u/GregAbout

Opening to a short story I'm writing, what do you think? Would you continue reading?

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The sun still hasn’t come up, my name is John Correy, the time is 1:23pm. August 12th 2026, when waking up to work at the office the sun was gone. The skies were pitch black, not a speck of light to be seen, out the windows sat only darkness which felt as though they suffocated all those within it. We were told it was an eclipse, one which would quickly pass.

Its been two weeks.

I didn’t go to work that day, I called in sick. I couldn’t do it, something about that pitch black that sat outside just didn’t sit right with me. Seeds of doubt planting themselves within my stomach, laying like iron. When my family called, they called me paranoid. 

Its been a week since I’ve last heard from them.

Currently I am sitting within my house, the authorities have issued an order for us to wait. To stay within the confines of our own homes until help arrives. 

Silence. Two weeks since our encounter with the one who called themselves Cecil, we passed through Black-Marrow forest. Within the day's travel we were going to be in Greymound. At the time Snaggletooth was upset with me, whilst passing through the town of Qorn I had seen it fair to divulge our precious information to one who could not afford it. I saw little harm in the matter, having already earned a respectable amount from its brokerage. Snaggletooth however did not share my philanthropy. It had been a week since that point.

"Duldrom Grey."

Hearing my name called was enough to make my hairs stand on end, much as my time as a youth being called to the headmaster's office. My eyes glanced to her, though she did not meet my gaze. Snaggletooth sat there with her pickaxe in hand, polishing its metal head to try make it shine even during this overcast day. "If I catch any whiff of ye' runnin' your mouth again, our deals off. You understand?" I could only nod at the woman. I could have tried to argue, but in the end I put nothing on the line whilst they put everything. Past Snaggletooth I could see Gor pe eking back to the two of us, it was hard to know what the Giant thought, but at least our eyes met. Cerilla and Hawkins rode ahead, a faint chatter being heard from the two; suppose the three of us weren't riveting company for the moment. I looked out to mist covered fields, where crops wrought with decay lay. As sneaking through the earth of the flatlands one could make out the metallic frames of the railways which now sit derelict. We were getting close.

I'd heard tales of The Murder's Nest taking form on The Great Oak of Varkon. The far stretching farmlands which take a day to traverse are now sitting as no man's land, with no single person being able to reach its centre. With their capital cut off from the rest of The Empire, governance for the region now sat within Greymound. The Varkonians kept the influences of Karnes limited, tied to tradition, Greymound stood as one of the few slithers they'd allow in. "When we get teh' Greymound, the rest of us got private matters teh' tend to Grey." She was squinting her eyes at her pick, inspecting it for some moments before giving a satisfied nod. "By supper you best be coming back with information n' gold. Understood?" I could feel it, a leash being fitted around my neck, my own shortcomings used against me as penance. Though the air was tense I knew all would be fine, in life you sometimes cross a pot hole, other times you sometimes burn bridges. For potholes, one must merely fill them in to make them smooth. We have time to fix this, is what I told myself.

A couple hours more passed before our destination came into view. The steel rails which snaked along the ground converged with others into a train yard which sat just at the edge of the city. Our wheels rolled from barren dirt to cobbled roads, the wagon jutting as we went. We had arrived. Whilst it could've been considered pitiful compared to the hustle and bustle of a city such as Lyonhart, it was refreshing to see so many faces out. I recall a time from my younger years, observing the Varkonian city which sat out like a sore thumb. Though to many it defied their culture, to others it was uplifting, someplace new where things were happening. That time however was now centuries passed, the high lofty ceiling that sat above this city has begun to cave in. It was palpable. Faces hung with sorrow, their cheeks sunken all around us. As metallic clangs sounded out with the boots of Dyriallian Guards marching down the streets.

"Fuckin' miserable place isn't it?"

She was looking out, her head tracking random passersby for some moments before moving onto the next. "Have you been before?" Snaggletooth only shook her head in response, at that moment I could only laugh, "Then you don't know the half of it." "Alright ye' old cunt" She snorted out. It was just a pothole. "Gor, ol' up a moment would you?" There was not a word of response from the friendly giant, merely the cracking of reins, the horses cried. As the wagon came to a halt, the other two ahead stopped moments later, heads turned back; presumably confused by the sudden holdup. "Right Mandaran, your ride stops here. We've got business with deh' Barron in a couple hours." The Pig. "As for accommodation we were told a place called Pidgin. Ye' can figure out for yourself where that is. Now fuck off would ye?"

Now I stood alone, as the horses' hooves drew further away from me; from what I could tell Snaggletooth had chosen to drop me off within the old processing quarters. Though now rather than workers, rather than business, I could only see darkened eyes, and skin-wrapped bone from those who sought shelter within crumbling estates. The Pig… The Empire offers a lofty sum for those of interest… Would they? I wasn't sure. My heart began racing, sweat beading upon my forehead. Could I trust them? Was I safe? WheredoIgofromhere- "OUT THE WAY!" The scream came from behind me, as another wagon much finer than ours came through the derelict street. Helmed by the Dyriallian Guard, crates and barrels piled on top, as another wagon with much of the same followed through. And another. And another.

Nine would pass in total, the final of which being larger than any of them, enough for the city and then some.

With each that passed I could see those sorry sunken eyes which lined the streets come to life, with groans and grumbles all around. "F-Finally" the voice was weak, was it a young boy? or was it a girl? Their frame had grown so feeble it was hard to tell. Hordes began to roam with a sense of relief and reverence that this time had come. In times like these, there is only one thing that sorry sorts such as these can move for. Food.

As hordes dragged their feet along cobbled paths I followed. My job was information, absolutely anything which could be of use. In these moments of relief, where one could breath always made people more open. I never liked Lyonhart, it scared me; like some experiment gone horribly wrong. Greymound however was different, it felt as though whatever experiment Lyonhart was had failed. And this was the one to succeed. Now however it was hard to tell the difference between the two, perhaps here you were given a moment to breathe. Greymound was slower, whereas Lyonhart slowed for no one. But that creeping sense that eyes were on you? Now shared between the two. The crowds moved through alleyways and streets that constricted around us, suffocating us between brick walls. Hacking coughs and the buzzing of flies sounded out through the air; eventually the choke hold released itself as Varkonians filtered out into the market square. I had a clear view, towering over the locals. The square was packed, bursting at its seams even, in the centre sat a stage, surrounded by the Guardsmen. And there he was, tucked to the side; waiting to come on once the crowd satisfied his own ego. 

The Pig.

The crowd was alive with chatter, sounds of cries of relief and thanks for the food which had arrived.

“ALL SILENT- FOR HIS BARONSHIP OF VARKOSSE, LORD OF SORDES, APPLE OF THE ROYAL TREE!” In a single breath the crowd fell silent. “VILLIS, EL MIR TIBERIUS” I could see him all the way from the back, as he struggled to climb the stairs. Though as he rose, with each step any sign of struggle vanished. 

I couldn’t believe it. 

Amidst a crowd of sorrow he stood above them. Where they stood there, their bones wrapped in skin, he stood full and plump. “People of Varkosse!” He held his hand to his mouth, his voice booming out louder than anything I’ve heard Gor muster. Upon the stage where he stood, the wagons surrounded him. 

One, two… 

“YOU may be thankful for this day!” 

Three, four… 

“For yet again though YOU have lost purpose, we. THE EMPIRE. Refuses to forget you” 

Five, six… 

“In OUR Emperor's name, my cousin- Villis El Mir Dravanis” 

Seven, eight… 

“May you take this food with grace!” I could see them- four familiar faces stood next to the stage… 

But where was nine? 

The Pig lifted a clenched fist into the air, holding still for some moments. A conductor, holding the orchestra. “Enjoy.” He released his fist, the Guard dropping open the wagon gates. The flood gates were opened as a torrential current started rushing towards them from all around me. It was anarchy. Yet through all the noise, all that filled my ears was a wheezing laugh which came from that stage. His royal feathered cloak flicked as he turned to the stairs, where I could see him start to sag and hunch from here. He was greeted by Snaggletooth at the bottom, as the four of them, surrounded by Dyriallian Guards, moved to a carriage parked off to the side. Who exactly was I travelling with? I had to push through the crowds which swept like currents trying to wash me away. Where were they going? What are they going to talk about? Can I trust them… am I safe? These thoughts began to fester and grow, much like an avalanche from the snow capped Heartland Mountains. Though tried as I might, to push my way through the crowds to try and get near, the currents grew stronger, more turbulent. Each step forward required enormous effort, the people, the shouts and screams ringing out from the crowd as they scrambled to get whatever they could. 

It was a desperation I’d never seen before.

The crowds they kept rushing in, they shoved and pushed against me. Battering me like waves against the hull of a ship, The shouting, the screams, they grew louder, AND louder, AND LOUDER. THE SOUNDS OF PARENTS WEEPING, BABIES CRYING, THE MURDER SCREAMING OUT INTO THE SKY, BEGGING FOR SALVATION, FOR IT ALL TO BE OVER, DISMAY AT THE HOPELESSNESS OF IT ALL. 

