When a journey is lain out before you with no end in sight Andin found that the hardest thing was to take that first step. If not for a hawk-eyed assistant, the letter would have been lost among the deluge of documents that shuffled through Andin’s lab. While he had heard hushed hints of hellish turmoil in the west, Andin had given it no mind. Rumors had a way of spreading like sickness, even amongst government officials. It was a fanciful story of dragons and devils that one would be more likely to hear from a bard’s mouth after his third tankard of ale than on the lips of a noble. This dismissal stayed with the halfling until he started to his lab.
As he was showing his papers to the guards so he could leave the royal district, a pair of riders sped by him, out of the district, toward the city gates. The halfling watched with curious eyes as the horses churned up the earth in their wake. Calls of “Make way!” rang in his ears. In all his years, Andin had never seen men ride so quickly through the streets. He could feel something in his stomach, as if a single piece of ice had spontaneously sprouted within him. Making his way onward, it wasn’t long before the sound of hooves began to thunder behind him again. Another pair of riders bearing the royal colors, dressed for a long journey rode by at the same feverish pace. Andin’s doubt became more tangible and his pace quickened. More riders filled the street with their colors and traveling cloaks, many went toward the city gates, others rode to other parts of the city. Andin kicked it up to a healthy jog as he looked up. Dozens of doves were being sent off into the sky. Something was happening and that doubt in the pit of his stomach just grew and grew.
As he was handed the envelope by his assistant, he could see the unease on the boy’s face. The thunder of hooves passed them by as Andin turned the letter over to study the seal. A surprised twinkle in Andin’s eye and a warm smile helped put his assistant at ease as the halfling peeled away the seal of the Grand Wizard. “I believe our production orders are about to change Pyotr. Go and fetch the stored tallow and lard. When you’re done, you and Higgins shall go to the butcher. Bring back as much fat as you can carry,” said Andin as he walked with the unopened letter to his desk. He watched as his assistant went into the back before opening the letter. A lit candle sat on Andin’s desk, pooling crimson red wax on the dish it sat upon. It wasn’t necessary with the sunlight that flooded the lab through its windows but the dancing flame was a convenient and relaxing distraction at times. He took some time to read through the letter as different brews bubbled in the background. He could hear Higgins complaining in the back, seems Pyotr had roped him into hauling out the tallow and lard as well, lazy boy. He hummed a little tune as he opened a drawer at his desk and withdrew a thin stick of incense. A relaxed smile hung on his face as he held the incense to the candle’s flame, watched it catch, and took a deep whiff of the smoke.
He exhaled unsteadily.
Entry #3
The trip so far has gone as expected but I grow worried. The evacuation orders have spread much quicker than I could have imagined, surely there must have been some magical support. Possibly alchemical? I’ve seen many posters pointing toward the Six Taverns. In any other case I’d believe it a ploy to lure in those thinking themselves capable of bringing about the Mad King’s downfall but the letter I received make me sure this is no trick. If a Grand Wizard’s seal could be forged, then the realm is in much graver danger than we could have ever thought. It bothers me though the notice was made so public. Surely the Grand Wizard would know that the enemies of the realm would take notice. Perhaps it’s a trap for them? Perhaps he seeks to smoke out the Mad King’s allies and strike a blow at the Six Taverns with an ambush. But how would he know who to trust if he draws in friend and foe alike? There’s an ingredient missing.
Entry #4
I’ve been taking the main roads to Six Taverns and have seen the droves of evacuees firsthand. I have never seen so many Gyfdin all at once, like a river of flesh. Many are heading toward Castle (BLAHBLAH), others have heard of refugee camps being constructed along the walls of the capital. I hope the day does not come where they regret that decision. It isn’t all misery though. Many of those gifted in the arts have taken on the role of rallying the others into higher spirits with songs of hope and extravagant talents. I’ll never be able to forget the blindfolded man juggling seven axes. Truly extraordinary.
