You Shall Never Recover the Necronomicon...

[Una]

Day 1:

It was well passed midnight and Hallmar was exhausted. Dropping down on his rump he let his shovel fall to the pile of dirt he'd managed to create. His cloak was discarded in a corner, along with his shirt and gloves. Boots and trousers he still wore but they were dusted and crusted with so much dirt it was impossible to tell what color they were. Dirt was also raining out of his salt-and-pepper curls and smeared across his face in a paste mixed with his sweat. The same smears were on his chest arms and hands so he took a moment to flake away some of the crust while he caught his breath. Around him were various kegs and barrels, shelves with bottles and sacks of grain and potatoes. He hadn't bothered moving anything, instead chosing to simply start in the middle of the floor, heaping the displaced earth against one wall.

The young man tried to calculate how long he'd been digging... he started after the cooks left the kitchen for the night, so he was probably at it for about four hours and the hole he had was pitiful. Maybe knee deep on the lanky youth but a good size across. Really, he was having a hard time of moving the dirt so it wouldn't keep fallin in, so maybe this was a good time to stop tonight. He had perhaps a few hours till dawn so maybe he could even rinse off in the lake and get some sleep while it was still night.

Despite these thoughts, though, he simply takes a stolen drink for one of the bottles then stands back up, raining bits of soil as he moves. He returns the bottle to a shelf and retrieves his shovel and sets back to his work. The hole wouldn't dig itself, after all.

Finally, an hour or so before dawn, before the cook returns to begin cooking for the day, Hallmar leaves, having added perhaps another foot in depth and with themound of earth climbing up the empty wall. No luck yet, but then he didn't expect his work to be easy. Nothing worthwhile was ever easy. Up the cellar steps and across the kitchen floor he left a trail of damp soil and a scattering of dry soil, the only trace outside the cellar of the all-night work he'd put in beneath the Broken Dagger.

[Hope]

The sun had just barely peeked over the horizon (not that any could see it on account of the storm blackened sky) and already the lady owner of the tavern was at the command of the small army of employees that kept the building running. It was only a matter of time before her feet would grace the creaking cellar steps on the hunt for the day's selection of wine bottles and other various drinks to replace the ones emptied the night before.

It was quite the suprise that awaited her .. one that certainly explained the dirt that left her fussing, the very trail she had followed right to the attic door. All that dear Molly could do for a stretched minute or two was stare at the beginnings of a rather large hole that was dug in her cellar!

In the next minute she was a turning flurry of swishing skirts and stomping slippers with the lovely rising of her voice for, "D'ran!"

[LightForce]

As lovely as the tavern owner's voice may have been, it was an unwelcome wake-up call for the slumbering tavern guard. He was accustomed to sleeping in, as he was normally on-duty until the Dagger closed for the night. It had taken some extra effort to get himself out of bed and downstairs to respond promptly to Molly's call.

Now, a deep scowl distorts his features as he shovels dirt back into the large hole in the tavern's cellar, undoing some unknown miscreant's work little by little. He is obviously irritated, but with nobody present to speak with, he must vent his frustrations through the physical labor of his task. This works to his advantage, and he finishes in a relatively short time.

Finished, D'ran emerges from the cellar covered in dust and speckled with mud, and his boots leave tracks on the kitchen floor. A dark look to one of the cooks silences their complaint of the mess, and he stalks out of the tavern and makes a beeline for the lake.

[Una]

Hallmar had waited for the cooks to leave for the night. When no one was looking he slipped into the kitchen and eased his way back down into the cellar. He had come prepared this night, with only a light shirt and trousers on, no cloak and his hair pulled back in a frizzy knot at the nape of his neck. Whistling softly he hopped down the steps then froze dead, the whistle faultering then failing completely.

The hole was gone.

It was filled. Completely.

He stared at where his hole had been and lets the shovel he carried drop off his shoulder and chunk in the dirt. He stared.

And stared.

And stared.

Finally he moved forward, dragging his shovel over then hauling it up and driving it into the dirt.

And luck was with him, the dirt hadn't been packed back down. At least there was that. With a sigh he flung the dirt against the empty wall and dug up another shovelful, starting to get into a rythm.

Well, he'd still get progress in today, so it wasn't all bad. He sighed again and tried to ignore the ache in his shoulders and back, flinging dirt with unnescessary force at the wall, now not taking any care to avoid teh piled and shelved supplies. That ought to teach them to mess with his efforts!

And again, before dawn, before the morning cooks arrived, Hallmar left, coated in dirt and moist soil, to bathe in the lake then go home and sleep like the dead.

[Hope]

Second morning.

And lo' and behold, what is this to greet the fiery haired tavern owner's eyes the next morning? Had she not requested D'ran to see to this hole? It certainly was not like the man to not see to his duties as requested.

Mostly likely Monty has had pirates upon the brain again, digging for buried gold in her cellar and making a horrid mess of it all! Such a sight, the woman posed upon the top of cellar stairs while staring down upon the hole renewed ... fists upon the swell of her hips, slippered toe tapping away in her irratation.

"D'ran!" A pause. "Monty!"

Someone, one way or another, was going to fill that hole and clean those shelves down.

[Biske]

It was so rare that Monty was *in* the tavern these days; but this was morning, before class, and the boy had been splashing water on his face to satisfy Molly - certainly *not* taking care to scrub behind his ears. He was twisting a pinky into a lobe as he tromped down the stairs, the Mikhail-in-miniature scowling heavily. He couldn't *recall* doing, or *not* doing, anything lately - he could not place the woman's angry voice! But he scootched into the kitchen and at the cellar's steps - and the first thing those wide, pale eyes spotted was the hole.

"Whoa! Did D'ran do that?" he pipes, scuttling past the woman to peer down it in curiosity - certainly, blissfully unaware of the woman's wrath!