I couldn’t take it, the sounds were too much.

I stood there clutching my head, frozen like an iceberg amidst the ocean. My breath was rapid and fleeting, as in the distance between my fingers I could barely make out the carriage riding off. Perhaps those two places weren’t so different.

It was strange, at the time I had little clue what was going on. The begging and cries for mercy, The Murder screaming out all around me. It was overwhelming, nauseating as I felt my head pulsate, almost as if an ice pick had been driven through my brain. 

Make it STOP, make IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, was all I could think; the noises were deafening. The cries and screams coming from all around made it feel as though my head would split in two. Slowly, over the course of what felt like weeks, the raging currents eventually began to ease. The noises slowly faded away, till eventually I was left alone in the market square clutching at my head.

“You alright friend?”

A voice, spoken with a drawl carried the words on longer than what was needed. He extended a hand down to me, offering a package. It wasn’t often that one got to witness something like this, a random act of kindness? This was a luxury few could afford. “Oo de lally, oo de lally. What's got you frozen like a bug in the mud friend? Don’t you know the early bird gets the worm?”. I took his gift and then his hand, and with a grunt he helped to bring me to my feet. “Many thanks… friend.” I told him. 

Looking down to he who stood before me was a Vornish man of dark skin, with a tone akin to muddy red brick. With mounds of bone which sat on his forehead beneath his flesh, and one of his canine teeth plated in gold. 

Looking at the package he handed to me, printed on the front of the parchment: [IMPERIAL RATIONS: ISSUED BY HIS EMINENCE VILLIS, EL MIR DRAVANIS, 1 WEEK’S SUPPLY]. 

“Apologies I wasn’t able to get you more friend, but it’s the most I can spare ya’” At the time I remember being stunned, there were people wandering these lands who’d surely kill for an extra week's rations. Yet there he was, giving it away out of the kindness of his heart? “But anywho, be looking after yourself. It’s a dark world out there.” I didn’t trust it. He turned his back to me, and with a whistle from his lips and a bounce in his steps he began to walk off.

“WAIT!”

I called out to him, my voice echoing through the market square; the man's whistle was cut off, his bouncing ceased. “It feels unbecoming to let this kindness go unpaid.” He whistled out at my words, his back faced me upon which he carried a large wooden case.  “Oo de lally, ain’t nothing but peanuts friend. You don’t gotta be making mountains out of a mole hill for nothing.” “Oh nonsense. Least let me buy you a beer.” The man finally turned his head, our eyes meeting, his brow raised. “Well butter my biscuits then… drink can’t hurt can it?” 

During my times travelling these vile lands, if there is one thing I’ve developed aside from a persisting sorrow, it's a keen eye for details. The kind of detail which tells me when I encounter someone who carries something with them. 

That little golden nugget that could bring something to light. I spoke to the man about our accommodation, of a tavern called The Pidgin. He knew just the place, sitting at about a twenty minute walk from where we stood. 

As we moved through cobbled streets it was astounding, only an hour ago life here seemed so grim. Harrowing faces and eyes of sorrow filled the streets, without a single hint of care for the other person who laid dying beside them. Now though? It was almost like a mechanism had been flipped, the Varkonian Hospitality which was absent was now alive and bustling. Cheering and chatter coming from down the streets as its people gathered around large soup pots which were being filled with root vegetables and water, bubbling away. The air carried sounds of laughter, and smells of herbs. It was inspiring to see that even amidst all this hardship, these people have not lost their way.

Till eventually we found ourselves within the dimly lit interior of The Pidgin. The furnishings within you could tell were home made, and somehow it seemed like the lighting blended perfectly with the dimness of this world. The inside held a soft glow amongst dark wooden planks. Faint haze in the air, with a Varkonian fellow who carried the name of Sambal. He was a stout fellow who stood just a bit higher than my hip. 

We were tucked just within a corner, a tankard of ale clutched between our hands as a candle glimmered from between. “Well sweet jamboree, this is a mighty kind of you friend.” He wore a grin upon his face, one arm resting whilst lifting the tankard into the air with the other. 

“To crossed paths.” 

“Yes. Cheers, to crossed paths…”

You could tell he was from there, his golden tooth glistening in the candlelight as placed down at his side there was a large case. 

“Now then, isn’t it only fair I get to know the name of the man kind enough to give a week's rations amidst these trying times?” The man across from me took a good long sip of his ale, before letting out a satisfied sigh, “The name’s Telladay my friend. Don’t wear it out.” Kicking his feet out on the table, the table's legs scratching against the ground. 

“And yours?”

“Duldrom.”

Telladay clicked his tongue in response before he extended his hand out, “Pleasure meeting you. Duldrom.”

It was interesting as we sat there alone within this dimly lit tavern. I listened intently to the man's words. The way he seemed to skip and jump through his words. 

I took his hand, and we exchanged a firm shake before taking a good long sip of my ale, letting out a satisfied sigh, I kicked my feet up on the table. The legs screeching back; Telladay's brow lifted into the air. “So Telladay, how long have you been in Varkosse for?” He let out a sharp whistle in response. “Oo da lally, oo da lally… Probably been sauntering around these parts for a good…few months now.” He could sense it. “How about you Duldrom?” His eyes squinted through me in the dimly lit dark, “Myself? Probably almost a month now.” Telladay whistled out in response, as I stared at him I could almost make out the candles light dancing along the walls. “You sure have done well to make it this far… ain’t a lot who’ve managed this journey here.”

Most wouldn’t be able to tell from his accent, it was confusing, theatrical almost- it was one which didn’t belong to any particular place. Yet there was something in his tone, a certain metrical quality. It was a performance to him, it was plain to see. Without a single doubt in my mind… I knew he was from Morvain.

“And of you? Do you hear much from Vorn?” 

His eyes looked past me, to something that was far far away. “Nope. Can’t say I have…” 

“So it’s been a while since you’ve been to Morvain then?”

His tongue snapped in response, taking another good long sip of his ale, his eyes setting on me. “Well golly me… you're a sharp one ain’t ya’ Duldrom?” The air sat silent for some moments, Telladay's eyes once again staring past me at something far ahead. 

I have heard murmurings from Morvain. Quiet ones. Which our Empire would want few people to know of. Murmurings that the winds of change have yet again begun to blow. “I like to think so… You know- I’ve been hearing murmurings from there… word that-”
“Tell me Duldrom! Are you a superstitious man?” In a swift movement he pulled his feet from the table, stomping them on the ground. Clutching his tankard between his hands as he leaned in close, his eyes peering deep into mine. 

He was trying to change the subject, he knew something “...No, can’t say I am”. 

I knew that in times like those, there were moments to poke a prod, to dig that little bit deeper. The key to it however was knowing when to stop digging, knowing when to take that hint that you are going further than you should. As I sat there, his face illuminated by candlelight I could see his hand down at his side, inching closer to the case which sat beside him. I had to let it go, it was fine though, he told me everything I needed to know.

“Then why’re you hesitatin?” 

“Well because it’s an odd question…”

"Huh" Yet again he let out a sharp click of his tongue before taking a good long sip of his ale. "Suppose it is a bit of an odd question ain't it? Especially to one of you Mandaran folk." It was strange, the way that the light seemed to dance along the walls as he spoke. Following the rhythm of his voice. "See, these Varkossian folk?" He tilted his head to Sambal who stood behind the counter polishing a glass, "They'd be sayin' yes sir without a hint of hesitation." I opened my mouth to interject, yet I was not given a single moment. "So tell me Duldrom, why is a sharp Mandaran such as yourself hesitating? You got something you can't explain?"

Should I have told him what I saw in Pry’node?

"...Well to be honest, there is a good deal that I can't explain these days. Believe me, I've been around a good deal of time Telladay. And I've witnessed so much change I don't know how to begin to explain half of it." Telladay sat there, silent. His eyes locked on me with a piercing gaze for some moments before clicking his tongue yet again. "Pshaw, ain't that the truth." He let out a large sigh, relaxing back into his chair. "Well I can give ya' one last thing you done can't explain Duldrom. Have you been hearing about The Unknown Traveller?"

Before he could even explain I could sense who he was talking about. 

Had word already travelled that far? I tensed at the thought, was he following us? Nonsense, there had been no sight, no slither of it since that bloody night. “Would it be the one that travels from Black-Marrow?” Telladay tilted his head to my question.

“Interesting” 

“What?” 

He gave me a shrug. “Can’t say I’m talkin’ about no traveller from Black-Marrow. Now you got me curious to whom you inferred Duldrom.” I could only take a good long sip of my ale till my tankard ran dry; I wanted to tell him, to swap and trade our knowledge. Yet I felt the leash around my neck tightening, so I held my tongue. 

I could only shake my head, “No… no doesn’t matter, by all means Telladay please continue.” A sly grin would snake its way along his lips, his eyes squinting at me. “Seems we’ve both drawn lines here haven’t we? How about we try not to cross em?” He thought he had caught me, he did not realise that he was not the only one who danced. 