Entry #5
The injuries though have been surprising. I’d heard talk of cultists razing towns in the west. While I expected some spell-caused injuries, I was startled by the sheer number. They have many mages among their forces. I may need to come up with a way to defend myself but unfortunately, I’ve not had the luck to have a magically-inclined volunteer to work on.
Entry #6
I’ve done what I could for those that I’ve come across. For many, rot had already began to settle in so amputation was generally the only option. Many refused. There wasn’t enough drink to numb the pain and my supplies are for the future, not for now. If I had known what I would have found, I would have brought more supplies to help these people. I’ve done the best I can though so I can confidently say that more people will reach th
Andin looked up from his notebook as he slowly shut its pages around a ribbon. He kept still as someone heavy trying to be light crept through his camp. His ears twitched slightly as he heard a knife point poke at the pan he had set up over his campfire the night before, then the sound of chewing. Andin frowned at the loss of his breakfast.
In time, a sword poked through the flaps of his tent before moving them aside. A man’s dirty face peered through with beady eyes and a misshapen nose to find a halfling frantically hiding something in his bedroll.
“Oi, unless yer wanting to be a quarterling, ya betta be gittin’ out whateva ya got ‘idden ther ya slip.
Andin flipped over to face the human. His hair was wild, eyes still fighting off the last vestiges of sleep. As soon as he saw the blade glint menacingly in the last remnants of moon light, the halfling froze, eyes wide. “P-please, no.” The man sneered as he leaned in and grabbed the halfling by the hair and dragged him out of the tent. Andin kicked and struggled but the man was literally twice his size, easily throwing him aside. He hit the ground with a hard thud, landing on his side, facing away. The man snickered as the halfling curled in on his himself in pain.
The man kept his sword leveled at the trembling halfling as he rummaged through the bedroll. Little bugger was probably trying to hide his coinpurse, he could even see the shape of it. Throwing aside the covers he found his prize, a waterskin. The man frowned as he picked up the skin and shook it. Sounded like water. Keeping an eye on the halfling, he uncorked the skin with his mouth and took a deep whiff. It wasn’t water. The man suddenly spasmed, coughing roughly. Maybe he should have stopped smoking. He could tell it had done a number on him. He hocked up some phlegm and spit it onto the halfling as he laughed and took a long swig of the wine he had found. Damn that was good. No wonder the slip had tried to hide it away.
“Tryin’ t’hide drink from yer guest ay?”
Andin’s trembling intensified as the man drank and when the man’s sword wavered, the halfling surged up onto his feet, dagger in hand. Silent, he lunged forward and was promptly kicked aside. He landed on his back, dagger out of hand. With a cruel sneer, the man in his tattered soldier’s uniform kicked away the dagger and laughed at the halfling’s feeble attempt. He stepped over quickly and planted a boot on the little man’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “Good try, mate,” he spit out. Andin’s eyes began to tear up as the man twist his foot into his chest. With a thrust, he planted his sword next to Andin’s head causing him to flinch away. He leaned down, putting more and more weight on the halfling’s small, struggling body. Suddenly he grabbed the halfling by the throat with a meaty hand. Andin could feel the sweat and grime on his skin.
“I was gonna just kill ya but now ya gotta die real slow. I don’t like peoples who try at cheap shots,” he whispered, putting his face close to Andin’s so he could spit out the last insult the halfling would hear, “ya slip.” His breath stank and in that moment with the man’s mouth open, Andin sprayed him with the contents in his mouth. The man turned his head, coughing and sputtering. “You fuc-“ the man started before suddenly choking on his words. Confusion ran through his eyes as he tried to breathe and found he couldn’t. An itching feeling was spreading across his skin and when he tried to close his grip and crush the halfling’s windpipe he found that his fingers had already gone numb. He tried to get up but found that the numbness wasn’t just in his fingers; his legs wobbled and gave out under him. The numbness was spreading, his skin was itching, and everything was continuing to swell. He tried to whimper as his vision swam but couldn’t even manage that through his throat.
