Chapter 07 - Rebel Base Crew - Eleri & Hockrup Meet

Image - Eleri and Hockrup meet up at the Christmas market outside of the Lehmitz Tavern

It was in the frosted weeks before Yuletide, when the snow began to settle like powdered lace on the cobblestones of Kleiner Alter Hof, that Hockrup met once more with Eleri. The streets bustled with townsfolk swaddled in cloaks and woollen scarves, their breath curling in the chill air like dragon smoke. The scent of roasted chestnuts, beeswax candles, and spiced glühwein drifted over the market square, mingling with the sounds of carollers and the clink of coin.

Hockrup, a towering Pitfighter with a scar-laced jaw and the bearing of one who had spent more time in the blood-slick sands of the arena than under open sky, moved through the crowd like a prowling bear. Despite his fearsome reputation—many a tale told of him breaking a man’s helm with his bare hands—his eyes lit up when he spotted her.

Eleri, the Wizardess of the Hedgerows, stood by a vendor stall inspecting bundles of dried winter herbs. Clad in emerald and gold, a wreath of holly tucked into her braided auburn hair, she was the picture of rustic arcana. Her magic, drawn from the old roots of the land and the whisper of snow in the branches, had once turned the tide of battles long since sung into legend.

They embraced like kin long-separated, for though they were both warriors of the once-famed Rebel Base Crew, many seasons had passed since they'd last stood side by side in combat or counsel. The crew had scattered like autumn leaves—some to quiet farms, others to forgotten paths. Kleiner Alter Hof, once their staging ground, was now a quieter place.

With the markets swelling around them, they made their way to the Lehmitz Tavern, a place of timber beams, stained-glass windows, and hearth fires that had burned for centuries. It was a favourite haunt of adventurers, traders, and traveling minstrels, especially during the Wintertide Market. Farmers from the surrounding countryside hawked smoked meats, cheeses wrapped in cloth, and cured leatherwork just outside, while inside, laughter and songs danced with the flicker of firelight.

At a table near the back, with a clear view of both door and hearth (old habits never died), they swapped tales over flagons of hot glühwein and strong Bombalino, the rich, dark spirit of the southern provinces. Eleri recounted her recent venture into the Blackpine Groves where she’d staved off a Frostwight incursion with only runestones and wit. Hockrup spoke of a border pit in the east where he fought a giant berserker barehanded for a baron's amusement.

Yet for all the cheer and nostalgia, Hockrup’s eyes kept straying to the tavern door, as if waiting for more of their old companions to arrive. But none came.

Instead, talk in the tavern turned to the Des Alten Hofs, a rising crew of younger adventurers whose daring incursions into the Harksheide Labyrinth were quickly becoming the stuff of legend. Trinkets from the Labyrinth—fragments of crystal keys, monster teeth, even idols carved from cursed stone—were being sold at nearby stalls for hefty sums. Songs were already being written of their battles against the bronze spiders of Deep 3 and the riddling ghost of the Mirror Stairwell.

But Hockrup had a different prize in mind.

“I’ve heard rumour,” he said, voice low but urgent, “that the Sword of True Kinship—Aethrale’s Blade, if you remember the old names—has been sighted. It lies in the Idol Chamber beneath the southern halls of Harksheide. Just beyond Deep 2.”

Eleri frowned, sipping her drink thoughtfully. “That’s a cursed place, Hock. The Idol Chamber hasn’t been mapped properly in decades. The crew that tried last year didn’t come back. The labyrinth shifts. It eats time.”

“I know,” he replied. “But that sword could reunite the old crew. It’s said to sing when in the hands of true allies. It binds oaths with light. I think... I think we need it.”

Eleri watched him for a long moment. She saw not the pitfighter with bloodied hands, but the man who had once stood shielding her during the Siege of Moonfire Crossing, who had laughed beside her at the Ghost Lantern Inn, who had fought and bled for a cause they both believed in.

“In the spirit of kinship,” she said at last, raising her flagon, “I’ll go with you. Let’s see what’s become of the Idol Chamber.”

They spent the rest of the night preparing. Hockrup packed smoked meats, hard-bread, torches, and a fresh whetstone for his axes. Eleri gathered her vials, talismans, and a scroll of wayfinding, enchanted to glow in unseen ink. A final Bombalino to seal their resolve, and they retired for a few hours' sleep.

Before dawn’s first blush, they set out through the brittle snow toward the edge of town. The entrance to the Harksheide Labyrinth yawned beneath the roots of the Ironwood Trees in the Old Quarter, watched over by a silent stone outpost. There, standing like a monument himself, was Galadran, Captain of the High Elves. His silver armour gleamed in the faint moonlight, though his face was grim.

He had lost many of his company in the last great escape attempt from the Labyrinth—men and elves who had ventured too deep, too greedily. Since then, his vigilance had become legendary.

As they approached, he stepped forward, long spear angled across their path.

“Who seeks access to the Labyrinth?” His voice rang with command and caution. “Step forth and be known.”

Eleri moved forward, drawing back her hood. “Hail and well met, Galadran. Eleri of the Hedgerows and Hockrup of the Arena, of the Rebel Base Crew. We seek passage in pursuit of the Sword of True Kinship.”

Recognition flickered in the elf’s stern gaze, and for a moment, a smile touched the corners of his lips.

“Well met indeed. It has been many moons since the Rebel Base Crew stirred. Perhaps the old fires still burn. You may pass, but beware—there are ogres stirring below. They roam freely now in Deep 2. Not all of them are mindless.”

He stepped aside, and the great door, marked with sigils of ancient sealing, creaked open at his gesture.

“Go with honour,” Galadran said. “And should you return with the sword... know that some of us still remember what it meant to be a warrior of the old ways.”

With that, Eleri and Hockrup descended into the cold, echoing dark of the Labyrinth, where ancient secrets waited and the light of true kinship had not shone in a long, long time.


Popular posts from this blog

Chapter 01 - Fall of Harksheide

Chapter 04 - Die Alten Hofs - Starting Crew

Chapter 03 - Esse i yesse: In the Beginning