“But as I was sayin’ my pointed ear friend. Been hearing murmurings from a fair few folk from around here who’ve been travelling in. Especially from the outta town folk, sauntering over from the south west.” That was opposite to where we encountered it; I had hoped it was a different problem.

“It comes knockin’ at night, awfully polite, been told he’s fairly handsome too.” I leaned forward, having drawn my book and quill. I began taking notes. “Pshaw, you’re awful invested ain’t you?” I wasn’t even looking at him by this point, I was merely listening. “Huh… What happened bub? Cat got your tongue?”

“Apologies- but please continue.” He squinted his eyes at me, “Say less friend. Anyways, where was I?” He polished off his tankard, slamming it down and letting out a satisfied sigh. “Sambal another round good sir!” As moments later two fresh tankards sat before us. “Anyways. He’s odd this fella, a lot of people claim he’s charmin’ and respectful. Only entering when invited, never forcing himself onto no one. Heard some folks say that he’d tether just on the edge of their campfire light before entering their camp.” This wasn’t right- half of it fit like a glove, but Cecil was many things, handsome and charming? Absolutely not. 

“Tell me Telladay- because I suspect he wasn’t just your typical guest. Upon being invited in, did this traveller display any… habits?” Telladay pursed his lips at me before clicking his tongue, “Define habits.” 

“Well, perhaps he made escalating requests.”

“Well then perhaps, I’d think you know what I’m talking about. You’ve encountered him before ain’t you?” Telladay had a squint to his eyes, that sly grin sitting there still. 

“Well, I’m not sure.” 

“What do you mean you ain’t sure? You tellin’ me there's something else out there you can be getting this mixed up with?” 

“Again I’m not sure.” 

I saw him biting his tongue as his brow began to scowl at me, “A lot of it is matching a Beast of Darkness we encountered a couple weeks back.” 

“Whose we?”

“The people who I travel with! That doesn’t matter.” While we sat there yammering back and forth a thought came to mind. Snaggletooth explicitly did not want any more information to be given without compensation. If she caught any wind, our deal was off; but between myself and the man who sat before me we were about to uncover something. Deal be damned- I wasn’t going to miss this.

“It matches the one we encountered a couple weeks back, who went by the name of Cecil.” Telladay let out a sharp snort, “Something to say?” “What kind of gosh darn name is Cecil.” By this point I could feel my jaw begin to tense. 

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Whoops, didn’t mean to strike a nerve with a friend. Please continue.” He was used to being in control, perhaps he fancied a position of leadership amongst the masses. To present himself as a fire, a warmth within the darkness of this world. “If I may continue. Cecil I first heard of from a boy in Armsreach named Theodore, before encountering it for myself. It was polite, claiming to be a lost traveller in need of a place to sleep. Bound by The Law of Hospitality. It is invited in, upon which ‘Cecil’ will begin to make requests that gradually escalate. For me? He wanted my tongue.” Telladay sat, his head bowed with his eyebrows furrowed. “Does this creature match what you have heard? Telladay!”

Silence. Two weeks since our encounter with the one who called themselves Cecil, we passed through Black-Marrow forest. Within the day's travel we were going to be in Greymound. At the time Snaggletooth was upset with me, whilst passing through the town of Qorn I had seen it fair to divulge our precious information to one who could not afford it. I saw little harm in the matter, having already earned a respectable amount from its brokerage. Snaggletooth however did not share my philanthropy. It had been a week since that point.

"Duldrom Grey."

Hearing my name called was enough to make my hairs stand on end, much as my time as a youth being called to the headmaster's office. My eyes glanced to her, though she did not meet my gaze. Snaggletooth sat there with her pickaxe in hand, polishing its metal head to try make it shine even during this overcast day. "If I catch any whiff of ye' runnin' your mouth again, our deals off. You understand?" I could only nod at the woman. I could have tried to argue, but in the end I put nothing on the line whilst they put everything. Past Snaggletooth I could see Gor pe eking back to the two of us, it was hard to know what the Giant thought, but at least our eyes met. Cerilla and Hawkins rode ahead, a faint chatter being heard from the two; suppose the three of us weren't riveting company for the moment. I looked out to mist covered fields, where crops wrought with decay lay. As sneaking through the earth of the flatlands one could make out the metallic frames of the railways which now sit derelict. We were getting close.

I'd heard tales of The Murder's Nest taking form on The Great Oak of Varkon. The far stretching farmlands which take a day to traverse are now sitting as no man's land, with no single person being able to reach its centre. With their capital cut off from the rest of The Empire, governance for the region now sat within Greymound. The Varkonians kept the influences of Karnes limited, tied to tradition, Greymound stood as one of the few slithers they'd allow in. "When we get teh' Greymound, the rest of us got private matters teh' tend to Grey." She was squinting her eyes at her pick, inspecting it for some moments before giving a satisfied nod. "By supper you best be coming back with information n' gold. Understood?" I could feel it, a leash being fitted around my neck, my own shortcomings used against me as penance. Though the air was tense I knew all would be fine, in life you sometimes cross a pot hole, other times you sometimes burn bridges. For potholes, one must merely fill them in to make them smooth. We have time to fix this, is what I told myself.

A couple hours more passed before our destination came into view. The steel rails which snaked along the ground converged with others into a train yard which sat just at the edge of the city. Our wheels rolled from barren dirt to cobbled roads, the wagon jutting as we went. We had arrived. Whilst it could've been considered pitiful compared to the hustle and bustle of a city such as Lyonhart, it was refreshing to see so many faces out. I recall a time from my younger years, observing the Varkonian city which sat out like a sore thumb. Though to many it defied their culture, to others it was uplifting, someplace new where things were happening. That time however was now centuries passed, the high lofty ceiling that sat above this city has begun to cave in. It was palpable. Faces hung with sorrow, their cheeks sunken all around us. As metallic clangs sounded out with the boots of Dyriallian Guards marching down the streets.

"Fuckin' miserable place isn't it?"

She was looking out, her head tracking random passersby for some moments before moving onto the next. "Have you been before?" Snaggletooth only shook her head in response, at that moment I could only laugh, "Then you don't know the half of it." "Alright ye' old cunt" She snorted out. It was just a pothole. "Gor, ol' up a moment would you?" There was not a word of response from the friendly giant, merely the cracking of reins, the horses cried. As the wagon came to a halt, the other two ahead stopped moments later, heads turned back; presumably confused by the sudden holdup. "Right Mandaran, your ride stops here. We've got business with deh' Barron in a couple hours." The Pig. "As for accommodation we were told a place called Pidgin. Ye' can figure out for yourself where that is. Now fuck off would ye?"

Now I stood alone, as the horses' hooves drew further away from me; from what I could tell Snaggletooth had chosen to drop me off within the old processing quarters. Though now rather than workers, rather than business, I could only see darkened eyes, and skin-wrapped bone from those who sought shelter within crumbling estates. The Pig… The Empire offers a lofty sum for those of interest… Would they? I wasn't sure. My heart began racing, sweat beading upon my forehead. Could I trust them? Was I safe? WheredoIgofromhere- "OUT THE WAY!" The scream came from behind me, as another wagon much finer than ours came through the derelict street. Helmed by the Dyriallian Guard, crates and barrels piled on top, as another wagon with much of the same followed through. And another. And another.

Nine would pass in total, the final of which being larger than any of them, enough for the city and then some.

With each that passed I could see those sorry sunken eyes which lined the streets come to life, with groans and grumbles all around. "F-Finally" the voice was weak, was it a young boy? or was it a girl? Their frame had grown so feeble it was hard to tell. Hordes began to roam with a sense of relief and reverence that this time had come. In times like these, there is only one thing that sorry sorts such as these can move for. Food.

Silence. Two weeks since our encounter with the one who called themselves Cecil, we passed through Black-Marrow forest. Within the day's travel we were going to be in Greymound. At the time Snaggletooth was upset with me, whilst passing through the town of Qorn I had seen it fair to divulge our precious information to one who could not afford it. I saw little harm in the matter, having already earned a respectable amount from its brokerage. Snaggletooth however did not share my philanthropy. It had been a week since that point.

"Duldrom Grey."

Hearing my name called was enough to make my hairs stand on end, much as my time as a youth being called to the headmaster's office. My eyes glanced to her, though she did not meet my gaze. Snaggletooth sat there with her pickaxe in hand, polishing its metal head to try make it shine even during this overcast day. "If I catch any whiff of ye' runnin' your mouth again, our deals off. You understand?" I could only nod at the woman. I could have tried to argue, but in the end I put nothing on the line whilst they put everything. Past Snaggletooth I could see Gor pe eking back to the two of us, it was hard to know what the Giant thought, but at least our eyes met. Cerilla and Hawkins rode ahead, a faint chatter being heard from the two; suppose the three of us weren't riveting company for the moment. I looked out to mist covered fields, where crops wrought with decay lay. As sneaking through the earth of the flatlands one could make out the metallic frames of the railways which now sit derelict. We were getting close.