[LightForce]

D'ran does an excellent job of controlling his temper as he explains to Molly and Monty that he had, in fact, filled the first hole, and that he had nothing to with its reappearance. As soon as they have departed and the cellar door is closed, he allows himself a few choice expletives, shouted at sufficient volume to be heard at least in the kitchen. The more conservative members of the kitchen staff might gasp softly or titter quiet criticisms of the tavern guard; they know better than to say anything to his face.

His anger at least partially vented, D'ran sets to work on filling the hole for a second time. With nobody to talk to and a dull, boring task ahead of him (again), he entertains himself by imagining a number of unpleasant or painful experiences that the perpetrator might suffer at his hands. He might never get to do any of them, but a man is allowed to dream.

His work is finished when the hole is filled; he does not pay any attention to the dirt-covered food and supplies. He would leave that to the kitchen staff, or perhaps Monty. As he makes his way to the lake once again to wash off, he resolves to ask Molly to have a lock put on the cellar door.

[Una]

Halmar ((with the correct name spelling this time, thanks Pauline)) came even better prepared this night than he had the preceeding night. See, doesn't take the boy forever to learn! Not only is he shirtless and bootless but he snuck in the back with several sacks and baskets so that he might haul the dirt out with him when he leaves. He even has a plan to disguise his work now, too!

And so the young man digs for several hours, making much better progress than the first two nights from the combined effect of practice and loose dirt. A good portion of what he's dug up he was able to shovel into the sacks which he then ladened the baskets with, and slinging them over either end of the shovel,was able to haul out of the cellar to dispose of in the lake.

He returns stealthilly enough, there only being a few dirty footprints this time to mark his passage (as well as a few lines where dirt had sifted out of the baskets while he walked), with baskets stashed outside in the woods not too terribly far from the Dagger. This time he brings with him one large sack that he's cut open with a knife, drawing it through the seams to make one large piece of canvas.

Once back in the cellar he shovels up a pile of dirt then aranges a few of the empty barrels that were being stored in the hole, making a base, then he stretches the cut sack out over the hole and covers it with dirt. There! No one would ever know he'd been back here digging! At least, no one with poor eyesight and who knew that the floor had been dug in recently... Well, if no one stepped on it it might pass, but at any rate there was still a significant portion of the floor simply -gone- so at least Halmar's work couldn't be undone. And now there should only be another night or two's work left before he found what he needed...

With a satisfied smile he claps his hands off on his trousers, dust poofing out from the fabric, then turns to go, just stopping himself from whistleing a short tune. He even thinks to push a broom over where he'd dropped dirt in the kitchen, making it not so obvious he'd been to work. Ha! They'd never know he'd been there, and before they knew it he'd be done and he'd never have to dig in the cellar in the middle of the night ever again!

[Hope]

Someone was becoming more clever with how they went about this most unusual of tasks!

How fortunate for those that live and work beneath the roof of the tavern -- none had to do with the horrendous mood swing of the tavern owner for the hole was not so obvious upon passing glance. What luck that some poor maid had found the barrels beneath her feet when she went across the cellar, that she did not think the feel of the ground all that odd.

Happily will D'ran likely sleep the morning away without the interruption of dreams by the pounding of a fist upon his door or cry of voice demanding that he fill some hole mysterious in it's appearance again. How long will such fortune hold out though? Only time will tell!

[Una]

Halmar had waited again for the activity in the Broken Dagger kitchen to die down. Before it was completely over he went and retrieved his baskets and sacks and lurked outside till the coast was clear. Into the kitchen he snuck and slipped into the cellar. Thankfully no one had discovered his work so he wasn't confronted with a locked door or a posted guard.

After moving the tarp and barrels aside Halmar made steady progress, digging further and further into the ground. It was a few hours after midnight when the consistancy beneath his shovel changed and he stopped, staring for a moment. Was it just his eyes or was there something blue under his shovel?

Setting the tool aside he dropped to his knees and brushed at the dirt with his fingers. It was blue! It was fabric of some kind. His face became intent and he brushed more of the dirt away, finally revealing an elbow beneath a loose sleeve.

Hands shaking he stood again and retrieved his shovel, carefully giving the burried limb a wide burth as he resumed digging. He went slower this time, watching for any body parts that might be found, and find them he did. There was one shovel full that revealed short, curly blonde hair with dark roots, another that found the heel of a well-worn boot, another that found a snug black material that was probably pants.

After another hour or so Halmar had worked out the form of a contorted body, one caught in mid struggle before the earth crushed down around it. Carefully, ever so carefully he started removing the remaining dirt with his hands, releasing slack limbs from their support, dislodging grime from the folds of clothing, and finally brushing particals away from staring blue eyes and clearing out a gaping mouth.

And there was Shanisil Darridan-Babtista, a dagger wound in her back, glass shards in one arm, and dirt crammed into her mouth and nose, dead these passed six months. Halmar tried to steady himself as he gathered up his tarp and spread it out in the bottom of his hole, the task made awkward by the limited space. Sill was moved to the tarp, and though she was the woman he was in love with, she was still a corpse. He tried not to get his face too close to her body, but it was an impossiblility to move her and not hold her against his chest. Despite this he got her arranged on the tarp so he could wrap the canvas around her and secure it with a rope he had found in one corner of the room.

After all the work and all the effort finally he had found her body. He took a moment to collect himself, catching his breath, then peeked out the doors to the kitchen. Still empty, but not for long.

It was a struggle but he finally managed to haul Sill out of the hole and sling her across his back. Luckilly she was small... and she seemed even lighter in death than she ever had in life... and he easilly slipped out the back door of the Dagger, leaving his tools and implements behind. His task was done and he wouldn't be back.