Tales from the Vale

Something New

The chill winter breeze played with the last remaining autumn leaves as it swept through the forest.
The wolves stirred as they detected an unfamiliar scent, and moved to investigate. As they started to cross the clearing they suddenly paused, their fur standing on end, and crouched low, backing slowly away.
The creature looked vaguely human in shape, yet seemed to glide rather than walk as it moved relentlessly forward.
One by one, others of its kind emerged from the shadows before the scene was plunged into darkness by a dark, menacing cloud that kept pace with their advance.

As they moved northwards the lights of a village grew ever closer.

 

The Escape

(Author's note: not everyone who finds his way to the Hidden Vale will be virtuous.)

The escape had gone surprisingly well. It had taken almost two years to dig the tunnel, and finding that long abandoned septic tank had made hiding the soil easy.
Although the maximum security psychiatric ward may seem to an outsider to be more secure, it was much older than the rest of the prison and had a number of weaknesses, including rusting iron and crumbling concrete in several places.
As Ian Dharma dug the last few feet and emerged from his tunnel, he reflected on his life choices.
They had labelled him a psychopath, but in his mind he merely did in real life what everyone else did in games. It was hardly his fault if he didn’t share the same inhibitions that plagued everyone else.

Just then a strange light caught his attention. What could it be? He stepped forward to investigate.

 

Heading South

Faren Dahl looked in his purse. Two gold pieces. Enough for a loaf of bread.
His cat Morticia glared at him.
Or a fish.

Things were not going well for Faren. He used to cart items from Kingsport to Owl’s Head, but since the ships had stopped arriving he had nothing to do, and nothing to do meant no income.
“I guess there’s no other choice” he remarked to Morticia. “Time to join the town guard. If they’ll have me.”

Lord Enmar looked him over carefully, and then asked “Do you have any next of kin?”
“No” replied Faren. “Well, apart from my cat.”
“You’re in luck then.” replied Lord Enmar. “We have a number of openings. How familiar are you with the southern part of the island?”

 

Field Observations for Thad Trowall, Tower Electrical field Apparitions

I begin my studies of the rare phenomenon of ghostly apparitions being linked to the towers that are prominent in many of our cities and towns. I preface these comments with the knowledge that to date these stories have not been validated by any in the science community and is viewed as fringe science at best.

I have taken the liberties to gather a few posts from reports filed with the town guard, which you can find in annex A.

Suffice it to say, the one defining feature found within all the reports is that it only appears in the darkness of night. The guise it takes is of an electrical ghosting, for lack of a better term, of a figure walking to or from the tower. It usually last no more then a few seconds before disappearing leaving behind a few glowing foot prints that soon disappear as well. This leaves no evidence of any of this actually occurring however, so these findings are non conclusive.

Now, as for the actual disposition of the “Ghost”, it is said to be of light blue, shimmering being. The odd thing is the reports vary in the actual sex of the ghost, this could possible be due to the interpretation of the viewers psyche. As too what they were wearing or what length of their hair, these too vary on the reports.

There was a phenomenon linked to the sightings, crackling sounds emanating from the tower and the ghost itself. Of note, these crackling sounds have been verified by others in the town of Owl’s Head. I believe it bears further study in this regard.

I am currently en route to Owl’s Head to do some first hand investigation of the tower. This appears to be the strongest lead I have and would like to take the time to actually do some first hand observations.


Thad Trowall

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 14
Must you Choose?

Day 102, post adventus

Bartenders carry on all sorts of conversations without saying a word. Thomas is one of the best. As he handed me my ale, he shot me a look of warning. He knew I was wondering about the guy by the hearth. I knew Thomas had a special concern for whoever he was. Even on the busiest days, a minute didn't go by without a quick glance to check on him. That only intrigued me more, and so I tried to stare back that I would be careful. His eyes narrowed into blades. "Sorry Thomas, I'm not a bartender."

"Hi there. Mind if I sit here?"

"No."

"I come to this tavern enough to know that you come here an awful lot too."

"Yeah I do."

"And I always see you come in at the same time, sit here off to the side of the hearth and stare into it for an hour or so and then go."

"Yeah that's right."

"And no one ever talks to you, so I thought you might like company?"

"Why?"

"I'm not from the Vale and I'm getting to know the people here. I like hearing what they have to say."

He just stared into the fire.

"Well where are you from?"

"I grew up just north of Westhollow."