I'd heard tales of The Murder's Nest taking form on The Great Oak of Varkon. The far stretching farmlands which take a day to traverse are now sitting as no man's land, with no single person being able to reach its centre. With their capital cut off from the rest of The Empire, governance for the region now sat within Greymound. The Varkonians kept the influences of Karnes limited, tied to tradition, Greymound stood as one of the few slithers they'd allow in. "When we get teh' Greymound, the rest of us got private matters teh' tend to Grey." She was squinting her eyes at her pick, inspecting it for some moments before giving a satisfied nod. "By supper you best be coming back with information n' gold. Understood?" I could feel it, a leash being fitted around my neck, my own shortcomings used against me as penance. Though the air was tense I knew all would be fine, in life you sometimes cross a pot hole, other times you sometimes burn bridges. For potholes, one must merely fill them in to make them smooth. We have time to fix this, is what I told myself.

A couple hours more passed before our destination came into view. The steel rails which snaked along the ground converged with others into a train yard which sat just at the edge of the city. Our wheels rolled from barren dirt to cobbled roads, the wagon jutting as we went. We had arrived. Whilst it could've been considered pitiful compared to the hustle and bustle of a city such as Lyonhart, it was refreshing to see so many faces out. I recall a time from my younger years, observing the Varkonian city which sat out like a sore thumb. Though to many it defied their culture, to others it was uplifting, someplace new where things were happening. That time however was now centuries passed, the high lofty ceiling that sat above this city has begun to cave in. It was palpable. Faces hung with sorrow, their cheeks sunken all around us. As metallic clangs sounded out with the boots of Dyriallian Guards marching down the streets.

"Fuckin' miserable place isn't it?"

She was looking out, her head tracking random passersby for some moments before moving onto the next. "Have you been before?" Snaggletooth only shook her head in response, at that moment I could only laugh, "Then you don't know the half of it." "Alright ye' old cunt" She snorted out. It was just a pothole. "Gor, ol' up a moment would you?" There was not a word of response from the friendly giant, merely the cracking of reins, the horses cried. As the wagon came to a halt, the other two ahead stopped moments later, heads turned back; presumably confused by the sudden holdup. "Right Mandaran, your ride stops here. We've got business with deh' Barron in a couple hours." The Pig. "As for accommodation we were told a place called Pidgin. Ye' can figure out for yourself where that is. Now fuck off would ye?"

Now I stood alone, as the horses' hooves drew further away from me; from what I could tell Snaggletooth had chosen to drop me off within the old processing quarters. Though now rather than workers, rather than business, I could only see darkened eyes, and skin-wrapped bone from those who sought shelter within crumbling estates. The Pig… The Empire offers a lofty sum for those of interest… Would they? I wasn't sure. My heart began racing, sweat beading upon my forehead. Could I trust them? Was I safe? WheredoIgofromhere- "OUT THE WAY!" The scream came from behind me, as another wagon much finer than ours came through the derelict street. Helmed by the Dyriallian Guard, crates and barrels piled on top, as another wagon with much of the same followed through. And another. And another.

Nine would pass in total, the final of which being larger than any of them, enough for the city and then some.

With each that passed I could see those sorry sunken eyes which lined the streets come to life, with groans and grumbles all around. "F-Finally" the voice was weak, was it a young boy? or was it a girl? Their frame had grown so feeble it was hard to tell. Hordes began to roam with a sense of relief and reverence that this time had come. In times like these, there is only one thing that sorry sorts such as these can move for. Food.

Flames danced as the pot bubbled, as we sat below darkened skies warmed by the campfire’s flame and a bowl of stew in hand. Luxury that very few Varkonians can imagine these days; being subjected to scraps and rations being given out by the Empire. A faint breeze blew across these barren fields, wafting the stew’s scent into my nose. It smelled phenomenal, dark and rich, red wine, hints of rosemary, chunks of beef, potatoes and carrots breaking this rich delicate surface. I could see myself traveling with this lot for a while… I took a mouthful; it was marvelous. “By my Founding Queen Veyra Mandara… Gor- where did you learn to cook like this?” From that point I couldn’t restrain myself, months of hard crusted bread and dried meat had taken its toll on me. This was food, REAL food! How this motley crew possessed the royal rations to make this meal was beyond me. Though I was sure to not question it. As I glanced, watching the behemoth still hunched by the pot, serving up the last bowl of stew to himself, merely lending me a soft smile; “Don’t worry about her Duldrom, she’s helping you get from Point A to Point B. Just be happy with that.” Message received…

Wind swept lands, the air almost seeming to carry a child’s cry. “I learned this recipe from my Grandmother Gur’.” With a great grunt Gor sat himself down, “It’s delightful, around where were you raised?” Gor blew a spoonful of stew gently, “Towards the Capital, between Karnes & Pry’nod.” From that place? Without another word Gor would eat his spoonful of stew. “Wouldn’t that mean you were from those parts as well then” My eyes shifted toward Snaggletooth, a slight shaking of her leg. “Yeah… from around those areas.” Snaggletooth could only stare at me for some moments, before setting her bowl aside and seemingly retiring to her quarters. “...Was it something I said?” My eyes looked to Cerilla & Hawkins who did little to meet my gaze. While Gor in his kind heart only seemed to give me a smile. “Right, well then. Snaggletooth has tonight off, Cerilla, Hawkins you’ll buddy up. Myself and Duldrom will pair up for a first watch…

The wind blew against its face. What's that smell?

The other pair eventually retired to their own tents, myself and the blissful behemoth beside me looking out as the campfire's light kept the darkness at bay. “So Duldrom, where are you from?” Gor stood slightly, leaning over to his ladle and serving himself another bowlful. “I’d guess myself Mandara?” Gor took a moment to appreciate the aroma of his own creation before seating himself back down. My eyes tracking him as he moved, it was a fair question. “I was born in a convent.” Gor raised his eyebrows, I couldn’t tell if it were surprise or he’d impressed himself again with his own cooking. “Oh? And what was that called then?” I could only shrug, what was there to tell him. “And where exactly is it?” My spoon tapped against my bowl's rim. ‘An excellent question indeed.” The Giant hummed to himself, seeming satisfied in some sense, before having a heaped mouthful of stew.

*Tap tap tap* What is that sound…

The two of us sat there in silence, though the company was comfortable. A faint breeze skimming through the grasslands. The eyes of a Mandaran are said to hold exceptional sight, being able to peer through darkness like a honed piece of steel through flesh. Yet on this night I looked out through the grasslands that’d surround us; I could see only darkness. “The fire shouldn’t be dying now?” Gor set his bowl aside, eyes squinting he inspected our humble flame.

Is that light? Voices even?

“No… no, something is wrong here.” I set my bowl aside, whilst Gor continued to poke and prod at the burning flame. “It’s close, a beast of darkness.” Standing to my feet I was cautious, my head turning from side to side, my eyes squinting so hard they almost strained. “Do you think it’s our beastly bastard?” Slowly I began to back myself towards Gor, my eyes keeping out slowly… till I felt myself back into another.

I see you…

They were thin, gaunt, almost unnaturally so, the skin of their wrist tied to their bone. “Duldrom.” It was Gor. “It would appear our visitor decided to come early.” Slowly I turned myself around, “Good evening, We are a wandering traveller, in need of shelter on this cold night. May we camp with you for tonight?” A tall gaunt man with odd and disproportional limbs, a wide toothy grin worn on his face, with wet- greasy hair casting strands along his face. “EVERYONE, WE HAVE A VISITOR!” The Giant called out, his voice echoing through the far stretching grasslands, blasted fool. The Visitor tilted his head to the side, eyes staring at us, “Who is we?” ruffling from one of the tents as Snaggletooth emerged her nostrils flared, brows furrowed. “Why don’t you handle our… guest; Duldrom- was yer’ idea after all to be such a gracious host.” I suppose she had a point in that. “We are wandering travelers, these lot… are mercenaries, myself I am tagging along with them for safe passage.” I’d distance myself from this creature, my eyes keeping to it fixed.

Silence, for some moments it seemed It could only stare.

“We understand; may we sit a seat?” It gestured to a spot around the warming flame, “By all means.” Its eyes kept fixed on me, stepping closer to the flame where it’d crouch down next to it, “We appreciate your hospitality.”

The air sat silent as the sound of horse’s hooves trotted along uneven roads, Snaggletooth sat there before me, her eyes transfixed. Eventually she blinked, letting in a slight inhale, “Duldrom… what deh’ fuc-” She sat there staring at me a moment, a slightly blank look on her face while the air sat still, before eventually striking her own face twice. “So, DULDROM GREY. YOU mean to tell ME, that der’ is a beastly bastard wandering around a forest, askin’ for Tea under deh’ name Cecil?” Each over pronunciation of the words booming out, the horses which towed the wagon wailing into the air before coming onto a halt. “Yes.” The silence became staggering, “We can’ go round the forest?” I could only wag my head from side to side, my thumbs fidgeting, “Otherwise’ we’d be in Murder infested lands, with many sleepless nights.” Snaggletooth massaged her temple whilst her eyes sat squinted. 

