Bertrand stared through the pane of glass, watching as the downpour began to ease up. His legs were tired from running, but his mind was still racing.
"Oi, Bertrand, the drinks are here." Harvin snapped his fingers in front of Bertrand's face to break him out of his trance.
"Ah so they are. Thank ye kindly." Bertrand gave the barmaid a curt nod as she placed the flagons of ale on the damp, worn table.
"There's ya drink as promised mate, so tell us now, regale us with your story of daring heroism and bravery." Harvin chuckled mockingly as he spurred the rest of the group to do the same.
Bertrand stared at him with a plainly unimpressed face. They thought this was some kind of joke. "’Tis no laughing matter Harvin, and there were no heroics about it. Lucky to have gotten away with me life I am."
"You said a bloody monster. What was it then, some mangy wolf? A hungry bear?" The men laughed again.
"Nay Harvin. An elk."
The men stopped laughing. Without their carousing, the inn felt a lot smaller, with only the sound of the rain outside and hushed conversations to break up the silence.
"A bloody elk? By Almek, Bertrand, losing your edge are ya? What's next? Hunting ferocious squirrels?"
"No ordinary elk, Harvin. Something... twisted. Something dark"
The men leaned in with a somber expression, their curiosity piqued.
"Alright mate, let us have it then." Harvin placed his flagon on the table.
"’Twas but a few hours ago. I had been hunting in the wetlands to the North-west as I usually do..."
----
Bertrand walked parallel to the river but tried to avoid standing anywhere too damp. As with any hunting foray in the wetlands, he was bound to get drenched, but he liked to hold out for as long as possible. He hadn't been raised in Murkwater and wasn't used to the constant dampness. It rained a lot back home in Redhaven, but Murkwater was something else.
As he hopped from stump to stone to the occasional patch of dry ground, he made his way further into the wetlands, foreboding clouds looming overhead.
"Rain, looks like. Best get this over with as quick as I can." Bertrand muttered to himself as he approached the embankment that bordered the flats. It had been the site of an old battle from long ago, back when the cities of Fonere were at each other's throats. The heavy conflict had compacted the ground enough that even now, it didn't become immediately saturated by the nearby river, like the rest of the ground in the wetlands.
Bertrand unslung his bow and kept his eyes peeled for any of the small game that frequented the flats. With the weather looking the way it was, he wanted to bag something and be on his way quickly.
"Ah, what's this then." He muttered to himself as he caught sight of a fox doing some hunting of its own. With a quick shot from his bow, the fox dropped to the ground. Bertrand exhaled. Fox, again. Alva wouldn't be pleased, but it was better than having no meat for the night.
Bertrand placed the limp body in his sack and began making his way back toward the embankment. His boots had become sodden by this point, and it hadn't even started to rain yet. Murkwater truly had earned its name.
As he scrambled up the muddy slope, Bertrand almost lost his footing from shock as he reached the top. An elk stood down the river in the direction of town. The large game didn't normally come to the wetlands, especially not this close to town.
Bertrand regained his composure as he climbed to his feet and wiped his hands on his already muddy trousers.
"You could feed a lot of hungry mouths, friend..." Bertrand placed his hand on his bow over his shoulder. "But how to get you back to town..." It still hadn't started raining, but the downpour would begin soon if the sky were anything to go by. "I'd wager the boys would be willing to help for a slab of elk, even in the rain... Been too long since Murkwater has had a good feed".
Bertrand readied his bow once again and took aim. He reminded himself that he was the finest hunter in Murkwater. The fact that he was also the only hunter in Murkwater wasn't of consequence. Bertrand took a deep breath and let the arrow fly.
---
The elk let out a guttural howl as the arrow lodged in its neck. Bertrand never much liked this part. The elk reared and bucked before turning and falling in pain. Bertrand slung his bow over his shoulder and started to close the distance. The beast was in pain, and he needed to end its suffering, but the shot had been easily 50 meters, and the ground in between was especially precarious this close to the river. As Bertrand made his way to the elk, he first noticed how patchy its coat was. "Ah pox!" he cursed. "Probably the bloody mange."
Bertrand drew his knife as he neared the elk. As he knelt beside it, his eyes widened. "The mange doesn't do this."