"Yeah? I haven't been over there yet. What's it like?"

"Rich soil. Good rain. Almost flat. Ideal spot for growing all types of things."

"Sounds like a great place to grow up. When did you come to Owl's Head?"

"About a year ago now."

"Why'd you move? Set off in your own direction? Find adventure?"

"No reason for me to stay. The rest of my family is gone, and I couldn't take care of the farm by myself so I sold it."

"Sorry to hear that. You must be around twenty?"

"Nineteen."

"You're still young, what happened to your parents?"

"They just got sick and died about two months apart from each other. For no reason we could tell."

"That must have been tough. Is that when you decided to leave the farm?" At this point, I didn't know which was hotter, the hearth or the glare I could feel from Thomas back at the counter.

"No. My brothers and I managed to give it a go for a few months."

"Did they get sick too?"

"No."

"How many brothers did you have?"

"Two, both younger, Eteo and Pol."

"Tell me if I you don't want to say, but what happened to them?"

"Hmm. Well when ma died, they didn't agree about what we should do. Eteo thought we should stay and work the farm ourselves. He was right that we could have taken care of it. Pol wanted to sell the farm and move on. He was right that it was very uncomfortable to stay in the place where everything reminded us of pa and ma, and he wanted new adventures. They would argue back and forth all day every day, and then turn to me as the oldest to decide which of them was right. The arguments just got worse."

"That must have been hard." I was glad the buzz in the tavern kept our conversation private.

"Every day I said nothing. I didn't want to seem like I was choosing one or the other. I thought we would just figure it out."

"Well what did you decide?"

"I didn't. One day we were bringing hay into the barn and Eteo and Pol were arguing again. Eteo got so mad he pushed Pol into a pile of hay. One of our large rakes was inside it. When Pol got up blood was pouring from holes in his chest and neck. Eteo rushed forward. Pol grabbed the rake and shoved it through him. I couldn't do anything as they faded out."
I looked down into my ale. I couldn't stand to look at his face.

"If I had chosen what to do, one might have been angry, but they'd both still be alive."

"Look. I'm sorry I asked you about this."

"I come here every day the time they died. To think."

"Would it be ok if I came over and said hi when I'm here? Don't have to talk about anything in particular."

"Yeah. That's fine."

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 22
The Food Court

Day 152, post adventus

I finally made it to Braemar. I had been invited two months ago when a delegation had traveled north to ask Lord Enmar for aid.

"Well met, Della. Haven't had the chance to get to Braemar since I first met you."

"That's no surprise since the only beings that want to live here really don't live."

"Haha that's the wit I always enjoy."

"So are you doing ok?"

"Besides worrying about whether I will see another sunrise you mean?"

"Yeah, why are you still here?"

"Someone has to keep trying to hold this community together and and Jon I are going to stick it out."

"Is there a future here? Didn't you say you two just moved into this house a year ago after you married?"

"Yes. I keep my mind off things by imagining the kind of town Braemar could be once we get past the troubles."

"Well what do you see?"

"First, I think we need a marketplace again. There are hunters who can sell meat once the animals return, and a lot of others who can sell reagents and food they gather in the forest. Unique stuff you can't get elsewhere in the Vale. Not to mention bakers and cooks like us. You have to start with a stable food supply and the attraction of a thriving economy."

"How will you get people to set up shop?"

"I'm thinking we need to set it apart from the markets in Owl's Head and Kingsport and I've got a plan."

"Yeah?"

"Well, we sign people up as vendors and give them incentives. Based on how much they sell, they will get better placed stands or shops, and local artisans will make them unique items. Special canopies, shelves, even attractive clothing. We will do things to set them apart from your regular old garden variety vendor."

"That all sounds..."

"And one last thing, we will give them royal titles to designate their achievements: lord, duke, baron, and so on. We will have a food court so to speak, and this nobility will work with us to try to continually improve the economy. If it goes well we could build an expanded center of shopping around the food court selling all sorts of things."

"Actually, I think I love this idea."

"Aw, it's just a dream. But if Braemar gets overrun, I think I'll head to the mainland and try to pitch it there."

"Well whatever happens, I hope your project works out somehow and somewhere. Please stay safe."

