Well, I hope you’re happy!
I told you this trip wasn’t worth the effort! I told you that nobody in Brenham was interested in buying any of the swampland that you have for sale. Not to mention that the whole area is infested with a bunch of Margr that won’t let anybody live there for long.
But, I did as you asked. I got on that caravan and headed out to try and find people interested in buying land you don’t even actually own.
Now, I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere and apparently a bunch of Murden have attacked the front-running wagons!
It’s going to be your fault if I get nicked by some foul creature in the middle of a bloody forest. It’s a total disaster. Apparently, ‘Old Mr. Franklin’ up and gutted himself right over top of his baskets of jazzy fruits! Just stood up and ran a cooking knife clear through his belly. He was so proud of those jazzy, too. He claimed that they were the juiciest of all the harvests this season. Not to even mention, some kid named Dodger, swears that he saw some old lady eating burning, hot, coals as if they were sweet-cakes. “Shoved them into her mouth as fast as she could,” said he.
Says, "her whole tummy lit up on fire just like Mr. Gallaghers garbage dump when he sets the thing ablaze. "
I don’t know if any of that’s true – but I don’t doubt it. The whole thing is a big, chaotic, mess! I haven’t left the back of my wagon ‘cept to relieve myself going on hours now. I don’t know what’s out in those woods, but I want no part of it. No way, no how! And yet, here I am, all because you got this grand idea to try and sell off some stinking bog to a bunch of ignorant townsfolk. All I have is this blasted cypher that lets me write notes to you. Not sure what kind of help that’s going to do me in fighting off a bunch of crazed Murden that are making people kill themselves!
There’s hope, however. Apparently some of the guards that were working on this caravan aren’t so helpless after all…
‘Cept for, I heard one of ’em ran off into the bush by himself and got chased up a tree by a bunch of Broken Hounds. What kind of madman runs into a dark forest by himself when there’s a bunch of Murden and Broken Hounds roaming around?
The others, though…! Mrs. Dample said that she saw one of ’em vault onto a burning wagon, ignoring the flames licking at his heels and shooting down Murden by the dozens! He was tall as a giant, she said. So handsome in the firelight as he saved his comrades below from fumbling all over one another!
I’m not sure what is supposed to happen now. Some have said that we are waiting until daybreak to take a better look at the damage done. Others have heard tell, that some of the guards have run off into the forest in an attempt to hunt down the creatures that attacked us.
Something about a girl going missing, too? Apparently she belongs to someone important? I’m not sure who.
All I know for certain is that if I die out here, I am bloody well making sure that the last thing I do before I take my last breath is curse you to the grave on these very pages that you gave me to communicate with you.
“Go sell the swampland,” you said. Thanks a lot. Look at the fine mess I’m in now.