The elk was covered in clusters of engorged golden blisters, each one shining like a beacon in the late afternoon gloam. The thick, cloudy substance inside had already stained the surrounding skin a sickly yellow hue. What remained of the ragged fur on its back was patchy and falling out, and its panicked eyes were clouded over, furiously darting back and forth, to no avail. The elk's breathing quickened as it sensed him near. It turned and started wildly bucking its head at him. One of its filth-caked antlers dug into his shoulder, and Bertrand dropped his knife in response to the searing pain.
He scrambled back to get away from the flailing antlers, and when the beast calmed for a moment, he carefully pulled his knife closer with his boot, dragging it through the mud. Once it was within reach, he grabbed the blade and lunged for the elk's throat. With methodical aim, he drove his blade into the elk's flesh. It spasmed briefly before rapidly losing the energy needed to keep up its struggle. Bertrand withdrew his knife and let out an exasperated sigh. As the knife unplugged the wound, he was faced with a flow of blackened blood and searing golden pus. He looked on with macabre fascination. "Definitely not the mange..."
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Bertrand's thought was cut short as, one by one, the clusters of golden blisters began to grow and pop in quick succession, coating him in the foul substance. "By Almek!" he shouted, eyes bulging as he doubled over, hacking coughs wracking his body as he tried to expel the fluid from his mouth. Bertrand stumbled to his feet, wiping fluid away from his eyes as he turned away from the infected elk. He had barely stood again before coming face-to-face with an elderly man, ragged face inches away from his own.
"Shame, that one. We had such high hopes for it," the man cackled, his diseased grin all but toothless.
Bertrand took a step back in shock and almost fell on the elk, his worn leather boots unable to find traction on the slick ground. "Bloody hell mate, don't be sneaking up on a man like that!" Bertrand scolded the man as he spat the last of the pus from his mouth.
The old man keenly eyed the phlegm as it landed in the mud, staring with an uncomfortably wide, disapproving gaze. "Was it not to your liking, then?"
"Come again?" Bertrand asked, unsure exactly what the man was asking.
"Velrand's sweet, golden nectar. Did you find it... not to your liking?"
"Velrand?! No I bloody did not. Fucking disgusting is what it was. Are you one of his lepers then? Fuck off back to your little peninsula, we don't want your kind round these parts. We're good honest folk and we don't need you and your lot spreading your god's disgusting sick."
"The peninsula?" The man laughed. "Oh my, I haven't been to the Abbey for… quite some time dear boy. No, we're from... further north." The man again flashed his mostly toothless grin.
"We?" Bertrand asked cautiously, cocking his head to the side?
The old man gave a sly smile and nodded in Bertrand's direction, signaling him to turn around. Skeptical of the Rotten God's follower, he slowly turned, not taking his eyes off the man for as long as he could. Standing behind him, there were two more men, both clothed in the same faded auburn robes as the older man. On the left stood a man who was slender, so much so that he looked like he may expire at any moment. His sickly complexion and gaunt, apathetic face completed his visage of frailty. On the right towered an imposing monolith of a man, his barrel chest and broad shoulders making him seem as wide as an ox, his sallow skin covered in a tapestry of pox scars, a testament to resilience, or suffering.
"Oh bollocks." Bertrand sighed as he turned back to the elderly man. "What do you lot want then? I've got no money with me, you'll find naught on me worth taking."
"My boy! We don't want to rob you. Just the opposite." The man stepped forward, putting his withered hand on Bertrand's filthy tunic, ignoring the terrified hunter's flinch. "You have tasted of our Lord's latest creation, his golden nectar. We would welcome you to our home, as one of our kin."
"I beg your fucking pardon?" Bertrand spat.
"Yes, yes! And pardoned you shall be. You may have taken one of our Lord's children,” the old man gestured to the elk, lifeless in the mud. “But he will live on in you, and your blinding radiance will flourish for all to see!"
"You're cracked, mate!" shouted Bertrand as he brushed the man's hand from his shoulder. "Now, sod off; I need to get back home before the rains come in!"
As if he had offended The Luckmaker herself, no sooner had he finished his sentence than a single droplet landed on his cheek, followed by another, and then another. Bertrand let out a low groan.
"Yes, child, we shall guide you to your new home - your new family."
