The bog is moist, filled with muck and mosquitoes too. My feet squelch with every step, submerged in green slime along with my high boots. Most make the three day trip from Bracklwhyte to Tottenspur by road. But us? Oh no… we’re not sane.
‘Move it Harrald!, we ought to reach them before sundown. Ye’ been with me long enough to know I make my deliveries on time.’
‘I wish I hadn’t, wouldn’t have had to come along for your errands for the Runner’s guild nor wallow through this damned bog. What’s the message anyway?’
‘I don’t know, but the man didn’t look happy to be sending it. It’s worth 10 silvers and he’ll give us ONE GOLD if we return in four days. I told you this already, before we left, but I guess it just couldn’t into your drunk head.’
‘Hrmpf.’
Clouds of mosquitoes buzz above the men’s heads as they make their way towards the village of Tottenspur. They shamble onto the outskirts of the town just as the sun dips below the horizon.
‘Them mountains are a pretty sight aren’t they?’
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‘Yes they are, so is the town and If it weren’t for you I would be too.’
‘Would you stop it already! We’re here, lets wash off at the village well and find the chief.’
‘You done Harrald? Hey miss, do you know where I could, uh, find the chief?’
‘Walk down and take a left two streets yonder, he should be at the smithy. Ye’ll see it when you’re close. Them two old uns always be chattin in the evenins.’
‘Right then, thank ye. I’ll be off.’
‘Harald? Harald!?’
‘Calm yer mouth Jaegir, I’m right here. After you left me at the well, I went over to the Inn to get us a room, took two silver he did. The serving girl has quite the pretty face, I bought a mug of beer, wouldn’t be justice for her smile otherwise.‘
The men head to the smithy. They see two old men sitting outside a wooden pavilion. Embers smolder in the forge.
‘Good evening sirs, we’ve a message for you from Bracklewhyte.’
The men move to hand the parchment over but are soon interrupted.
‘Surely, you don’t expect me to read it… I’m an old man, can’t you see? …pause… Hahahaha, go on boy read out the message. These eyes aren’t what they used to be, and that old coot’s hands be darkened with soot.’
Jaegir reads the message out loud.
‘I’d wish ye well Jorgen, but I know ye won’t be. I’ve word from scouts that a band of 300 hundred men, raiders mostly, are marching towards the road that connects our Bracklwhyte with your village. At their pace, they’ll arrive in 5 days. I’ve not men to spare, but If ye need safety, your people can camp on our marching grounds. Do as ye will. – Uqwoete , Guard Captain of Bracklwhyte.’