To catch a rat

Sketch made his way through the woods of Scara Brae to the village of Lorne. According to his friend, Nevin, Lorne had attempted to find medicine of all sorts after some disaster had broken out in their town. Sketch had made his way through the woods to see what had happened, he was a storyteller, it was his job to find stories, such as towns being destroyed.

The tall, pale man made his way through the last of the trees that separated the village from the path to Stonevale. He relished the feeling of the wind running through his shaggy dark hair, as the tree line gave way to open plains. He looked around him and saw fields of dead crops as far as the eye could see, their dead husks rotting in the sun.

Lorne was known for its agriculture, the mountains to the north of the town allowing its water to hold huge amounts of nutrients that allowed the crops and livestock to thrive. Sketch had no doubt that the “disaster” he’d heard about was some disease that ravaged the surrounding area. He walked around the dead stalks of corn that should be thriving in late summer, and tried to find a proper road that lead the village center. The buzzing of insects filled the air around him as he made his way through.

Sketch wasn’t sure what plague had enveloped the area, but he couldn’t remember ever having smelled something so vile as the rotting, sunbaked husks that littered the farms. He had to take his cloak off and cover his face to keep the biting flies from entering his nose and ears. Eventually, he made his way to a main road that lead into the town.

The road wound between several farms that were littered with innumerable rotting vegetables, and as Sketch made his way towards the village center, he even saw the rotting corpses of herds of cattle and horses. When the village was in view, Sketch began to smell smoke on the wind, and could see multiple black spirals working their way up towards the sky. The front gates of the village were almost completely blocked by a wooden coach, several men wearing face masks and long, red robes were unloading several casks and crates from the top.

Sketch made his way to the gates and waved down one of the men, attempting to start a conversation. One of the men stopped unloading the cart and made his way to Sketch. “I’m sorry sir, the village of Lorne is under quarantine, there’s an extremely viral plague running rampant, and until the cause and nature of the blight can be ascertained, travel in and out of the village is prohibited.”

“I understand completely doctor, I just wanted to ask about the conditions of the town, and inquire as to what happened with in. I saw the fields and farms, is the town in the same shape?” Sketch asked the man, making sure to keep the cloak over his face to try and filter the air after hearing the news of the blight.

“The town is a graveyard sir. There’s no man or woman alive inside. We’re sanitizing and sterilizing the remains, in attempts to stop the plague from spreading. The symptoms include massive boils and legions, as well as bleeding coughs. Make sure you clean yourself thoroughly with lye sir, we’re not sure how the plague spreads or is contracted.” The man said, “There’s only one other thing we know about this incident, that there’s absolutely no children inside the town, at least no corpses anyway.”

Sketch couldn’t believe the last word that the doctor said, No Children, that scared Sketch, there were any number of Grym that preyed upon children, and all of them were twisted. Sketch had a soft spot for children as a storyteller. They sat around and listened to him for hours.

If this blight and abduction were truly the works of a Grym, Sketch felt partly responsible for rescue intervention these kids. The real problem Sketch encountered was the complete lack of witnesses. He might have been able to follow a trail if he had a clue, but so far he was out of leads.

He pondered for a second, wondering if whatever had taken the kids left a trail through the rot of the surrounding area. If that was the case, he doubted he could find such a trail in an area this large. He attempted to scan the green tree line for any patches of brown.

It was hard to tell from where he stood, but he thought he could see an opening around 500 yards from where he stood. Once again, he put his cloak over his head and walked through the field. When he got to the trees, he saw not only were they devoid of leaves, but there was also a black, pitch-like substance. The smell of rot was so strong that it got through the thick fabric of Sketch’s rough cloak. He continued onwards through the trees coughing.

Deciding that his cloak wasn’t helping at this point, he took his pipe out and began smoking it, hoping to use the smell and taste to drown out the assault on his senses.

Sketch walked out of the black road, into an opening that revealed bare rocky ground and rolling stone hills. Sketch stood at a loss, he’d been able to track them through a living wood, but on solid stone, he felt less likely to find a trail with no plants that could wither or die.

The lean Storyteller was always wary of trying to summon wolves. Wolf Grym we’re always harder to control, harder to direct. Wolves were one of the High Fears that man possessed, it was ancient and primal, almost instinctual to fear them. There were many popular stories and legends about wolves, which lead to much more power generated for the Grym. “The Big Bad Wolf” was powerful enough to eat two people whole and hypnotize red riding hood into thinking he was her grandmother.

Sketch wracked his brain trying to think of any other solutions before resorting to summoning an unstable and unpredictable monster of living fear. When none came to mind, he sighed, reached his hands out and began to intone with his strange, deep baritone voice, ”When the creator made the world, he made the land and the sky, the sea and the air. He made beasts to crawl upon the ground, fly in the skies and swim in the oceans. These creatures grew plentiful and numerous. Eventually, the creator’s beast grew too many in number, eating all the flora that covered the earth, and the ground grew lifeless and dead. The creator wept at the sight of the lifeless ground, for he loved all of his creations, even the green grass that he created to feed the animals.

Realizing that allowing the fauna to grow unchecked was a mistake, he again blanketed the world in the green of plant life, and created predators to challenge and punish the weaker prey creatures when they grew too numerous. The prey creatures grew to fear the predators that are the flesh of their old, sick and young. Eventually the prey gathered in groups in order to offer protection from the predators.

The most cunning of the predators began to hunt in packs as well, allowing them to prosper from each other. They grew sharp senses and became the most efficient of hunters.

As Sketch spoke, the sky dimmed to an unnatural night, and fog rolled in, creating a environment of black and white. As Sketch focus his will through the story, he felt a “pull” on his mind, shaping the picture in his head into a shape the resembled a large black wolf, Which Sketch could see through.

The beast looked to the Storyteller, and the eyes looked familiar, a deep, dark green that faded into a deep black. “We meet again Teller. It’s been a while. The beast gave a strange symbalence of a crooked grin, “I was wondering when you’d call on one of us to hunt down a rogue.

The voice sounded familiar to Sketch, and he thought that the eyes were similar to his own. He wasn’t sure where, but he was certain that he’d seen the beast before. [COLOR="#000080"]“Yes, well... We’re in pursuit of a Grym that’s ubducted children and spread a blight to the surrounding land. The trail I’ve followed has ended here, can you smell him out?” Sketch asked, unsure of how to respond to a Grym that he’d summoned when it actually spoke to him.

“Children? And a blight? It sounds like the “Rat King” Teller. Nasty business, following Hamelin. I can guide you, I just hope there’s enough Grym in you to prevent you from getting sick.” The beast replied.