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 24​

The Butter Beggar​

​

Day 184, post adventus​

​

I had made it to Kingsport a few days ago. Even though I wanted to track down Captain Brennis, there were many other people here who captured my attention in the meantime. Especially the ones whom everyone else tended to avoid.​

​

"Good day sir. I see you come into Kingsport every morning and beg from the folk here, why do you do it?"​

​

"Butter"​

​

"You need butter?"​

​

"Moon's busted."​

​

"I'm sorry I don't understand."​

​

"Copper?"​

​

"Ah, well I think I left my money bag at home..."​

​

Frieda appears and gives the man a fat loaf. He sits and tears into it. As if on cue, a flock of gulls descends from the rooftops. She looks at me and puts a finger to her mouth. I disregard her.​

​

"So please sir, what's your name?"​

​

"Pretty birds."​

​

"Yes, they are. Where do you stay?"​

​

"Moon's busted."​

​

"Ah well, I see. I know times are tough around here, but isn't there anyone to help you?"​

​

"Butter"​

​

​

(Author's Note: I realized that the purpose of the story may seem a little esoteric for some tastes so I thought I'd explain my thinking. Mark is trying to understand the beggar, but sometimes we don't have the luxury of understanding why things are the way they are, we just have to make the best of them. Frieda gets this and deals with the beggar as he is. The reference to butter is to make you think that you might understand what the beggar is saying but get no satisfaction that's actually the case (is he asking for butter for his bread? if so, why wouldn't Frieda provide since she seems to be familiar with him?) Sometimes you just don't know and you still have to go on with life. I wanted to mirror that reality for those who read the story... if I didn't explain it you might really wonder Mark's purposes for writing it down. So in essence, I'm blowing it with this explanation, but this note would not be in the final book form I hope.)​

 

VALE OF TEARS: CHAPTER 1 - An Accidental Discovery

It was by far the tallest tree in the forest, however its luxuriant foliage and the dense surrounding woods made it impossible to see beyond the first few branches.
Rachel was determined to climb it, for surely it would provide breathtaking views of beautiful autumn scenes that she could capture in her paintings.
Unfortunately the lowest branch was far beyond reach, and she was about to abandon her idea when she noticed a glint of light.
There, just above the lowest branch, something metallic was reflecting the morning sun. It looked like a switch of some kind.

Spurred on by curiosity, Rachel took an arrow from her quiver and slowly pulled back the string on her bow.
The morning breeze had paused, and all was still as she let loose the arrow. A miss, but close.
Trying again, she this time managed to strike the lever, and a weighted rope plunged to the forest floor from somewhere above.
Rachel examined the rope. It was sturdy, seemed fairly new, and was knotted at regular intervals.

Rachel did not hesitate further, and began her ascent. Reaching the lowest branch, she noticed carefully concealed foot and hand holds, and used these to press on.
Her backpack was made large and cumbersome by her easel, so she placed it together with her bow and quiver in a convenient hollow before continuing on.
She was about two thirds of the way up when she noticed the platform above her.
Continuing on she came to a small trapdoor and paused, listening. All she could hear was the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind, the occasional creak of the platform as the tree moved, and some animal sounds from the forest below.

She decided to chance it, and gently pushed up on the trapdoor, lifting her head to see if she could spot any danger. All appeared to be clear, so Rachel pushed open the trapdoor, climbed through, and quickly closed it again.
She found herself in an elaborate multi-story tree house. A wooden ladder led upwards to one or more additional levels, and through the main door she caught a glimpse of a rope bridge extending towards another tree.
Glancing at a table she noticed crafted items of a clearly recognisable style. Elves!
On the wall was a large parchment containing a map of the island. The various towns and villages were clearly circled and annotated in a script that she could not decipher.

Just then she was startled to hear movement from the floor above, and quickly hid under the table.
A pair of legs appeared and walked over to the table, standing on the trapdoor that she had just climbed through.
Carefully Rachel reached forward and released the latch on the trapdoor, and the startled elf disappeared as he plunged over 200 feet to the ground below.

Grabbing the map Rachel hastily folded it and stuffed in her shirt, then retreated the way she had come.

 

VALE OF TEARS: CHAPTER 2 - The Journey: Part 1

Sharon was exhausted. She had been running and hiding for two days and nights now - ever since those abominations had emerged and began terrorising the southern Vale. She was unarmed, and had not eaten since she fled her farm.

