1. Krumb walked the road to Dracoshire, his gloomy midnight way ill-lit by a half-shrouded moon. His limbs and spirit were weary, for he'd gone many a mile -- and many more remained ahead. He shivered. His worn, rough garb offered scant protection from the chill breeze that bit at his skin and stroked his bones with its icy touch. Krumb cursed the cold, the darkness, the unending road. But above all else, he cursed the master at whose command he traveled.
5. His screams danced on the chill wind, banshees echoing his horror, cold witnesses who chronicled his doom with the dread voices of the grave. Those phantom cries lingered in the night long after Krumb's own fell silent. But now the mocked and derided. The hardening moonlight and his sharpening perceptions had revealed the terrible faces for what they were -- the grinning rictuses of pumpkins, and nothing more. fruit carved for the coming festival, laid across the field to serve as its ghastly sentinels until that hour. Krumb let the breath escape his lungs. Its mist drifted into the silvery darkness and parted in wispy tendrils. He cursed himself for his foll, for letting his mind conjure specters as though he were some craven child reading them in his bedchamber's shadows. The only foe who awaited him that night was the cold creeping into his bones.
2. A missive lay in Krumb's knapsack, written in that man's hand. He had never learned to read. Thus his master had entrusted him to bear it. Yet Krumb understood what it was. Another incident message that he would place in a maid's hand, and she would take to her mistress without her own master's knowledge. An invitation to carnal sin and the sundering of marriage vows. Krumb new the man's ways. But Krumb's meager livelihood lay in obedience. So he kept to his despicable task and walked onward through the cold darkness.
3. The breeze grew stronger. It bit Krumb deeper. Perhaps the wind scorned his sinful purpose and thought to drive him back or else punish him for his part in it. He pulled his ill-patched cloak tight around his body. But the cold passed through the cloth like a phantom's clawing hand. Krumb's teeth chattered in his head, clacking and grinding. In Dracoshire it would be warmer. His master had given him enough coin to hire cheap lodgings for the night, in the tenements that crowded the slums and would shield him from the wind's judgement. He could wrap himself in a blanket and sleep close by a warm fire. He groaned at the vision's comfort. He was still far from such things. Though perhaps he could shorten his journey...
4. There was a farmer's field at his left. It lay between Krumb and the city, for the road was a long and winding route that twisted and turned between meadows and pastures. So he wondered whether he might shorten his travels by walking a trespasser's path. He looked this way and that, and saw no living soul. The road was all his own. No other was foolish enough to travel so late on such a night. Nor were any laborers toiling at that hour. Who would know if he went across the field? None but the gods, and Krumb was willing to risk their ire. Thus he left the road and picked his way though the dark masses of tangled plants that rustled and snatched at his shins. He went perhaps a dozen paces before the clouds parted, leaving the moon unfettered. Silver light washed over the field. And Krumb screamed. For he saw the grinning of malevolent faces.
6. And so Krumb continued across the field, the moonlight guiding his steps among the rustling plants and fruit both living and dead. The pumpkins watched as he passed. Each stared from the mutilated orange flesh of its face. They grinned at him, mouths carved in the sinister merriment of conspirators. It was as though they knew of the missive Krumb carried, and found callous amusement in such wickedness. They laughed at the thought of desecrated marriage beds and cuckolded husbands. He found himself smiling in turn, sharing the joke in spite of his chattering teeth. To hell with men who couldn't keep their wives faithful. Krumb had no sympathy to waste on rich, warm well-fed fops.
7. He kept onward. Still he shivered, but the grim pleasure of sharing the pumpkin's jest licked harsh warmth into his mind. Those ugly faces knew what he knew. But they didn't care. So why should he care? Krumb let out a bark of cold laughter, and looked to his newfound allies -- expecting to see it mirrored there. But the cared faces that stared up at him from the dirt were different now. The cruel joy was gone. They didn't smile. Instead they scowled. They glared, slashed eyes boring into his like angry gimlets. Those dark shapes held his condemnation.. His fate. His doom. Clouds took the moon. The silver light vanished, and blackness descended across the pumpkin patch. It drowned Krumb beneath its ebon waves. A shriek piercing the night, but there was no one to hear it. No one save the moon and the pumpkins.
8. Horatio Darcus Bloodwyn sipped mulled wine by the blazing fire's lights. Its spiciness tingled his throat and warmed his innards. A mile creased his lips. In luxurious repose, wallowing in the comforts of his study, he allowed his mind to dwell upon the amorous encounter which would soon take place with his latest romantic conquest. Other men's wives were such a delight. Perhaps he would... Plodding footsteps on the staircase stole his thoughts. His brow darkened. The servants knew better than to stray into his private quarters unbidden. And his face grew more wrathful still, when he recognized the familiar tread. Krumb! He'd sent the sniveling fool to Dracoshire. If he'd returned with his duty undone... Horatio glared as the chamber door creaked open. Then he issued a scream. It lasted for the remainder of his life.
This content is for the mobile version of Dawn of the Dragons → Go to the web version of this page
Limited Time Item Pumpkin Night Chest - 18/10/13
