Hounds Rising

The party grabbed their horses with Ana’s cart and went from Haron’s Castle back to the tower. Mr. Muffins took his time ensuring everything was placed carefully on his horse. Patting her front shoulder, he looked at her lovingly.

“Looks like it’s you and me again, Branca. Ready to get on the road, old girl?”

Branca snorted loudly and nodded her head as if answering him. He climbed up and sat down on the saddle, grabbing the reins and turning the horse towards the rest of the group. Darion stood outside the tower door, quietly waiting for everyone to finish. When everyone was settled and ready, he spoke.

“Don’t think too much about Moonbright on your travels. I’ll keep everything orderly until you return, Leaf.”

“Thank you again, Darion,” Leaf replied.

“Do you have any plans for after your trip to Aramore?” He asked the party.

“I’m not sure what the plan is yet. I’ll send you a letter once we finish this quest and let you know where we end up going from there.”

Mr. Muffins moved to the front of the pack, next to Myla, and they made their way out of Moonbright and into the cloudy afternoon. As agreed, they all decided that they would take watches during the day and night. Ana decided to go first, and Lyla would watch in the evening, and then they would find a place to make camp for the night.

From the barrier, Mr. Muffins could see people moving around on their farms and the guards keeping watch or moving in and out of town. It would be a bit of time before they would see that many people, but he liked the type of quiet that nature provided. It gave him time to think and create.

Twenty minutes out, Ana called out for them to move off the path. He turned around to look and saw a carriage quickly coming their way. They moved their horses to the side and waited as two large horses barreled down the path.

Though he didn’t spend his life working with horses, he could tell they were bred for movement. Their muscles were much more significant than an average horse, and they moved just a bit faster than what Branca could comfortably do for hours. The carriage was primarily black, with gold trim, and he assumed it was one of the nobles from town in a hurry to get to wherever they needed to go.

As the carriage moved past them, he noticed that the curtains were drawn closed, and the only remarkable thing about the carriage was on the back of it. Spanning three feet in diameter, a golden sigil had been placed into the wood, depicting a cloud with a lightning bolt striking downward. While not artistically accurate to what a lightning bolt looked like, it was more considerable on top, made itself smaller as it moved downward, and was clear as to what it was. The top of the cloud shifted into a nest, on which an eagle spread its wings and looked down.

“Does anyone know that symbol?” Ana asked.

He shook his head and saw that no one else knew either.

“There are a lot of nobles in Moonbright, considering the Queen’s castle is here. Orin and I had met quite a few through social gatherings but never really talked much outside of it,” Leaf stated.

“It just looked pretty fancy. I don’t know many people owning a black carriage with such an expensive symbol,” Ana mentioned.

“People with coin tend to waste it on showing off they have it.” Mr. Muffins stated. “Though we know that showing off can be deadly in the wild, some have egos bigger than their… You get the point.”

Other than the one occurrence, though, the day moved on in a bore. The watch changed, and Lyla started keeping track, but nothing short of a few birds passing by gave notice. As the path moved from North to Northeast, they eventually found themselves with a better view. To the East, the horizon shifted from landmass to water. The Sea of Falling Stars was a large body of water that separated Broken Sword from the rest of the world. While used to seeing The Shining Sea at the edge of Westford, it was always a beautiful sight.

The night came faster with the heavy, dark clouds filling the sky. They had been riding for almost eight hours, and it was clear that they were all tired and sore from it. Knowing that the lack of light would be an issue, Mr. Muffins started looking for a spot off the path that would make an excellent resting place for camp. It didn’t take long, but he found a site to his left that would do perfectly. He slowed down and pointed over to it.

“It’s getting late, and the light is almost out. We can settle down over there for the night.”

“Good idea, Mr. Muffins,” Leaf agreed.

The party set up their things as the night rolled in and started a fire. About half an hour in, Mr. Muffins watched Ana and Myla walk off to forage for different herbs and edible plants. Sitting in front of the fire, he remembered the many late nights he had spent with Humboldt in this very way.

Mr. Muffins reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small journal. Alone for a few minutes, he decided to write to his friend.

My Friend,

We have traveled out of Moonbright and are heading to Aramore with the Archmage on a small quest for an eladrin girl. The trip will not likely be challenging, but the cold is setting in on the year, and the frost is everlasting once we reach the northern part of the continent.

I am still able to send and receive correspondence to you through my new satchel invention, and I will likely send you more news once we have finished our task. The troupe is still separated, but these companions do not seem to want to return to the carnival just yet, and since we have all winter to decide our next steps, I doubt they will be worried about it until then.

When you have finished your errand for the Queen, write back so I know your location. We will, undoubtedly, meet again.

Barthemus

Mr. Muffins took a steady hand and tore the page slowly from his book. He folded the paper, placed it in his satchel, and watched as light emitted from the pocket, causing the report to disappear. Happy with his devices, he leaned against a tree and waited for dinner.