An hour ago she had sought shelter at her cousin’s property, only to find his decapitated body in front of the smouldering remains of his house. Her last hope was a vague memory she retained from her childhood.
Somewhere in the nearby hills was a cave, and that cave led to a vast underground cavern. Her sister had wanted to explore it then, but Sharon had been too timid. Perhaps now it could take her to safety.
It seemed like a reasonable plan, given that she had no other options.

It took some searching, but eventually Sharon recognised the oddly shaped rocky overhang that looked a bit like a nose, and squeezed into the small cave entrance hidden behind some shrubs.
Turning the first corner she was plunged into darkness, and paused while her eyes adjusted. A soft luminescence emitted by moss covering parts of the tunnel walls gradually became visible.
It made navigation difficult but possible. Cautiously Sharon crept further down the cave.

After a few more turns the tunnel branched, and Sharon was faced with a choice.
She figured there would be many such choices, and decided to always take the leftmost branch, and if that didn’t work out, track back and try the next.
She had always been methodical like that, a trait that her sister Rachel found annoying. She missed her sister, more so now than ever.

The scratching of claws on rock made Sharon freeze in her tracks. Slowly inching forward, she saw that the tunnel opened up into a large cavern with several exits.
The source of the sound was a Kobold. It had apparently been prospecting, and was now loading rock samples onto a small cart. After a short while the creature tossed his pick on top of the samples and headed off into one of the exits, pushing the cart in front of him.

Sharon feared becoming lost in these endless tunnels even more than she feared the Kobold, so she decided to follow him at a discreet distance.
Maintaining that distance proved surprisingly easy, as the Kobold’s cart made quite a racket. Keeping track of his location was not difficult.
Well, for a while that is. Until there was a loud crashing sound, followed by deathly silence.

A couple of turns later and Sharon found what remained of the Kobold’s cart.
It lay in splinters, with rock samples scattered everywhere. All that remained of the Kobold were dark stains on the tunnel walls and a steady drip of blood falling from a large hole in the roof of the tunnel.

With her eyes fixed on the hole, Sharon crept past and continued on.

(To be continued in Part 2…)

 

VALE OF TEARS: CHAPTER 2 - The Journey: Part 2

Sharon was starting to feel faint from hunger now, and thirst was a constant preoccupation.
The violent death of the Kobold had been unsettling, and she began to wonder if she had made the right choice in entering the cave system.

Her sister would have said “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” and pressed on. Sharon was now forcing herself to be more like her sister simply to survive, and the strain was beginning to show.
In fact, it seemed she had begun to hallucinate. Sharon swore she could smell fried onions. Wasn’t that a stroke symptom? Or was that burnt toast?

Following her nose, she broke her rule and turned right at the next junction. A gentle upward slope took her through a couple of turns and then a blinding light marked an opening through which she could see blue sky.
Sharon forced herself not to run as she passed through the opening and found herself on a narrow ledge. Immediately below was a small cottage, from which the inviting smell of fried onions came.
Sharon half fell, half slid down the rocky slope to the base of the cliff.
Picking herself up she crept over to the window and peered inside. An old man was cooking a meal, and looked up as he noticed her at the window.
“Goodness me, you look exhausted. Please, come inside and rest.”

A few minutes later Sharon was recalling her harrowing experiences between mouthfuls of food as she eagerly devoured the shared meal.
The old man listened intently, and his brow furrowed as Sharon recounted the creatures that she had witnessed in the southern Vale, and the fate of her cousin.

“You have been lucky,” he said, “but I also detect a strength and resourcefulness that few possess. The kind of attributes that mark a good mage.
I am retired now, but in my day I made quite the name for myself.
I am happy to share that knowledge with you if you are interested. That is, unless you have somewhere better to go.”

Sharon nodded, and decided to stay.

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 8
The Roads in the Vale

Day 42, post adventus

At the market, I finally track down someone James said I should meet.

"Good day sir, I've sought you out because people around here say you have some interesting ideas about the roads in the Vale."

"Most around here think it's a silly fascination."

"Well I want to hear about them."

"No one in the Vale remembers how these two roads came to be. Some think they were there before the towns, others just think it was the obvious foot and cart traffic."

"What do you think?"

"The way the Vale Road connect with the King's Road is unnatural."

"Why is that?"

"Well if the roads were carved by foot traffic, they'd take more direct routes. The forests in the Vale are not so dense as to prevent roads from developing. There should be a triangle of roads connecting Owl's Head, King's Port, and Braemar. Also, I've studied the maps of Novia. Towns usually pop up at important crossroads, and the only significant crossroads in the Vale is empty. Not even a farm stand selling tomatos."

