The residence was a rather sorry sight. The shattered roof collided the floor about 3 quarters of the way across the room, almost halving the original space. The walls were also no better, rotted almost to the point of collapse. The floor was the worst. Trash and debris from what used to be a ceiling layered completely covered the ancient boards.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?" commented Yuuda as he raised his lantern to get a better view. "One room, two if you include the possibility of a cellar." He started to set the lantern down on a table until he saw that it only had three of its original four legs. "All the furniture is practically rotted-" He paused to pick up what appeared to be a spoon before promptly tossing it aside. "And all the metalware is rusted useless. What do you think John? Still worth sticking around for?"
"Check if there's a cellar. If we can't find any metal we might find some food," the ferret snapped back after nearly impaling his footpaw on a rusty nail. Kicking it aside, he looked distastefully at the floor at the floor for a few moments before turning around. "This place isn't that large. I'll go stand watch." John withdrew his crossbow from his back and loaded a quarrel in before stepping outside.
"Just don't get killed!" cautioned Yuuda.
"I don't intend to," replied the ferret with a snort.
Chuckling to himself, the weasel crouched down with his light, brushing aside trash and debris for any sign of a handle or ring. "No, hmm. Nothing yet. Maybe that's it? No," he muttered as he searched.
"You don't need to keep giving me status reports every second. Just find it!" shouted John irately from the doorway.
"Okay, okay! It's just nice to hear a familiar voice to comfort me," said the weasel. He resumed his work with silence. At first, there wasn't much luck. Yuuda spent nearly 20 minutes rummaging through the remnants of what used to be a hardwood floor while John's patience wore thin. Not soon after however, he found what appeared to be a crack in the floor. Pushing aside the worm eaten planks he found a broken iron handle stapled into the floor.
"Hey John! I think I've finally found it!" he hollered back.
"Good! Now tell me if you find anything worth bringing back!"
Putting down his lantern, Yuuda rolled up his sleeves, gripped the handle, and tugged. Nothing happened. He tried again with similar results. "Must be on the wrong side, huh," Yuuda stood up and reversed his grip to the other side before trying again.
As with before, nothing happened. But after a few seconds of sustained pulling, the trapdoor gave way and lifted up, its hinges screeching from many seasons without oil. A great gaping hole appeared, looking like some the maw of some long dead monstrosity. Yuuda cautiously looked down the steps leading down the pitch-blackness of the cellar.
"Okay, I'm going down!" Yuuda looked back to make sure his partner was still there. Sure enough, the ferret was leaning against the doorway, his trusty crossbow at ready. John nodded his head to ensure that he had his back.
Retrieving his lantern, he put a cautionary paw down on the first step to guarantee its stability. It squeaked from the weight, but it held. Heaving a sigh of relief, he started to warily descend the stairs, keeping his free hand on the hilt of his machete.
To the weasel's surprise, it was rather orderly compared to the upstairs. The cellar was very cramped however, a square room that was only about as wide as he was tall. It was mainly dominated by several dozen earthenware pots and enclosed glass jars stacked haphazardly against the walls. There was also a small, waist high table pushed under the staircase.
Without any delay, he set the lantern onto the dirt floor and began the tedious task of rifling through the contents of the pots. They may have once held grain and barley, but most of them were unsurprisingly empty, much to Yuuda's disappointment. The few pots that were filled were also inhabited with a wide variety of various insects. He kept the lids on for those.
When he finished with the pots, he turned to the various preserve jars. Unlike the pots, the problem was not necessarily the lack of contents, but what the contents were. Yuuda had quite a bit of difficulty identifying the difference between what appeared to be a pickled egg, and which also could have been somebeast's eye. Only a few jars were labeled, but that didn't seem to help much. A jar labeled "Taters" were filled with what seemed to be suspiciously close to severed toes.
After several frustrating minutes at attempting to classify what is edible and what is toxic, the weasel threw down his pack with exasperation and started tossing in anything that he could at least recognize at first glance.
As he loaded his pack, Yuuda began contemplating what he would have to eat for the next 3 months. He smiled again when he realized that Andrew would also have to put up with it. Right as he was about to place the last jar in, his paw slipped and it fell underneath the table, shattering and sending jam and shards all over the floor and onto his boots.
"Damn," he cursed silently before bending down to clean the stick preserves off his boots. Something caught his eye as he crouched, though. There appeared to be something sticking out from underneath the table. Forgetting all about the mess, Yuuda leaned closer. A bent iron nail tacked a folded letter by a corner from behind one of the legs, hiding it from obvious view. Furrowing his brow, he grasped the table leg with his left paw and slowly eased the nail out with his right. After he removed it, he delicately pried opened the sealed letter.
The letters were faded from age, and the script almost illegible from the messy print, but the weasel had enough of an education to make it out. It read:
To my Dearest Rosa,
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I had to leave this place. This may upset you, considering the time and memories we have had under this roof, but to preserve our family's standing and wealth, I have decided to move back to my home. I do not have much time left before I reach the Dark Forest and I wish to spend it in the land of my youth. To provide you some solace from the grief, I have drawn this map detailing the location of the remnants of my legacy: Diamond Fire.
Good Fortune to you, Tom
At the sight of the words Diamond Fire, the weasel immediately folded open the bottom flap of the letter. True enough, there was a hastily scrawled map drawn underneath the script, but Yuuda unfortunately, could not recognize any of it. After a few moments of intense scrutinizing, he shrugged and gave up. Folding it back up, he tucked into his pocket for safekeeping. He picked up his lantern and headed back upstairs.
John was still standing at the door, the very picture of boredom.
"Hey John! I found something!" called the weasel to the ferret.
Losing all trappings of dignity, John immediately shot bolt upright and sprinted the narrow distance to the trapdoor, nearly tackling his partner back down.
"What was it!? A priceless heirloom?! Gold!? Various items of a valuable origin!?" squeaked John, practically drooling with excitement.
"First, I need you to get off me." The ferret immediately obeyed. "It's-"
"Yes, yes! I'm listening!" John leaned ever closer, his eyes becoming wider and wider from anticipation.
"A MAP!" exclaimed Yuuda, opening the letter with a dramatic flourish. The ferret's face immediately fell back into its normal, scowling self.
"A map," repeated John.
"Yes! But apparently, it could lead to some sort of priceless treasure! It's in the town of Diamond Fire! You know, that old mining place?"
The ferret raised a curious eyebrow. "A treasure map? Show me."
The weasel passed it. The ferret scanned it for a few moments, then turned it upside down. The map went through several revolutions before he gave it back.
"Diamond Fire? Wasn't that overrun by several warlords dozens of seasons ago? It's still dangerous now, isn't it? By the way, I can't even read this."
Yuuda nodded. "But we also have a duty, considering the fact that we are salvagers and not common raider scum to try and locate the original owners. But since letter looks like it's been quite a few season already and the fact that it was never opened before I found it, the poor beast's wife may have been killed or captured by brigands. And since there are no owners to claim the salvage…"
The ferret's grin reappeared. "Aye. I think we can afford one more run before winter sets in."