“I propose we enter the forest, I heard mention they’re largely safe. Better we find ourselves with just a single beast than a flock.” Cerilla piped from the back, a slight twitch showing itself from the corner of her right eye. A clap emanates from Snaggletooth, her arms opening wide with her hands splayed from side to side. “Right, so we set up, wait for 'em’ to come teh’ us, and then jump him before he has time to relax then?” I could feel my eyes flick just past her shoulder. Gor is sat nodding in agreement. “I object.” I opposed the motion, “Eh’ and why would ye’ oppose ME, Duldrom?” from my pack which sits by my feet I draw out a journal. “Well because our beastly bastard had a pattern.” I could feel her eyes glaring at me, judgement… “What exactly would this supposed pattern be then?” The paper crumples slightly between my fingers. “It incited the law of hospitality.” Treading on planks as her towering figure steps towards me, “That’s funny, seemed like eh’ pretty shit guest to me.” I could feel myself squinting at her, holding eye contact as my finger traced through the pages. There it is. “The Law of Hospitality- to stand as a gracious host, to welcome those who are in need with open arms. Thou should accommodate those in need, give unto them what thou art able. Treat them as thou wouldst thy closest friend.” Snaggletooth could only stare at me in silence, her face unwavering. “Continue Mandaran.” Is that who hid away from The Rat? The sound of Hawkins’ and his inflated self. “The creature remained docile whilst the Law of Hospitality was upheld, and followed The Law of the Guest.” 

I kept my eye contact held, flipping to the next page, sweat beading on my forehead. “Thou’ shall enter one’s domicile and show respect. For they have taken you to the end, be thankful, and receptive to your host, lest you wish to cause an inconvenience as they work to meet your needs.” Snaggletooth's head pointed to the ground, a sharp inhale followed with the exhale leaves her lips. “Right, so you’re wanting us to play host? Why?” Three beats passed, “To understand it. What if it’s not the only one? This knowledge holds value, Snaggletooth. REAL value.” A foot tapping against the wagon's planks, “We could sell it?” “I wouldn’t be able to gain this information without you, that gained from brokerage will be split ¾ in my favour.” She takes a heavy step toward, “Fifty. Fifty.” I extend my hand to her, “Done deal.” Our hands clasp as we exchange a firm shake. “Pleasure doin’ business Duldrom.” “The pleasure is mine.” “RIGHT! We’re continuin’ onto Black-Marrow, I want NO debates!” Gor didn’t speak a word, merely cracking the horses to send them off. Cerilla and Hawkins exchanged a look with each other, “And our portion Snaggletooth?” Hawkins seemed antsy, “I agree with the Dyrillian, what of our deal?” Snaggletooth was faced ahead, her head not even turning to look at them. “A fair split course, who do ye’ take me for?” The two exchanged each other a glance, and a smile between them. “Excellent.” The sounds of cracking reins as the pair began to follow along. A shift. No words being spoken, not a jab to Hawkins’ as he reviewed his blunderbuss from horseback. Nor a quip from Gor as he sat there, as silent and as still as a mountain. Cerilla merely whistled, and Snaggletooth grabbed a cloth from her person and began polishing her pickaxe. Here it was, the call of combat, bloodshed. Where warriors steel their nerves, preparing themselves to dance along the line of their own mortality. It was best that I don’t disturb, they stand deserving of their time to make peace with any knots which remain untied. As I sat there all I could do was draw my quill from my well attached to my belt. As the ink coated tip met paper I began to write.

The day dragged on, the skies clotted with clouds and the screams of The Murder echoing from far in the distance we’d eventually see the form of Black-Marrow begin to take shape. We were still perhaps a couple hours travel before we’d reach our destination, and soon the skies began to darken. “Fuckin’ hold up Gor” Snaggletooths voice snapped out, Gor yanking back on the reins as the horses in front came to a halt, the two behind coming to a stop. “We dun’ want to have our pants caught around our ankles. So we’ll set up camp here tonight.” Gor’s head scanned the area, his eyes covering each rock and tree before giving the horses a crack and leading them off to the side onto a plot of earth just flat enough so one's blood wouldn’t rush to their head as they slept. Parking the wagon just beside a lone, withering oak which stands amongst a field of yellowed grass.

(For audio immersion listen to: Campfires, Jim Guthrie)

“Can’ believe you two fuckers’ are still grillin’ me on payment.” Snaggletooth began working to unload equipment, crates and the like from the wagon. Stragglers are rarely welcomed in groups such as these, so I took to my feet and began aiding her, handing supplies to her. “Suppose they were worried you were going to short them.” Gor spoke out, he’s fixing the mare’s reins to the tree. “Honestly they weren't the-...” Snaggletooth looked down to her feet before bending her head up to look at Gor, “You fuckin’ cunt!” Three beats of silence passed before a stifled laugh came out from Hawkins. “Quiet skiver!” Ouch. The Dyriallian could only scoff at the comment as he moved to collect stones. As I went to pass one of the neatly packed up tents to Snaggletooth I could see Cerilla pursing her lips as approaching the wagon. “We understand you’re good for it, Snaggletooth. At this point it is merely a formality.” Reaching past Snaggletooth she’d grab the tent, turning around, her head swiveling from side to side before moving towards a perfectly flat piece of earth. Hawkins’ returned with an armful of stones and began constructing a circle in the camp's centre, Gor lumbering over with a large square burlap sack. Crouching down on one knee and untying the string he began pulling out blocks of wood. It always astounded me in moments like these, in a world which has faced so much trauma, which has grown so distorted. To see slithers of its former self. A potential Sordesian, Karnivian, Dyriallian, Vornian, and even a Mandaran, all working together in unity. Sounds like the beginnings of a joke. But it’s not. Soon as the sun began to descend over the horizon the wind began to carry the homely, warming scent of a stew. Gor stood there hunched with a spoon in his hand, tasting and adjusting this delight as he went. 

The rest of us sat around our shoes kicked to the side, my quill in hand as it glided along paper. As the other three around me squabbled about benign topics from rashes to bashes… I missed this.

I could hear it, the voices screaming out, the pleas for mercy, the grinding of gears and wheezing lungs. The crashing of wood and screaming families, the pleas for mercy as The Guard came knocking. We were torn apart? And for what? Good people who took a pledge to stand alongside the common-folk to aid them with their knowledge. The mere sight of them was enough to break almost anyone, any recognition or familiarity that they held for the person they once knew was now replaced with nausea. As their figure, their person was warped into something which did not belong to this world. She'd gaze upon her old friend without a single hint of recognition in her eyes, once a great mind within the Lands of Sordes, a doctor who undertook an oath to help the people. Now stands before her old friend as a wretched abomination of flesh and machine. Her flesh penetrated with foreign tubes and pipes, her lungs inflated and wheezing with each breath, as the sound of churning gears filled the air… I stood there gazing upon her mutilated form as a knot would begin to tie itself within my stomach.

"HALT!" A Dyriallian, his armour bearing the pauldrons of a squad commander, with a spear held in hand it would slam to the ground. "In the name of His Majesty Villis El Mir Dravanis the III, you will bring your wagon to a stop, and do not leave till authorised for inspection". The click of a tongue behind me riding on horseback, another one of Snaggletooth's merry men… a pointed Dyriallian man Hawkins. "We've been granted passage by Southwestern Checkpoint Forty Two, we have th-" Hawkins spoke with a tone that carried a sense of absolutism, "Yeah? Well you haven't been granted passage at this one Skiver." My compatriot could do nothing but stare in that moment. With just a heavy sigh to leave Snaggletooth's lips she would stand up across from me in the wagon, "ALRIGHT LADIES N' GENTS- HALT!", her voice would bellow out like a horn charged to its gills in magite. At her word this merry band would halt in its place, "Happy to be at your service Squad Commander." The Rat would raise his hand, stepping forward in his glistening armour, "Your collaboration is most welcome madame."

The sounds of wheezing lungs and grinding gears grew closer, boots trekking through mud alongside it. I dare not look up, I can't do it, to bring myself to look into their hollowed eyes, instead I sat there shaking, the cold wind doing little to explain it. My eyes fixed to the wooden, cracked ground of the wagon. "Now who do we have here?" The Rat's voice would snake out of his lips, his eyes peering at me over the wagon's side, though I would dare not meet his gaze. "Eh? Don't worry about him, he's with us. Got his papers signed and printed here for you commander." Snaggletooth would speak out gesturing to her side as Hawkins would clear his throat, approaching with a march with the documents gripped in his hands. Though his eyes didn't leave me, they kept on me like a hawk. "I didn't ask for the papers yet did I?" The Rat would growl out before clicking his tongue at me, "Look at me boy, I SAID LOOK AT ME!" The fluttering of wings as crows which sat atop barren branches fled. So upon his word my eyes would look up to meet his, yet in that moment all I could see was her.