"Interesting points. How do you explain it?"

"The Vale Road has an obvious name, but why is the other called the King's Road?"

"Ok, why?"

"There was a King in the Vale at one point, his castle was at the crossroads in the center of his realm, and the King's road was what brought him to port to claim other lands or visit the rest of his realm."

"Who really knows what happened before the cataclysm."

"Well there's evidence you see."

"Really, what?"

"You know all those large potholes right around the crossroads? One is even so big that idiot of a driver Polmer ran his cart right into it. It's still there. Some say the holes come from the rains and that no one really is in charge of fixing the road. I say they are instabilities cause by previous construction: foundations, basements and such."
"That's hard to say don't you think?"

"Well then why is the crossroads empty? I think the castle was destroyed with some sort of curse that keeps people from ever doing anything but passing through."

"It really is not a very attractive place I agree, but... well maybe I will try to stop and spend some time there when I pass through next."

"Furthermore, I have a collection of stones I've taken from the roads... I think they were paved at one point. Come back over to my place and I'll show you."

"Got a busy day here, think I will have to come some other time."

"Ok. Well you let me know, people need to learn more about our history."

 

The Hourglass
by Faelam of Libris

The first movement he made that morning was to reach out for the hourglass. He turned it quickly. This was a daily lifelong ritual for Ranick, for he believed that if he missed one turn of the glass, his life would end. One grain after the other, Ranick watched it trickle as he readied himself for the day. He would live each day just to make another turn of the glass. He could not remember when he had started turning it. Sometimes, he remembered his father turning the glass. The day was mocking him with lateness, and Ranick walked out the door, watching the sand as long as he could.

He lived in an old building in one of the better parts of the city. Some buildings, like the one Ranick lived in, dated back a century. His family had lived there for a century. He thought back to when he had been so afraid of missing a turn that he carried it everywhere he went. But now, he felt safe with the knowledge of his duty. He turned the glass every day and was content. Yet he was increasingly curious about what kinds of powers the glass itself held. Still, for twenty-three years, he held back the urge to try an experiment, until his birthday.

He was lonely and bored, and lonelier from the responsibility the glass put on him. He decided, once and for all, that he would test it in just a little way. Just to see its power. So he left his window-facing chair and walked slowly towards the hourglass. He remembered, vaguely, his father telling him never to play with it, only to turn it. Yet his father was long dead, now, so what did he matter?

Ranick was in his chair, facing the window, with a strange feeling. Surely he had seen that same bird before, somewhere. He thought about how much his birthday made him feel lonelier and tried to forget his boredom. But he couldn't shake the urge to test the glass in a little way. So he got out of his chair facing the window and walked slowly toward the hourglass. He vaguely remembered his father telling him never to fool with it, only to turn it. But he was dead, now.

Ranick enjoyed the view out of his window and thought to himself, hadn't he seen that bird before?

 

Farewell

Dear Susan,
As I write this letter I gaze at you in your crib, and know that in all likelihood it will be the last time that I see you.

In a few hours I shall join the rest of the guard as we face down an army of unspeakable horrors. An army that is advancing relentlessly from the south, and threatens to destroy us all.

I am not a soldier. Until last month I ran a small business, but was forced to join the town guard when the trade with Kingsport dried up.
Like many on this island I have done a little adventuring, but since then I have grown older and my reflexes have dulled.
My main responsibilities now are as a parent and a husband. It is those responsibilities that compel me now to do my utmost to protect you.

Hopefully my actions and the actions of my fellow guards will ensure the safety of you and your mother, but if you are reading this then it means that we have failed, and that you have somehow managed to escape.

My last wish is that you look after your mother just as she has looked after you, and that you study the ways of the warrior, for we live in perilous times.

Your loving father
David

 

VALE OF TEARS: CHAPTER 3 - The Prospector

Arvid had often wondered about the history of Novia. As a teenager he had discovered strange writing on some stone fragments in the hills near his home, and since then he had developed an unquenchable thirst for knowledge about the past.
Now, years later, recent discoveries had brought him to the Hidden Vale. All signs pointed to this being the place where they would first arrive, and he needed to study and understand this event in person.

