Hermitcraft Oneshots

Waiting, hoping, praying

Again! It's been a while, but, y'know, life. Here's something I came up with at 3 am! Enjoy~
———

Etho hid from the rafters, concealed by the veil of darkness. The only thing that could reach him up here were the small spires of smoke spat from the torches below.

He watched and waited, hoping, praying, that today would be the day. It was the last day. The only day. Once this window of opportunity closed, it would never open again.

The groundskeeper came to make his round. Lantern in hand, he slowly stepped into the main hall, and was halfway through his routine check when Etho descended from the heavens, like a shadowy angel, fallen from grace.

"Groundskeeper," he called, crouched on the ground like a frog, "has he shown?"

The groundskeeper was mildly startled, but quickly regained his composure. "M'fraid not, lad," he shook his head, scruffy beard scratching against his tunic, "y'best scurry back from whence you came, today is the last day of November moon is it not?"

"Yes, I guess.. I guess it is.." Etho tilted his head back with dismay, "check behind the barn, I've left thirty gold bits, thank you, I'll be out your hair tomorrow."

"Ah, good lad," the groundskeeper whistled, "sorry 'bout your friend. I'm sure he's doing fine.. wherever he is."

Etho knew that was all just sweet talk. Beef was dead. He had until sunset on the November moon, that deadline had passed. Now they were all in trouble.

No use dwelling on it, though. Can't change fate.
———

Etho stared at the grave before him. The tombstone didn't have a name chiseled into it, rather a sentence, a small reprieve for grieving hearts: "for all those who died alone." This grave wasn't for anyone, it was for everyone, for those too inconsequential to be remembered, for those who couldn't be buried, or who's bodies were never found.

He bent down and placed a small knife on the ground in front of the grave- many other tokens like it had been placed on the grass, mementos from those grieving the unknown.

Etho's kunai fit right in.

He lost himself in silence for a minute, thinking of all he had lost.

Beef wasn't the only one. Wouldn't be the last. Perhaps he was next, destined for an unknown grave. The thought gave him little comfort.

The chilly air of the December moon brought him out of his thoughts. Life was too short for more than a moment of grief- too short to slow down.

He had to fight alone now, well, at least until he found the others. He'd board the next boat out of here, no matter where it was headed.

His home was far, far from here, but he far, far from done.
———

-yours, tired, depressed college student