slowly." Foster replied.

Boone slid his right hand down, dipped two fingers into his pocket and extracted a folded up packet of papers. He slowly unfolded it and turned slightly so the firelight wouldn't backlight the pages and make them hard to read.

He cleared his throat. "My name is Kynan Poole and I am a banished son of Halfsong. Though I am forbidden to set foot on the mountain and though for nearly two centuries I have kept that promise, I am sending with this man, Sutter Boone a gift that I believe will help with what is coming. I swear upon the Smith, the Mountain and the gods above and below it, that my intentions are pure and meant to serve those who still live on my ancestral home.

You may not be aware, but vampires dream too. And I have been dreaming about y'all coming for a year. And I know some folks, about as batshit weird as y'all are and they have seen it in visions, runes, cards or some other method of divination as well. Some kind of synergy is calling y'all here, and I want to help.

So I am telling you this and I am offering my assistance. This place ain't like the mountain. It's broken. So broken that it will make the Whippoorwill want to take up knitting. It ain't just the people, it is the very foundation of it. Like the leylines have been corrupted by bad shit and now it feeds on itself in an endless cycle.

This is bigger than y'all and the fairy cage. There are alliances happening here, treaties formed and broken. Ones that have stood for a long time. There are creatures here, ones that have stayed out of the worst of what happens here, but they seem to be choosing up sides.

Y'all might have heard rumors that there are some of the old gods here. Well, that bit is as true as can be and I will share this with y'all. Their reason for shacking up in the warehouse district is because they believe that Sorrowfell is ground zero for ragnarok and they believe it is coming within the next couple of years.

So what I am telling y'all next is one of those shit news, shittier news situations, and I hate to be that kind of bastard, but here we go.

There ain't shit we can do to stop what's coming. Nothing I can do, nothing y'all can do, nothing the fucking monkey king can do can stop the fire that is already lit. Sorrowfell has suddenly gotten tagged with some kind of nebulous expiration date and nobody of any kind of power for foretelling the future thinks that fuckall can be done to stop it.

That's the shit news.

Here's the shittier news.

Y'all breaking the fairy cage open is the only thing that is going to keep the storm that destroys Sorrowfell from taking everything else with it. We don't know exactly what is doing this, what is causing it, but whatever it is is going to feed on the falling of this place and use it to power itself to move outward.

I have bothered the shit out of the most powerful seers I know and all can agree on is that in the middle of everything going boom, y'all are going to need to crack open that wall and let the very pissed off Unseelie out of there and they somehow are going to contain it. They can't save the city either but they can stop it here.

I don't know why the Smith and the Chieftain of my time saw fit to banish me. I loved my home and I loved your great, great, great, great grandparents something fierce, but they saw reason to and I obeyed, but I have never forgotten.

Boone has a couple of trunks with him. Inside them you will find money, more cash than you have ever seen in your life. About five million dollars all told.

Set the mountain up for solar. Get a communications system that doesn't rely on the world below. Build a storehouse, fill it with enough for a couple of years for everybody up there. The word is going to get out to the dark things that are bringing this about and they are going to come looking for y'all. 

There's a satellite phone in one of the trunks. There is a number on it to reach me. It will not dial directly to me but leave a message and I will reply.

You have probably a year to prepare, but then keep your asses on Halfsong until it's time to come.

Your other option is to throw one hell of a party with that money and build an observation deck WAY up top of the mountain. Then you can sit up there and watch the world get plowed under. 

You're call.

Love and kisses,

Kynan Poole

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

2022 Lance Cheuvront