The principal location in the Hidden Vale was Owl’s Head. It looked like any typical town, and nothing appeared out of the ordinary as people went about their business.
The way for Arvid to find out what was really going on of course was to listen to the local gossip, and the best place to listen to gossip was a tavern.
For that reason Arvid had now taken up residence in the Fire Lotus Tavern, under the guise of a prospector.
This would let him mingle with the locals, listening for any gossip that might hint at the arrival of strangers, while also providing an excuse to search the local area for artifacts that might help in his investigation.
He had quickly acquainted himself with the barman Thomas Strongbeard, as well as several of the locals, but had yet to hear any hint of the arrival of newcomers.

Other parts of the prophecies however were beginning to fall into place. Word had just arrived that a young woman named Rachel had discovered unusual activities by elves, and had brought back a map.
Nobody could understand the writing on the map however, and Arvid debated whether to draw attention to himself by revealing his knowledge of Elvish.
Finally curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to volunteer his services to Lord Enmar, commander of the Owl’s Head guards.

Leaving the tavern, Arvin walked the short distance to the Barracks. Upstairs he found Lord Enmar in earnest conversation with a young woman who he presumed to be the map finder Rachel.
They both paused and glanced at him, at which point Arvid said “I can read those annotations.”
With a relieved look Lord Enmar motioned him to join them, and Arvid deciphered the various Elvish notes that had been added to the map.
Beside each town and village was a list describing the number of guards, defensive constructions, times of least activity and total population.

“This is serious” said Lord Enmar. “I need to notify the guards in Kingsport and other locations, and send scouts to learn more.”

“I need to find my sister” added Rachel.

 

The Guard and the Lily (Part 1)

By Reebdoog

The ancestors who lived through the cataclysm and past, during the unknown times, carried through traditions that had all but been forgotten. Some still live with old tradition which is rare in New Brittania because of the Oracle. See, the Oracle doesn't believe in some old traditions especially ones heavily embraced in the Vale. Since many of the citizens in the Vale are free thinkers and have escaped the rule of the Oracle, their most honored traditions are looked down upon. One of them being the hunt for the red lily.

It is said that the first red lily given to a young girl of age by an admirer will tie a magic bond between them stronger than that of the girl and any other man. The bond will be so strong that neither will ever have the eye for another mate. The tradition has proved so popular in the Vale that some new farmers who had escaped the rule of the Oracle had stopped growing wheat in order to cash in on a crop of red lilies. But they soon found that acquiring the seed of a red lily is not only difficult, but near impossible. Even when the seeds of a red lily are plucked, the chance of one turning red is extremely rare. You may end up with a sea of white lilies that are good for nothing more than sprucing up the town roads. The red lily only grows in abundance where the water flows across the nutritious soils of a mountain top. There must be sunlight every day as well so they only grow above the cloud line. And the adventure to find one is the first part of the tradition.

"May the peace of new in the Vale be with ye boy" said the old crooked looking man. His legs trembled like a couple uprooted fence posts in a storm. His trousers, held up by a scanty pair of suspenders, danced in the wind and filled up to his breeches. The young man nodded with pride swelling up in his eyes as he snapped the back end of his horse with his boot. It was his time to hunt for a red lily. He had grown strong enough to plow an entire field in a day which was the turning point into manhood. He was now a man at the age of seven and ten ready for the abundance of what life had to offer. Owl's Nest would soon disappear in his wake of dust. Homesickness a near future reality. And a young lady of six and ten longing for his return.

 

Thanks everyone fro the great entries... keep them coming!

Please be patient with me as a sort through these, it's a slow process that happens in between all my other tasks. As I get review them, I will make notes in-line in purple... like this:

My note here... ~ FireLotus

Don't be disheartened if it takes me a bit to get to yours, as I said, it's slow-going. But it's going!

 

Don't count me out yet! I'm working on my entry but have had very little time. Is there a deadline?

 

FireLotus indicates above, and in conversation today with me, this Call is an open call. No deadline. So keep the writings coming in the weeks, months ahead.

 

Mark's Tales of the Unremarkable, Number 36
The Getaway

Day 274, post adventus

There's a knock on the cottage door. Usually this would be unnerving, but I had been expecting it.

"Good to see you Devon."

"You ready to go?"

"Always am. You see what this cottage looks like! The few things I want to keep I hide elsewhere."

"My duties don't allow me that sort of freedom anymore, I'm jealous."

"Well freedom is a curious thing, there are good and bad types."