Her chest, artificially inflating with each breath till it looks like she may burst, the wheezing of lungs as her eyes sat hollow and twitching, a red light planted in her forehead… She was watching us. What are those sounds? That heavy thumping that I feel beating against my eardrums. The air itself goes thick, my own breaths being few and far between, as on a spotless day rain would roll down my cheeks. The Rat would loom over me, a grin growing between each cheek as he stared at me, "Good." Finally he'd turn to Hawkins, my head dropping as my body shivered the moment his attention was off me. He'd approach Hawkins, snatching the papers from his grip, bringing them to his eyes for closer inspection. "Duldrom-" Snaggletooth would speak to me in a hushed tone, keeping her eyes fixed on The Rat, "Bring your bloody pants up and pull it together." She was right, though my eyes would lift, they dare not meet the gaze of that monstrous machine.

Hawkins stood there, his chest inflated as he faced one of his own kind. The Rat barely seemed to acknowledge his existence, his eyes scanning through with an efficiency comparable to a Nodling. "So you carry a seal granted by his Lordship Montague Pike…" his eyes were squinted, his words trailing off with a click of his tongue, and the sound of squelching as his foot would tap. "Indeed! So perhaps if we could move this rather unnecessar-" "Then what brings you all to Varkosse, Skiver? You're all rather far from Lyonhart aren't you?" The Rat would snatch the words from Hawkins' mouth before the poor man even had a chance to speak, as Hawkins could only begin to grind his teeth at the constant interruption.

It all seemed rather silly, distorted even, from those days where I remember the crackling of fireworks and the scent of baked goods wafting through the air of the harvest festival. Where the Dyriallian Guards stood tall as figures within their community, lending a sense of safety. To see that all washed away as a rat squabbles over ink on paper… The Great Decay, it wasn't just the unfurling of technology and bloody wars, nor was it the horrors committed onto my people… it was also the decay of the unity which bound us together.

"We're hunting beasts n' bastards" Snaggletooth would insert herself into the conversation as Hawkins was about to open his mouth to deaf ears. "Seein' as you noble guardsmen are too busy guardin' bridges… someone's got to get their hands dirty don't they?" She stood atop the wagon beside me, her arms crossed, standing with such bluster you would be forgiven if you forgot that she stood at just four feet tall. "Yes… I suppose you'd have a point there, best to allow the lowlifes to throw themselves into certain death against those blasted beasts." The Rat seemed skeptical to argue against a possible native of The Royal Heartlands, though one could not blame him. His finger would trace along the paper, stopping at a point as his eyes would squint at Snaggletooth. "Well then… you're free to go, Travellers, The Empire thanks you for your cooperation."

The sound of squelching mud sounds out as the guardsmen return to their post, the wheezing lungs and churning gears of the Corpus Automata along with them. I was safe… I was- "You were safe this time, Duldrom." There he was, his yellow eyes peering over the side of the wagon at me, devoid of his humanity, that rancid fucking Rat. "You found yourself in good company didn't you? But how long will that last?" As those words left his lips The Rat would begin walking to his post waving his hand in the air, "You may move along now". I could feel it, deep within my chest a rushing sense of bitterness, a burning fire deep within, he saw me as weak, helpless… "I've lived enough of your lifetimes to know Rat! To know those who stand the test of time, to those who stand upon bridges. So I can assure you that this'll last me plenty." The Rat would freeze in his tracks, his head facing forwards not even turning to face me. "We shall see Duldrom, we shall see… until next time my knife eared friend. NOW MOVE ALONG!"

Wheezing lungs and churning gears soon became a distant sound carried by the wind. As the creaking wheels of the wagon sounded out. Gor in the front, Snaggletooth besides me and two behind, we set out along fog coated roads. Where through the mists one could almost make out the silhouette of The Great Oak of Varkon far in the distance. The sounds of the Automata eventually left my ears, we had passed. How dare he, that rancid rat, he’s nothing but a puppet, a pawn, he dare thinks that he gets to hold such power over me? He knows nothing, nothing of the Dyriallian Guard of old, figures he truly stood with purpose- they gave a person something to aspire to. Now what? They stand on bridges, taunting those with their slither of power as they squabble over paperwork… pathetic. They think themselves unbeatable with their wretched machines… but they don’t know the half of it, they don’t know what truly lur- “Wow Hawkins, way to show him who's in charge.” … Who’s that? My eyes darted only to be caught by a woman of Vornish descent who rode alongside Hawkins. “I don’t want to talk about it…” I couldn’t believe my eyes, never before had I seen someone who held themselves so high so quickly deflate. “About what specifically Hawkins? The fact that he called you a Skiver twice to your face and you didn’t even raise a finger? Or could it be when your balls fled up inside you when he cut you off?”

“Hohoho” a low rumbling laugh rolled out, shaking the wagon as it bounced along uneven earth. A low bellow that only one such as Gor had any hope of producing, “Cerila… that was a low blow meant for someone who rides on such a high horse.” A play on words I honestly didn’t expect from Gor, though looking at Hawkins’ it seemed that even he could crack a smile at the behemoth's jab. “By the name of Ulfmir Tharrius Ulgard of Dyrial, Gor. How long have you been waiting to use that one for?” The giant fell silent for some moments, “Don’t worry about it…” The squabbling which ensued could surely be described as magnificent in proportions, curses and jabs being thrown like flowers at a wedding. It was… refreshing to hear such nonsense, it was- “Personally, I dun’ think we are given enough attention to the centuries old man shaking like a newborn deer.” Snaggletooth finally piped up, and in which moment I could tell that my time had come. “I mean what was with that Duldrom? What have ya’ got to be getting so wound up about? Ye’ looked like you’d seen a ghost!” Snaggletooth's laugh came out dry as she slapped her knee. “An old acquaintance would probably be more accurate.” She’d blink at me, “An acquaintance? What do you mea-... oh.” An awkward cough sounded out from Gor, the bickering voices of Hawkins and Cerilla falling all but silent, as I felt the wagon tremor with the shake of Snaggletooth's leg.

“ANYWAYS DULDROM!” Snaggletooth's voice rushed out with a sudden boom, raising her hands explosively above her head before slapping them down upon her knees, ceasing the tremors. “You were telling us about that cabin with the visitor, weren't ya?” I could feel myself biting my lip and my thumbs twiddled together, “Yes I suppose I was… well then to resume”

We continue the account of Theodore.

Theodore stood there, his ear pressed against the door. Trying to listen out for any hint of what was going on amidst the howling wind of the night. The sheet metal roof shook, whistling as the wind rushed through the trees… Did my father open the door? It was difficult to tell, were those footsteps? The boy was unsure. Pulling his ear back from the door the child shifted, lightfooted across the old wooden planks. One wrong step, the plank creaks out, Theodore froze, his heart sinking. Is this it? He stood there a moment, his knuckles turning white as they clenched around the hunting knife. Nothing is coming? He continued to move, to the corner of his room, a hatch to below the creaking boards. Setting the knife aside and grabbing the hatch with both hands Theodore slowly pulled it open so as to not make any noise. He’d stand there a moment, his eyes flicking between the hatch and the door before he’d eventually pick up his knife, setting it between his teeth. He’d step down into the narrow space between the earth and wooden boards, shutting the hatch after him. From here he could hear footsteps, two sets of them as the boards creaked, was it a visitor?

The Man stepped aside, allowing his late night guest to come in who wore a wide, toothy grin across his face as it stepped in. “What a lovely abode you have. We appreciate your hospitality.” The man slowly shut the door as the visitor stepped in, he was now bound. “Eh? thank you… built the place myself some years back, the place is a bit shit, but it's a labour of love if anything else…” The Visitor stepped forward three paces, his head turned, left to right as he looked around the room. “It has been a long day, we are hungry- do you have food to spare?” The Man scratched the back of his head, “Erm, rations this month are running low” The Visitor’s head froze, “But I’m sure we can fix somethin’ up for you.” “Who is we?” The question hung in the air, the silence was enough to deafen the night's howling winds. “We… we, we, me and my grandmother's famous recipes, known all across Varkosse… tell me have you ever tried Black-Marrow Delight?” It turns to The Man, without a word, and takes four paces forward towards him, “No we have not, we would like to try some.” The Man took a deep breath, “Wonderful, why don’t you take a seat then?” He’d extend his hand out gesturing towards the dining room table where four chairs sat. Five paces towards the dining room table creak out through the floor boards. As they did the man looked down to the old boards and his eyes widened. “Why four chairs?” The visitor inquired, “Eh!? Well incase w- I have a fine guest such as yourself.” The Man quickly rushed to his kitchen.

The sounds of clattering pots and pans sound out, a knife chopping against a wooden board. The Visitor sat there, his chest neither inflating nor deflating, nor did his knee bounce. His hands placed by his side as his head swiveled from side to side. Theodore laid there on his back beneath the flooring, knife clutched between his teeth, watching. The Man bit his lip, trying to find something to say, “So… friend. Didn’t catch your name?” The Man was dicing onions. “Cecil.” “Ah, didn’t strike me as Cecil.” Silence yet again filled the room, “So Cecil… where do you come from?” The small gasp of a child sounded out, the sound of the knife against the wooden chopping board halted. As The Man slowly turned his head to face Cecil, his knuckles white clenched against the knife's handle the colour dropped from his face. His breath caught within his throat. He was looking right at him, his neck bending, contorting in a way in which no man should. He was devoid of his unsettling smile which at this point felt welcoming. Devoid of any recognition of his humanity, for what sat in his home was no man.