"Oh, I don't bloody think so, mate!" Bertrand spat. As he turned to leave, he was sent sprawling to the ground as the larger man rammed into him from behind. He felt the air leave his lungs as he landed in the mud. He lay there trying to catch his breath as the large man loomed over Bertrand's prone form, cracking his knuckles in a deliberately menacing fashion.
Bertrand caught sight of his hunting knife, half buried in the mud just before him. He took it in his hand as he inhaled deeply, and in a single swift motion he rolled onto his side and drove the knife through the brute's calf, before jerking the blade down and out. The man fell to the ground, howling in pain, multiple muscles and tendons cleanly severed by Bertrand's knife. Bertrand scrambled to his feet, making eye contact with the elderly man as he did so. The old man simply watched, a slight smile on his face, making no motion to stop Bertrand. Before breaking into his stride, he turned back to make sure the brutish man was not somehow following him. As expected he lay in the mud next to the elk, clutching his destroyed leg. The sickly man was making his way over the brute with a look of genuine concern on his face, unlike the old man, who continued to smile. Bertrand ran, leaving his bow and sack behind, the knife still clutched in his hand. He did not stop running until he made it back to Murkwater.
---
"By Almek, Bertrand, that's certainly a story. Velrand's Afflicted, here in Murkwater? I thought they kept to the peninsula..." Harvin bellowed, now onto his third flagon of ale.
"They said they hadn't been to the peninsula for a while... maybe they were apostates?" one of the other men at the table speculated.
"Yeah... maybe... All I know is I'll be glad if I never have to see them again. They'd not dare set foot in Murkwater proper, not with the watchmen on duty," Bertrand said as he took a drink, eyes locked in a thousand yard stare.
"Sounds like you did a number on the big one anyhow, I doubt grandpa and the sickly lad could cause much of a fuss, eh Bertrand?"
"Hmm... maybe." Bertrand was deep in thought. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was the elk, its feral, blind eyes filled with a knowing rage, its skin ravaged by gold.
"Well, that'll be me for the night, I reckon. Got an early start tomorrow, such is the baker's lot in life, I'm afraid" Harvin laughed as he stood up from the table. "Bloody rain finally stopped. I imagine you'll be wanting to get home and see Alva?"
"Hmm? Alva... yeah. She'll be wondering where I am. I'd better be off." Bertrand stood, and accompanied Harvin as the pair stepped outside. The rainstorm had washed away some of Murkwater's characteristic filth, but had loosened up any mud that had been bold enough to dry since the last downpour. Bertrand didn't worry about the mud anymore, he was already coated in a putrid combination of mud, sweat, blood, and pus, which the rain had done little to wash away.
"Be seein' ya, mate!" waved Harvin as he turned toward the bridge over the river to the north side of town.
"Yeah... see you 'round, Harvin." Bertrand walked slowly as he made his way down the street to where he and Alva lived. He still couldn't shake the image of the elk - the haunting sounds it made as it died. It was unlike anything he had seen, and he had hunted elk before, at least twice.
As he arrived home, he took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Bertrand. Where in Almek's name have you been? Gods have mercy, what has happened to you?" Alva cried, gesturing to the mess of filth and bile that coated Bertrand.
"Not mine... I don't think. Sorry love, busy day..."
"Did you find some game, at least?"
Bertrand's silence was his answer.
"Well, not to worry, I've made a soup, and Harvin dropped off some fresh bread earlier today. Go and get washed up, and I'll have something plated up for you in a moment."
Bertrand trudged to the washroom, eyes stinging from tiredness, legs burning from overexertion. There was a wooden tub of what passes for washing water for the common folk. Bertrand stripped off his tunic and trousers and lowered himself to his knees. He took a rag from the ground and soaked it in the water, using it to wipe the filth from his face and body, a single candle his only source of light now that night had set in.
When he was satisfied that he wasn't going to get any cleaner, he leaned over the washbowl, grateful for the momentary respite. As he gazed into the still water, he saw a disturbingly familiar sight - faint clusters of golden blisters had begun to spread across his chest. He frantically grabbed the candle, holding it close to inspect the ominous marks. The ripples from his sudden movements faded away, leaving behind a sense of unease as Bertrand realized the full extent of his newest affliction.
“God have mercy, Alva! Get in here!”