Andin peeled the man’s hand off him and stoop up as the deserter pawed at his neck with useless hands. He went around and picked up the waterskin before dumping the contents out onto the grass. The man’s eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head as his face swelled into a horrific caricature of what it once was. He skin was red and inflamed and beads of sweat poured out into the ground as he rolled onto his side in some attempt to crawl. Andin brushed the dust off himself and began to gather his supplies. After scraping out burnt chunks of fish from his pan, Andin proceeded to packing everything in his tent up, nice and orderly as the deserter convulsed violently in the dirt.
With a bite of his trail rations in his mouth (jerky with hard tack) and a refreshing swig of water, Andin went on his way, whistling a little ditty he’d learned from an Elven bard. In his wake, the grotesque body, twisted, bloated, tinged an ugly purple color, finally started to grow cold.
Andin’s soft footsteps carried him in the forest near one of the main roads leading to Six Corners. He was close. He knew because he could smell ash, and bodies rotting. His heart sank at this turn of events. He knew to expect it but that didn’t diminish the tragedy of the situation. Why these people were not warned, he had only an inkling of a guess. Trailblazing through bushes and trees, it was a bit hard to see where he went. At the very least he knew that straight forward would take him to his intended destination and so long as he kept the road in sight, he shouldn’t get lost! And he didn’t! What Andin didn’t expect was that when he stepped through the next thick patch of bushes , it would be into a clearing where a tent had been set up. Over the bushes on the other end he could see the grey ruins of Six Corners. Andin froze as he looked at the tent, waiting for someone to burst out or make themselves known. After several seconds with no motion, Andin took his first step. Whoever this person was, he wanted to avoid them until they met at Six Corners. Even Andin was on edge with the deafening silence of the once bustling trading post and two jumpy strangers was not a recipe for peaceful resolution. His bare feet fell silently on the grass, while the Good Folk were not strong like humans, hardy like dwarfs, or as long-lived as elves, they were slippery, light on their feet. He made it across the clearing, keeping a close eye on the tent for any activity. Slowly stepping into a bush, it was shown then that even a halfling’s luck can run out, as Andin bumped into someone hiding in the bush. Startled, he stumbled backwards and tripped, landing on his rear as he finally noticed what was in front of him.
“H-hello there, friend!” he stammered nervously as he crept back, his mind frantically assessing the situation.
As he was showing his papers to the guards so he could leave the royal district, a pair of riders sped by him, out of the district, toward the city gates. The halfling watched with curious eyes as the horses churned up the earth in their wake. Calls of “Make way!” rang in his ears. In all his years, Andin had never seen men ride so quickly through the streets. He could feel something in his stomach, as if a single piece of ice had spontaneously sprouted within him. Making his way onward, it wasn’t long before the sound of hooves began to thunder behind him again. Another pair of riders bearing the royal colors, dressed for a long journey rode by at the same feverish pace. Andin’s doubt became more tangible and his pace quickened. More riders filled the street with their colors and traveling cloaks, many went toward the city gates, others rode to other parts of the city. Andin kicked it up to a healthy jog as he looked up. Dozens of doves were being sent off into the sky. Something was happening and that doubt in the pit of his stomach just grew and grew.
As he was handed the envelope by his assistant, he could see the unease on the boy’s face. The thunder of hooves passed them by as Andin turned the letter over to study the seal. A surprised twinkle in Andin’s eye and a warm smile helped put his assistant at ease as the halfling peeled away the seal of the Grand Wizard. “I believe our production orders are about to change Pyotr. Go and fetch the stored tallow and lard. When you’re done, you and Higgins shall go to the butcher. Bring back as much fat as you can carry,” said Andin as he walked with the unopened letter to his desk. He watched as his assistant went into the back before opening the letter. A lit candle sat on Andin’s desk, pooling crimson red wax on the dish it sat upon. It wasn’t necessary with the sunlight that flooded the lab through its windows but the dancing flame was a convenient and relaxing distraction at times. He took some time to read through the letter as different brews bubbled in the background. He could hear Higgins complaining in the back, seems Pyotr had roped him into hauling out the tallow and lard as well, lazy boy. He hummed a little tune as he opened a drawer at his desk and withdrew a thin stick of incense. A relaxed smile hung on his face as he held the incense to the candle’s flame, watched it catch, and took a deep whiff of the smoke.