“You told us there is no one else here, DO YOU LIE TO US!?” The Visitor’s voice bellows out down towards the floor boards, spraying from its mouth to between the board’s cracks. “No no no, NO THERE IS NO ONE ELSE HERE!” The Man screams back, knife clutched in one hand as he picks up his axe with the other. The Visitor’s head rotates towards The Man though its neck keeps bent, with bone pressing against flesh. Cecil stands from his chair,  The Man must bend his neck to look up to the intruder who towered above. “It is rude to lie to a guest, do you dare break the law of hospitality?” The Man's face sat blank as he stared, three deep breaths, followed by a scream so loud it’d shake the very foundations of his home. Four heavy paces towards The Visitor suddenly halted, The Man's screams being washed away as he stood there, frozen in shock. The sound of cracking bones, the sounds of gore and viscera as flesh was torn apart as a high pitched screech lurched out, the sound of metal clattering to the floor as the man lets out a single word, “Run.” For what stood before him was no man, nor was it a monster, it was an abomination born from a nightmare. Its body split from its head to its torso, sharp teeth lining its cavity to create a gnashing maw. Barbed, lacerous tongues protruding from within, screams cry out, the crunching of bones and the sound of gargling, his blood pouring from his body and seeping through the floorboards below.

Theodore laid there, his face white, painted with streaks of red, his eyes widened as his breath halted. The sound of crunching bones ringing out in his ears for what felt like hours… “Theodore remained there, frozen, until he heard a thump above him, his face being painted anew. Six paces towards the door, the sound of it creaking as it opened and shut. Theodore remained underneath his boards until the late afternoon the next day, before finding his way to Armsreach…” The air sat silent as the sound of horse’s hooves trotted along uneven roads, Snaggletooth sat there before me, her eyes transfixed. Eventually she’d blink, letting in a slight inhale, “Duldrom… what deh’ fuc-”

In my attempts to catalogue the Great Decay I have found myself on a journey through The Lands of Sordes. Pushed on by a simple question, why? Why have we fallen into such squalor? There was once a time where life felt utopic, where the people could rest easy in the certainty of life. After leaving Armsreach I joined a caravan travelling north east from Karnes, the last stop before The Dying Lands of Varkosse. As a young boy almost 300 years ago now I remember coming here during the harvest festival with my family. Cresting over a hill as the region's capital of Varkon came into view. The smell of popped corn, fresh pies, as the sound fire-works rang out being sent off into the skies. It must have been that moment which gave me my purpose, the desire to preserve memory. So that moment, and others like it would never be lost.

The caravan which I travel with was led by a peculiar woman of Dwarven stature by the name of Snaggletooth. Though she denounced any ties to the Dwarvish people I had my doubts, perhaps it was her five o’clock shadow or the pickaxe she carried on her back, it's hard to say. “So Duldrom- you do perhaps remember our deal, don’t you?” Snaggletooth spoke in a way which was rather matter of fact, with one eye fixed on me the other laid milky. “Of course, you guarantee my safe passage with your merry band of men, and I best advise you to know what's to come.” It almost seemed baffling, that stories seemed to hold so much value these days. Though I suppose in a time filled with so much unknown, having someone by your side who knows something can be quite comforting. And to be quite honest I feel as though I’d be a fool not to leverage my purpose in some regard. 

As we bounced along the road in the back of a wagon, the sky which has perhaps not shown any blue in the last two decades did us the very rare courtesy of choosing to not as well rain. About four others rode with us on horseback, though I hadn't had the chance to converse with them yet, aside from the man who sat as Snaggletooth's number two. He carried a large imposing figure with a head so bare you could see it glisten in the sun if we were ever blessed with such a day. He went by the name of Gor, a man of few words, much action, and as I have come to learn, a firm passion for the culinary arts.

Their armour and weaponry was brandished with marks, cracks and scratches, each indent serving as a well of mystery waiting to be filled… “So? Spit it out!” Snaggletooth would snap at me, a vein on the side of her head bulging out as though a serpent was writhing its way through her brain. “Of course, why would I stiff such good company?” Unfurling a large map in my lap my finger would land upon the far stretching Black-Marrow forest. “Fair point Duldrom, a dainty one such as yourself would be snuffed out in an instant if he were travelling on his own wouldn’t ya?” Snaggletooth spoke with a tone which almost made it sound like she was trying to stab me with a serrated blade. “And a bullheaded one such as you would undoubtedly march into her own demise.” As those words left my lips I could yet again see her vein crawling serpent begin to rise. “Cut to the story elf.”, “Gladly.”

“This story was taken from a young boy who I met during my stay in Armsreach, having come from a logging site about half a day’s journey out on foot found within Black-Marrow Forest”

In the middle of a dense forest sits a home, far out from the nearest village, with stacks of logs piled up outside. Wind howls all around, trees shake, and rainfall patters. The darkness of night has begun to wrap itself around this home, barely being pushed out by faint candle light which shines through an old, cracked window, as two figures move within.

“My son, what you must grasp is that not all men are born equal.” The man sits at the foot of the boy’s bed, in a near-empty room illuminated by candlelight. “Some, for better or for worse, are born with a purpose, a purpose so grand it is sure to bring chaos into the world.”

Peering through the darkness, its stomach growls.

Light reflects off the boy’s eyes, or was it a glimmer of hope? “What’s that look for? Don’t be getting your hopes up, boy, these people care nothing for the likes of you or me.” The man leans over, resting his elbows upon his knees, his eyes fixed on his son. “You might be hopeful that one of these people may come with such a purpose to lift us from this, and back to the times of The Alliance.” The man lifts his body and reaches over, laying his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Such dreams are foolish, Theodore. If even ‘The Great Architect’ Rylock cannot save us, then we truly are fucked.” The two sit there as silence fills the room. Far off in the distance, through the howling wind and the scraping of branches against the bedroom window, a high-pitched screech sounds out.

Is that light?

“Father...” The boy finally speaks up, his voice shaky and hushed. “Who exactly is Rylock?” “…Who is Rylock?” The man’s lungs swell with laughter, as tears begin to well in his eyes. “How am I supposed to take that? Never… never in my years did I think I’d hear such a question.”

“He was a man of common blood my boy, much like you or I.” The boy would look at his father with eyes filled with skepticism, “So… wait I don’t understand, why speak so highly of a man like you or I?” the old man would let out an amused snort at the question, “Because Theodore he was not like you or I, he was a man who saw things differently.” The father’s eyes would drift over Theodore's shoulder, and through the pouring rain which pattered against the windows and the sheet metal roof of their home. “You know those steel poles which sit just beyond the forest.” “The iron towers?” the boy inquired. “Yes… those towers could once light an entire village, without the need for flint nor steel, or wood to burn. If I was asked to make such a thing I’d spit in the person's face and call them a lunatic. Yet somehow Rylock understood how to make it possible… he was a man who rose to meet the authority of kings and queens until one day he van-”.

What’s that noise?

The faint sound of bells rings out from the forest. The father stiffens, his head turning to the window, peering out at falling rain and rustling trees. His eyes darted between the tall standing trees and the flickering light of the torches strapped around their base. Is that movement? Or just a wind-swept tree within the grove?

“The alarms…” he mutters. Snuffing out the candle which sits upon the bedside table, “Theodore. What are the rules?” The father grabs an old wooden axe which leans against it, and he moves to the door. “Theodore?” The young boy had leapt from his bed, grabbing a small hunting knife from the drawer of his bedside table. “Uh—don’t make a sound, don’t move till sunrise, don’t try to be a hero.” The father nods, grabbing hold of the doorknob. “And how far is it to Armsreach?” “Seven hours by foot.” A faint smile makes its way onto the father’s face. “That’s right, and go to the nearest Dyriallian Guard you can find… see you at sunrise.” The father opens the door, stepping out of the room.

I see you…

The air sat empty, one could hear as much as a pin drop against the rotting wooded floors of this home. Clasping the axe and holding his breath, the man would shift through the house, as any light showing people lived within was snuffed out. The man's knees almost fell weak, though he pushed himself to stand tall, taking strides to the fireplace which crackled away in the hearth and dousing the flames in a pail of water which sat beside it. Now plunged into darkness waiting for what's to come. The howling winds of the night seemed to only grow louder, rain beating the sheet metal roof of his home, was something coming? Or was it a false alarm?

The man would move around a corner, tucking himself away as his eyes would peek out from around the bend. Theodore's door, the hearth, the windows, the front door. His eyes would dart between all these things, as sweat would begin to drip from his brow. Five, ten, fifteen minutes would pass… perhaps it was a cretin, a false alarm? His eyes would dart, Theodore's door, the hearth, the windows, whose that? A creak of old wood, the front door, three firm knocks… it's here.