Time passed faster than assumed as Mr. Muffins awoke to see Ana already finishing a stew that she made over the fire. She laddled it into bowls and handed them off to each of their companions before sitting down and waiting for everyone to try it before eating. The stew seemed to be made of some of the dragon, both in broth from bones and the meat, along with a heaping amount of vegetables and items that Myla and Ana had found. It was delightful, and in finishing the bowl, he found himself quite full. The party ate in silence, then watched the fire for some time. Then, Ana broke the quiet.

“Does anyone want to tell a story before we head to bed?”

Looking around at everyone else, the party seemed happy just to be resting under the stars, except for Leaf, leaning dangerously forward to try and get enough light from the fire onto the book he was reading.

“I guess I have a few stories,” Mr. Muffins answered.

He sat forward, letting the light hit his fur. It sent a myriad of shadows on his face, which he used to tell his tale.

“In a time long ago, a man and his horse found themselves in a terrible storm. The rain lashed against his body painfully and made it impossible to see more than a few feet in front of him. The path was long and most likely forgotten, causing the brush to take over the road and make it a slow ride.

The man could not stop, though, because the trees would not do enough to cover him and his horse, and he thought it best to try and get through it in hopes of finding the next town or at least a better place to shelter from the weather.

It was to his surprise that he found a small wooden building with shuttered windows and leafless trees standing in front of it. From the distance, it looked old and abandoned, the vines and grass having grown up and around it, making it difficult to see, except for a small metal design on the door, which flashed with light as lightning struck somewhere nearby.

He decided that such a place, while probably still cold and damp, would at least get him away from the rain, and the porch being on the ground would give some cover for his horse. As he moved closer, he could see the area was clearly overgrown with weeds, but they seemed to hold in a way that would make him think someone could have lived here recently. Instead of just walking inside, he decided to knock on the metallic doorknock.

After trying his best to see inside and knocking multiple times, he assumed the place must be empty and tried the doorknob. It was rusty and loudly creaked as he turned the knob and opened the unlocked door.

Inside was a simple room with moss already growing on the interior of the wood. In front, a staircase and a door, which he assumed was the cellar. Other entries were to the left and right, which most likely made their way to the rest of the home.

Tired, soaked, and cold, he decided it best to check the house first before resting. As he moved, his footsteps echoed slightly and caused a chill to form up his back. The man opened the door to the left and found it to be a study of some sort. It was filled with books stacked high, and none of them looked newer.

He opened one and started to read. Inside, the story told of a group of cannibals to the West. It spoke of how they took apart bodies in grotesque ways, along with illustrations, and used them for sacrifice and sustenance. The next book he picked up had similar stories. It seemed that the person who had lived in this house was very interested in the history of Western tribes and maybe was an expert. While disgusting in illustration, the man could understand the need for a hobby so far out and away from the world.

He set the book down and looked up, immediately caught in fright at the surprise of a man standing at the doorway, no less than eight feet in height. The man was large and intimidating and almost caused him to scream had it not been for the ragged and aged look and the soft voice that came from his lips.

‘Did you get caught in the rain?’ the man asked. ‘It’s been terrible out there. I was asleep but awoke to the sound of someone in my home.’

The older man sat in front of the fireplace and started a fire. The younger man made his way in and sat down in one of the rotten chairs, happy to just have warmth soon.

‘Did you read through some of those books? I imagine you did. There are many things in the world, and some things just don’t make sense from reading about it.’

The older man’s face flashed as lightning hit outside, and thunder crashed immediately, causing the younger man to jump.

‘No need to be scared.’ The older man said. ‘Pictures are just pictures. It’s not like the real thing…’

The older man gestured to the books again, and the younger man finally saw it. Without the light from the fire, it was hard to tell anything apart, but what he had assumed was water on the books was red. He looked down at his hands and saw the crimson.

In a panic, the man stood up quickly, knocking his chair back and clattering it against the ground. Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by thunder that rolled above the house. He looked at the floor, seeing the fresh red liquid tracks of something being dragged from that room to the room on the right. There was a small pool of blood right at the door, where something had been slumped against the wall, and he assumed it lay there as the door was opened and dragged inside.

As the man fought with his throat to speak, to shout, the older man stood up, a look of recognition on his face. He knew that the man knew. He looked down, back at the door behind him, then lunged!”

As Mr. Muffins finished his story, he lunged forward at the party and watched them all jump in fear. Some tried their best to hide it, but watching their eyes widen in terror meant he was more than successful at telling a horror tale.

“Well, time for bed.” He said as he clapped his hands against his knees and stood up. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

As he turned, lightning shot through the sky, sending a shockwave of thunderous noise through the air. He smiled at the timing before heading to sleep.