Travels into a Remote Corner of Faydark


Travels into a Remote Corner of Faydark
By Yuille Maclemuel

I have wasted little time before to write of my travels, but my recent adventure in The Faydark forest inspired me. I was going through Lesser Faydark on my way to the docks of Butcherblock after battling some enjoyably putrid undead within the Loping Plains, on my flying carpet. All of a sudden I was struck from the side! I last remember plummeting through the oversized flora that fills the Lesser Faydark!

I awoke flat on my back. My head was reeling. I was disoriented and was having a hard time focusing. Worst of all, I was unable to move! This is when I began to feel small jobbing upon my face! A bug, no doubt, asking to be crushed. My eyes then made out a small figure upon my chest standing three apples high, pushing a spear at my cheek! A bug, my cold Halasian butt, this is a brownie!

It took no time then for me to understand why I could not move. They had bound me to the ground with thousands of tiny crisscrossing threads! And this one on my chest will not stop stabbing me! “Stop that!” I roared. The stabber flinched back enough and was forced to regain his balance. He then said something to me in his little high pitched voice. It was bold, and curt.

“I don’t speak fiddly fae.” I shouted, “No, wings, Butch!” The tiny guy then yelled something back to the others that were surrounding me. Another male came forward.
“I know to speak bits your tongue. I talks for us.”
“Great. You do that. Tell this tiny dancer to let me go!”
“He will not do.”
“Why not?”
“You attack patrol and you done threat our village! We’re doomed!”
“I have not. I feel from my carpet!”

“And dead now two mens under you. You attack.”
“That was an accident.” (Was that the odd squishiness I was feeling?) “A boo boo!” I explained.
“Ah! That for Walpole to find true or no.” The little interpreter then went over and began speaking with several others, one of which was the stabber. I then started to take in my surroundings. I began to be impressed by the nerve, intelligence and organizational abilities of the miniature people.

It was their behavior towards me and with each other that I was reading. They obviously had an organized military structure. This is not what I would have expected! It is easy to assume smaller is simpler, but these guys are on the ball! I had always imagined them more like a gaggle of small goblins. Irritating, but not enough to hinder you. Clearly I underestimated these people. They are all clothed, and clean. They are just as advanced as any race allowed in Freeport; moreso than some!

Is that a rat head the stabber guy is wearing as a helm? How had I not noticed that before? “You stay.” The interpreter had come back. “Walpole send word to Mayor Mendeputt. He say what to do.”
“Contacting superiors, gotchya.” To this he turned and walked back to the others.
“You need a drink?” A female brownie was walking towards me.
“That would be nice,” I replied. She then cast a spell which created a cloud over my head and it rained on me clear and fresh water.

“Thanks.”
“You are welcome,” She smiled. “I like your face colors. I have been thinking of adding to my marks, too.”
“Oh,” I feigned interest.
“You need not worry. Even if Walpole wants to kill you, he will not do it if Mayor Mendeputt does not wish it. Walpole does not do anything that will endanger his standing in the court.”
“You talk a lot,” I pointed out. “And speak Halasian well.” (I wish she hadn’t.)

“Thank you! They continue to choose Carteret to translate because of how many tongues he claims to know.” She kept going. “The truth is he isn’t very good at any of them! And he tells so many stories. I bet he will be found in the pub house this night telling all how he single handedly mediated a war between the barbarians and brownies!”

I respected the aggressive and suspicious males, but if the chattery and casual female was a standard for her gender, then I had even more respect for the males for putting up with such nonsense. I was glad when the one called Walpole (the stabber) came back, and interrupted the girl’s incessant yammering. Carteret was close on his heels, and began translating immediately.

“By order of great, good, big and mighty Mayor Mendeputt, brownies to cut big girl. Er, rope, cut her rope!” Obviously, he was trying to translate for my own good. The brownies had no confusion over what their orders had been. They had already began cutting at my restraints. “Potent hunter Walpole wishes to thank on you for your behaving, and is sad for any hurt done.”

“No worries kid. I am sorry about your friends though,” I said, as I sat up and looked behind me to the carnage that was two flattened brownies.
“We too,” he stated solemnly, as others covered the bodies with cloaks. “Mushroom top is your fabric found.”
“Shiny. I’ll be on my way then.” And with that, I retrieved my carpet and made my way to Butcherblock as I had planned.

I can see how the little guys can leave a bad taste in one’s mouth. I can only warn that you take care as you travel through the Lesser Faydark. The brownies may be little, but the pain they can inflict is large!

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