The boy sat in his room, the sounds of heavy footsteps, splashing and hissing now vanishing from the air. His hands clasping a hunters knife that was almost too big for him, stood by the base of his bed his knees would hold firm. His eyes darting, beneath the bed, into the wardrobe, or by the door? Beneath the bed, into the wardrobe… the door. He carried light footsteps with him, moving gingerly across the old creaking boards without a sound, taking care with each step, maneuvering his way through the room inching closer and closer to the door. His ears pricked up as he got closer, heavy breathing. Finally arriving he'd press his ear against it, listening out that heavy breathing sounded more clear, a sense of comfort resting within his chest. KNOCK- KNOCK- KNOCK. Three firm knocks from the other side of the house, a beast of darkness? Probably not? But a visitor? At this time? How odd.

The man stood there around the bend, his eyes fixed on the door, the dark silhouette of a man standing outside in the howling winds and pouring rain. Was it a friend or foe? The question toiled within the man's mind. His eyes would dart, Theodore's door, the front door, three firm knocks would once again ring out from the visitor. It was rude for a Varkossian to leave a guest waiting, slowly the man would step out from behind his cover, moving across the old boards which would creak with each step he took. The man stood before the door, a thin veil between everything within and that which sat waiting. As one hand would release the axe he'd set the chain securing the door before placing his hand upon the knob. Moments passed, the air being caught within his throat though his breathing remained heavy, three firm knocks.

Those final knocks would linger in the air, the man's eyes fixed to the ground… three deep breaths. Turning the knob with his axe in hand that door would creak open, the chain being pulled taut leaving a sliver for the man to gaze through. Is it a visitor? Before the man stood another drenched by the pouring rain. The man's eyes would travel up the visitor's figure, his skin pale, thinning hair like string hanging down the sides of his head as his crown laid bare. His arms thin and long, as on his face he bore a toothy smile. "Good evening-" his words were calm, soft spoken, sounding as though they were spoken with a silver tongue. "We are wondering if you might be able to help, we are a traveller, in need of a place to rest his weary head." The man would not say a word, his eyes meeting the visitor's with a piercing gaze, "A traveller? You seem mighty underprepared to be travelling these lands." The visitor wore tattered garbs, without a single item on his person to defend himself, was he a fool? "Yes. Yes I am- my camp was attacked, I have been trying to find someplace… safe. May I please come in?" The man stood there, unanswering the visitor's inquiry and shutting the thin sliver between the two. The man however was bound, as all Varkons are, to the law of hospitality. Unbolting the chain the door would creak open, the man clasping the axe so hard his knuckles turned white. "It'd be rude of me to turn away someone in need, please come in."

The smile in which the visitor wore would widen as it-

"Dyriallians up ahead!" Gor's voice bellowed out, snatching me out of my rhythm. Snaggletooth sat before me, her eyes fixed whilst her hands were clasped together. Blinking at the sound of her comrades' voices, "Again?" looking up ahead there they were, stationed on a bridge, armour glistening with silver and gold, the churning sounds of gears and a wheezing breath bellowing out. "This is the second bloody checkpoint we crossed today!" I could feel it, that familiar feeling as a knot began to tie itself deep within my stomach.

In my attempts to catalogue the Great Decay I have found myself on a journey through The Lands of Sordes. Pushed on by a simple question, why? Why have we fallen into such squalor? There was once a time where life felt utopic, where the people could rest easy in the certainty of life. After leaving Armsreach I joined a caravan travelling north east from Karnes, the last stop before The Dying Lands of Varkosse. As a young boy almost 300 years ago now I remember coming here during the harvest festival with my family. Cresting over a hill as the region's capital of Varkon came into view. The smell of popped corn, fresh pies, as the sound fire-works rang out being sent off into the skies. It must have been that moment which gave me my purpose, the desire to preserve memory. So that moment, and others like it would never be lost.

The caravan which I travel with was led by a peculiar woman of Dwarven stature by the name of Snaggletooth. Though she denounced any ties to the Dwarvish people I had my doubts, perhaps it was her five o’clock shadow or the pickaxe she carried on her back, it's hard to say. “So Duldrom- you do perhaps remember our deal, don’t you?” Snaggletooth spoke in a way which was rather matter of fact, with one eye fixed on me the other laid milky. “Of course, you guarantee my safe passage with your merry band of men, and I best advise you to know what's to come.” It almost seemed baffling, that stories seemed to hold so much value these days. Though I suppose in a time filled with so much unknown, having someone by your side who knows something can be quite comforting. And to be quite honest I feel as though I’d be a fool not to leverage my purpose in some regard. 

As we bounced along the road in the back of a wagon, the sky which has perhaps not shown any blue in the last two decades did us the very rare courtesy of choosing to not as well rain. About four others rode with us on horseback, though I hadn't had the chance to converse with them yet, aside from the man who sat as Snaggletooth's number two. He carried a large imposing figure with a head so bare you could see it glisten in the sun if we were ever blessed with such a day. He went by the name of Gor, a man of few words, much action, and as I have come to learn, a firm passion for the culinary arts.

Their armour and weaponry was brandished with marks, cracks and scratches, each indent serving as a well of mystery waiting to be filled… “So? Spit it out!” Snaggletooth would snap at me, a vein on the side of her head bulging out as though a serpent was writhing its way through her brain. “Of course, why would I stiff such good company?” Unfurling a large map in my lap my finger would land upon the far stretching Black-Marrow forest. “Fair point Duldrom, a dainty one such as yourself would be snuffed out in an instant if he were travelling on his own wouldn’t ya?” Snaggletooth spoke with a tone which almost made it sound like she was trying to stab me with a serrated blade. “And a bullheaded one such as you would undoubtedly march into her own demise.” As those words left my lips I could yet again see her vein crawling serpent begin to rise. “Cut to the story elf.”, “Gladly.”

“This story was taken from a young boy who I met during my stay in Armsreach, having come from a logging site about half a day’s journey out on foot found within Black-Marrow Forest”

In the middle of a dense forest sits a home, far out from the nearest village, with stacks of logs piled up outside. Wind howls all around, trees shake, and rainfall patters. The darkness of night has begun to wrap itself around this home, barely being pushed out by faint candle light which shines through an old, cracked window, as two figures move within.

“My son, what you must grasp is that not all men are born equal.” The man sits at the foot of the boy’s bed, in a near-empty room illuminated by candlelight. “Some, for better or for worse, are born with a purpose, a purpose so grand it is sure to bring chaos into the world.”

Peering through the darkness, its stomach growls.

Light reflects off the boy’s eyes, or was it a glimmer of hope? “What’s that look for? Don’t be getting your hopes up, boy, these people care nothing for the likes of you or me.” The man leans over, resting his elbows upon his knees, his eyes fixed on his son. “You might be hopeful that one of these people may come with such a purpose to lift us from this, and back to the times of The Alliance.” The man lifts his body and reaches over, laying his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Such dreams are foolish, Theodore. If even ‘The Great Architect’ Rylock cannot save us, then we truly are fucked.” The two sit there as silence fills the room. Far off in the distance, through the howling wind and the scraping of branches against the bedroom window, a high-pitched screech sounds out.

Is that light?

“Father...” The boy finally speaks up, his voice shaky and hushed. “Who exactly is Rylock?” “…Who is Rylock?” The man’s lungs swell with laughter, as tears begin to well in his eyes. “How am I supposed to take that? Never… never in my years did I think I’d hear such a question.”

“He was a man of common blood my boy, much like you or I.” The boy would look at his father with eyes filled with skepticism, “So… wait I don’t understand, why speak so highly of a man like you or I?” the old man would let out an amused snort at the question, “Because Theodore he was not like you or I, he was a man who saw things differently.” The father’s eyes would drift over Theodore's shoulder, and through the pouring rain which pattered against the windows and the sheet metal roof of their home. “You know those steel poles which sit just beyond the forest.” “The iron towers?” the boy inquired. “Yes… those towers could once light an entire village, without the need for flint nor steel, or wood to burn. If I was asked to make such a thing I’d spit in the person's face and call them a lunatic. Yet somehow Rylock understood how to make it possible… he was a man who rose to meet the authority of kings and queens until one day he van-”.

What’s that noise?

The faint sound of bells rings out from the forest. The father stiffens, his head turning to the window, peering out at falling rain and rustling trees. His eyes dart between the tall standing trees and the flickering light of the torches strapped around their base. Is that movement? Or just a wind-swept tree within the grove?

“The alarms…” he mutters. Snuffing out the candle which sits upon the bedside table, “Theodore. What are the rules?” The father grabs an old wooden axe which leans against it, and he moves to the door. “Theodore?” The young boy had leapt from his bed, grabbing a small hunting knife from the drawer of his bedside table. “Uh—don’t make a sound, don’t move till sunrise, don’t try to be a hero.” The father nods, grabbing hold of the doorknob. “And how far is it to Armsreach?” “Seven hours by foot.” A faint smile makes its way onto the father’s face. “That’s right, and go to the nearest Dyriallian Guard you can find… see you at sunrise.” The father opens the door, stepping out of the room.

I see you…