"See this is why I wanted to bring you along. You know how to start the strangest conversations! Most of my fellow guards can barely mumble. But save it for the road. We've got a few days ride down to Righ Inis. We'll take our time and get into all sorts of topics."

"So I know you said you've got this cabin on the lake there, but I was thinking. How do you keep it safe since you hardly get a chance to get down there? How are you sure someone doesn't move in or some beast doesn't make it into a new lair, or even just tear it down."

"Well back before I joined the guard, I'd look for adventure."

"There's that word again. Sometimes I think it's used too much around here."

"Anyway Mark, there was a young enchanter who was creating some dangerous items down in the swamp. I heard the rumors and took a few of my pals and went to stop him."

"We traveled that bog up and down and couldn't find his hideout. Never had so many mosquito bites in my life! The locals told us that yeah, people would come from different places and buy stuff and then go. We found the pattern of where they came and went and found the delivery guy so to speak. Well as we trailed the delivery guy, the enchanter appeared out of nowhere, placed his hands on the guy's shoulders and walked him forward. They just disappeared."

"Invisibility?"

"Not exactly. The delivery guy ran a pretty regular route. So we knew something was going on right at that exact spot. One time, when the enchanter appeared, my friend Astra rooted him. We were able to get him to tell us what was going on. He didn't want to fight us, so he gave us stuff. He was rich. We made him promise to stop his little trade or next time we'd bring an army and tear down his tower."

"Tower? Is that what was there?"

"Yeah his tower was there all along. He had created what he called a shield stone. It made anyone who looked at or approached the tower just not see it. If you try to walk toward it, you veer off around it without noticing or knowing why. Anyone he brought into the tower he had to walk forward and keep them from veering until they got past the effect."

"Pretty handy to keep a little sanctuary for yourself down by a lake?"

"Yeah I made him switch its effect to me. My cabin won't ever be touched, and I can always choose who I bring in."

"I guess adventuring does have its rewards."

"Well let's get going, want to spend as much time on that lake as we can, fishing for dinner! Grab your pack. The horses are outside. The stable master didn't mind loaning you a horse for some reason. Didn't charge me!"

"Yeah, he's a good fellow."

"Ok, you can tell me about that on the way too."

"Wait, I'm the one who likes to focus on other people."

"Everyone needs a break now and then."

​

(Author's note: there are at least 6 references to "getaways" described here. It's like one of those find the hidden item pictures. A story game of sorts. If you want to know them PM me.)

 

SEBASTIAN COMES OF AGE​

The only memory Sebastian had from his former life was of his mother desperately holding on to his dying father as the ship heeled over from the enormous wind. The decks ran red with the blood of slain seaman, while skeletal warriors raised gory swords in salute to the black-robed wizard commanding their actions. The ship's wheel had been commandeered by a skeleton, festooned with the tatters of a rotting naval uniform. This monstrosity had put the wheel hard over, steering the doomed vessel onto the roiling surf of the reef. Its fleshless skull was arched back, jaws agape in a macabre imitation of joy. Sebastian's mother's magic was holding back the vaporous stream of life-sucking black that swirled between her and the wizard.

A moment of distraction had been enough to end the fight. Sebastian had slid across the deck towards the tumultuous sea. In a blink his mother had shifted her attention and saved his life by casting him onto the beach while the blackness had engulfed her.

Now ten years later, Sebastian celebrated this day as his birthday, the day he was found by some villagers from Kingsport. Most of the wording on the water and blood soaked documents found on him were illegible. "Sebastian _____, aged six, beware Grand _____ Quel___" were the only words that remained.

For most of these ten years the villagers had treated him well. None had adopted him. The evidence of magic with his origins had provoked too much fear. Innkeeper Abbot had, however, set up a small room at the Hearth Inn in exchange for cleaning chores and killing rats in the sewers. Alchemist Julia had encouraged his reading skills and Merchant Nache had generously bought all the cotton he could gather.

Lately, though, hordes of skeletal warriors were preventing him from making any excursions into the sewers. Out of town, the trails and woods he know so well were occupied by hostile elves. In the deep woods, centaurs ruled. In the mountains, giant spiders roamed. Now that Sebastian was 16, villagers were starting to believe that he was somehow instrumental in the arrival of these infestations. Many villagers were starting to treat him with disrespect, especially Mayor Hargrove and some of the guards. Joining Anton and the smugglers seemed all but inevitable.

But then he found out that elves carry gold.

(to be continued)
XX