He exhaled unsteadily.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Entry #3
The trip so far has gone as expected but I grow worried. The evacuation orders have spread much quicker than I could have imagined, surely there must have been some magical support. Possibly alchemical? I’ve seen many posters pointing toward the Six Taverns. In any other case I’d believe it a ploy to lure in those thinking themselves capable of bringing about the Mad King’s downfall but the letter I received make me sure this is no trick. If a Grand Wizard’s seal could be forged, then the realm is in much graver danger than we could have ever thought. It bothers me though the notice was made so public. Surely the Grand Wizard would know that the enemies of the realm would take notice. Perhaps it’s a trap for them? Perhaps he seeks to smoke out the Mad King’s allies and strike a blow at the Six Taverns with an ambush. But how would he know who to trust if he draws in friend and foe alike? There’s an ingredient missing.
Entry #4
I’ve been taking the main roads to Six Taverns and have seen the droves of evacuees firsthand. I have never seen so many Gyfdin all at once, like a river of flesh. Many are heading toward Castle (BLAHBLAH), others have heard of refugee camps being constructed along the walls of the capital. I hope the day does not come where they regret that decision. It isn’t all misery though. Many of those gifted in the arts have taken on the role of rallying the others into higher spirits with songs of hope and extravagant talents. I’ll never be able to forget the blindfolded man juggling seven axes. Truly extraordinary.
Entry #5
The injuries though have been surprising. I’d heard talk of cultists razing towns in the west. While I expected some spell-caused injuries, I was startled by the sheer number. They have many mages among their forces. I may need to come up with a way to defend myself but unfortunately, I’ve not had the luck to have a magically-inclined volunteer to work on.
Entry #6
I’ve done what I could for those that I’ve come across. For many, rot had already began to settle in so amputation was generally the only option. Many refused. There wasn’t enough drink to numb the pain and my supplies are for the future, not for now. If I had known what I would have found, I would have brought more supplies to help these people. I’ve done the best I can though so I can confidently say that more people will reach th
_________________________________________________________________________________
Andin looked up from his notebook as he slowly shut its pages around a ribbon. He kept still as someone heavy trying to be light crept through his camp. His ears twitched slightly as he heard a knife point poke at the pan he had set up over his campfire the night before, then the sound of chewing. Andin frowned at the loss of his breakfast.
In time, a sword poked through the flaps of his tent before moving them aside. A man’s dirty face peered through with beady eyes and a misshapen nose to find a halfling frantically hiding something in his bedroll.
“Oi, unless yer wanting to be a quarterling, ya betta be gittin’ out whateva ya got ‘idden ther ya slip.
Andin flipped over to face the human. His hair was wild, eyes still fighting off the last vestiges of sleep. As soon as he saw the blade glint menacingly in the last remnants of moon light, the halfling froze, eyes wide. “P-please, no.” The man sneered as he leaned in and grabbed the halfling by the hair and dragged him out of the tent. Andin kicked and struggled but the man was literally twice his size, easily throwing him aside. He hit the ground with a hard thud, landing on his side, facing away. The man snickered as the halfling curled in on his himself in pain.
The man kept his sword leveled at the trembling halfling as he rummaged through the bedroll. Little bugger was probably trying to hide his coinpurse, he could even see the shape of it. Throwing aside the covers he found his prize, a waterskin. The man frowned as he picked up the skin and shook it. Sounded like water. Keeping an eye on the halfling, he uncorked the skin with his mouth and took a deep whiff. It wasn’t water. The man suddenly spasmed, coughing roughly. Maybe he should have stopped smoking. He could tell it had done a number on him. He hocked up some phlegm and spit it onto the halfling as he laughed and took a long swig of the wine he had found. Damn that was good. No wonder the slip had tried to hide it away.
