Fears for Godstear

Svendulf cursed. Letti had made a good case for leaving the caravans in search of better opportunities as a mine. "My cousin is a guard at Godstear, he used to be a caravan hand like us. The money's better there, you don't have sores all over your feet and your backside from the walking and riding- and it's not too far from Osterheide. Good ale there." And she had been right. Good job, good ale.
For almost a year they had chased off goblins from the hills and, rarely, some bandits that got too bold. He had never liked being so close to that elf forest, a "wode," but as he heard it you kept to yourself and the wodes did the same.
But then those little demons had come, pouring out of the mine's depths. Not everyone had gotten away... not Letti. He had thought to give her a bond bracelet, but now it was too late. The survivors had spent the last month or so keeping guard over the new "mine." Could you call it a mine if the ore that came out of it was poisoned? Any metal made from it was diseased- would break sometime. Maybe when you needed it most.
And now here he was, back in the mine that he and Letti had walked for almost a year. The mine seemed different now- hollow. Absent of the rhythmic sounds of pickaxes and people at work. Every step echoed on to the depths. The devils haunted the stone now.
Svendulf had come back here with a dozen of his fellows, orders from the regent himself it was said. Where were the soldiers? If it was a matter for the crown, it should be a matter for the army.
But no, a dozen guards were all. Now one. He'd have left already if it wasn't for Letti.
He was almost there, where he last saw her.
The devils bled, he knew that. They bled and died. But there was so many, and they were fiendishly clever.
He was down to a club he had picked up on a whim before coming in. His new sword had snapped at the hilt- the tunnels weren't forgiving to long blades, and the first time he misjudged a swing the tip had caught stone, **snap.** He had figured a new blade might resist the metal disease longer- he'd been wrong. Asfi, that sallow Xirian boy, had paid the price.
And now he was wrong about Letti- but he was almost glad for that. She wasn't here. There was blood, and some torn leather, but no body. Maybe she was still alive down here, somewhere.
He could hear the devils coming now, cackles echoing from the walls. Maybe he could make it out if he could find one of the intersections and throw them off the trail? Or he could go after Letti. They were getting closer. Time to choose.

Dated 11/16/21