Post by Crow • ᚴᚱᚬᚴᛦ on Dec 4, 2022 18:58:31 GMT
A lumber cart rolls unhurriedly along the northerly road that stretches out from Daring Heights into the Angelbark Forest. The driver, noticing the increasing thickness of the fog as they approach the eaves of the woods, slows the old draft horse pulling his cart down to a sluggish trot.
"Gods be damned. Can't see two feet in front o' me," he grumbles to his passenger, a fellow lumberman.
The younger man peers into the left-hand side of the road, as if trying to pierce through the fog with his curious gaze.
"Rod, ain't this where Bloody Creek used to be?"
"Aye. 'S still there far as I know. No one's taken to knock the buildings down nor claim it for 'emselves." He shakes his head. "'Orrible what 'appened to that place."
They can see nothing in their vicinity but the dirt road and the silhouette of trees. But they can hear, loud and clear, the cawing — that unsettling call of carrion birds, seemingly invisible and all around them.
"Sounds like the crows've claimed it for themselves." The passenger chuckles nervously. "Er...what did 'appen there, if ya don't mind tellin' the story?"
"Not at all. But truth be told, all I know issat 'twas a bloody mess and the only survivors are a lady and 'er little'uns."
When the passenger makes no remark, the driver continues speaking. He feels a strange urge to hear a sound other than the crows, even if it is his own voice. "Well... I 'eard it from the lads," he says in a low voice, "that there's a creature livin' in the ruins there. Story goes, pair o' looters went into a farmhouse in the village and when they were done gettin' what they wanted, they turned around and saw a man standin' in the doorway, just starin' at them. At least, they thought it was a man. Sum said it 'ad the 'ead of a raven. Anyway, they got the shit scared right out of 'em and they dropped e'erythin' and ran... Oi, are ya listenin'?"
The passenger's body has fully turned to face his left, like something had caught his attention. Then he suddenly straightens his back, tense and alarmed, and his hand grips the driver's arm tightly.
"Rod. Rod. There's somethin' in the fog."
The driver sees it too, though just barely. Like a charcoal smudge on white paper, a black figure in the thick fog, shaped vaguely like a humanoid, where the village of Bloody Creek ought to be. He whips the reins to force the draft horse to speed up its gait, from a trot to a fast canter. For a brief moment, the cawing grows louder and louder around them.
"Pay it no mind," hisses the older man. "They say it'll leave ya alone if ya leave it alone."
The ghostly fog gradually thins away when the cart enters the forest proper, and the cawing fades into the distance alongside it. The black figure, too, disappears from sight.
"Gods be damned. Can't see two feet in front o' me," he grumbles to his passenger, a fellow lumberman.
The younger man peers into the left-hand side of the road, as if trying to pierce through the fog with his curious gaze.
"Rod, ain't this where Bloody Creek used to be?"
"Aye. 'S still there far as I know. No one's taken to knock the buildings down nor claim it for 'emselves." He shakes his head. "'Orrible what 'appened to that place."
They can see nothing in their vicinity but the dirt road and the silhouette of trees. But they can hear, loud and clear, the cawing — that unsettling call of carrion birds, seemingly invisible and all around them.
"Sounds like the crows've claimed it for themselves." The passenger chuckles nervously. "Er...what did 'appen there, if ya don't mind tellin' the story?"
"Not at all. But truth be told, all I know issat 'twas a bloody mess and the only survivors are a lady and 'er little'uns."
When the passenger makes no remark, the driver continues speaking. He feels a strange urge to hear a sound other than the crows, even if it is his own voice. "Well... I 'eard it from the lads," he says in a low voice, "that there's a creature livin' in the ruins there. Story goes, pair o' looters went into a farmhouse in the village and when they were done gettin' what they wanted, they turned around and saw a man standin' in the doorway, just starin' at them. At least, they thought it was a man. Sum said it 'ad the 'ead of a raven. Anyway, they got the shit scared right out of 'em and they dropped e'erythin' and ran... Oi, are ya listenin'?"
The passenger's body has fully turned to face his left, like something had caught his attention. Then he suddenly straightens his back, tense and alarmed, and his hand grips the driver's arm tightly.
"Rod. Rod. There's somethin' in the fog."
The driver sees it too, though just barely. Like a charcoal smudge on white paper, a black figure in the thick fog, shaped vaguely like a humanoid, where the village of Bloody Creek ought to be. He whips the reins to force the draft horse to speed up its gait, from a trot to a fast canter. For a brief moment, the cawing grows louder and louder around them.
"Pay it no mind," hisses the older man. "They say it'll leave ya alone if ya leave it alone."
The ghostly fog gradually thins away when the cart enters the forest proper, and the cawing fades into the distance alongside it. The black figure, too, disappears from sight.