“Tryin’ t’hide drink from yer guest ay?”
Andin’s trembling intensified as the man drank and when the man’s sword wavered, the halfling surged up onto his feet, dagger in hand. Silent, he lunged forward and was promptly kicked aside. He landed on his back, dagger out of hand. With a cruel sneer, the man in his tattered soldier’s uniform kicked away the dagger and laughed at the halfling’s feeble attempt. He stepped over quickly and planted a boot on the little man’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “Good try, mate,” he spit out. Andin’s eyes began to tear up as the man twist his foot into his chest. With a thrust, he planted his sword next to Andin’s head causing him to flinch away. He leaned down, putting more and more weight on the halfling’s small, struggling body. Suddenly he grabbed the halfling by the throat with a meaty hand. Andin could feel the sweat and grime on his skin.
“I was gonna just kill ya but now ya gotta die real slow. I don’t like peoples who try at cheap shots,” he whispered, putting his face close to Andin’s so he could spit out the last insult the halfling would hear, “ya slip.” His breath stank and in that moment with the man’s mouth open, Andin sprayed him with the contents in his mouth. The man turned his head, coughing and sputtering. “You fuc-“ the man started before suddenly choking on his words. Confusion ran through his eyes as he tried to breathe and found he couldn’t. An itching feeling was spreading across his skin and when he tried to close his grip and crush the halfling’s windpipe he found that his fingers had already gone numb. He tried to get up but found that the numbness wasn’t just in his fingers; his legs wobbled and gave out under him. The numbness was spreading, his skin was itching, and everything was continuing to swell. He tried to whimper as his vision swam but couldn’t even manage that through his throat.
Andin peeled the man’s hand off him and stoop up as the deserter pawed at his neck with useless hands. He went around and picked up the waterskin before dumping the contents out onto the grass. The man’s eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head as his face swelled into a horrific caricature of what it once was. He skin was red and inflamed and beads of sweat poured out into the ground as he rolled onto his side in some attempt to crawl. Andin brushed the dust off himself and began to gather his supplies. After scraping out burnt chunks of fish from his pan, Andin proceeded to packing everything in his tent up, nice and orderly as the deserter convulsed violently in the dirt.
With a bite of his trail rations in his mouth (jerky with hard tack) and a refreshing swig of water, Andin went on his way, whistling a little ditty he’d learned from an Elven bard. In his wake, the grotesque body, twisted, bloated, tinged an ugly purple color, finally started to grow cold.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Andin’s soft footsteps carried him in the forest near one of the main roads leading to Six Corners. He was close. He knew because he could smell ash, and bodies rotting. His heart sank at this turn of events. He knew to expect it but that didn’t diminish the tragedy of the situation. Why these people were not warned, he had only an inkling of a guess. Trailblazing through bushes and trees, it was a bit hard to see where he went. At the very least he knew that straight forward would take him to his intended destination and so long as he kept the road in sight, he shouldn’t get lost! And he didn’t! What Andin didn’t expect was that when he stepped through the next thick patch of bushes , it would be into a clearing where a tent had been set up. Over the bushes on the other end he could see the grey ruins of Six Corners. Andin froze as he looked at the tent, waiting for someone to burst out or make themselves known. After several seconds with no motion, Andin took his first step. Whoever this person was, he wanted to avoid them until they met at Six Corners. Even Andin was on edge with the deafening silence of the once bustling trading post and two jumpy strangers was not a recipe for peaceful resolution. His bare feet fell silently on the grass, while the Good Folk were not strong like humans, hardy like dwarfs, or as long-lived as elves, they were slippery, light on their feet. He made it across the clearing, keeping a close eye on the tent for any activity. Slowly stepping into a bush, it was shown then that even a halfling’s luck can run out, as Andin bumped into someone hiding in the bush. Startled, he stumbled backwards and tripped, landing on his rear as he finally noticed what was in front of him.
“H-hello there, friend!” he stammered nervously as he crept back, his mind frantically assessing the situation.
