Journal No 8

30 December
O Captain My Captain~

The holidays are here, I am glad to have spent them in a drugged, hedonistic haze. Time and energy very well spent. As such, I am afraid I have not made many ventures outside of the Manor, other than to check on my studio. Perhaps a few trips to the Wild Man were thrown in for good measure. I cannot recall for certain. Although I do recall dancing with the gypsies. They danced in honor of the full moon, while was moved by the heavy beat of the drums
Reaching too deeply in my personal quest for...knowledge has left it's mark upon me. The strain has taken its toll..odd phrases roll about in dreams, inspiring me on.. I awoke to find several locks of hair had turned white overnight. I find my vanity is well pleased with the look and it serves as a reminder to not ..overtax myself.... I trust you are having better luck with your own studies.
In an attempt to make up for lack of local gossips about the protest over the harvesting of the Raven Woods (of which I stand firmly against, for personal reasons) I have enclosed a few clippings from the Mortchester Times about the most terrible ill luck that has attached itself to the mining operations. Now, as it pleases you, I have a tale to share. Not a holiday tale, but a small gift of the season. While it was meant to be told aloud, I fear it would be a bit much to have to say.
Crossroads
The storyteller watched those assembled with cool grey-green eyes. Inclining her head to the darkened room she began to speak in a soft melodic voice. Subtly adjusting the various tones and pitch trying to draw in and mesmerize the audience. "Have you heard tell of the crossroads? Seems there's a legend or fable about crossroads, in almost every corner of the world.Crossroads are funny places. Neither here, nor there and to some betwixt and between. Thinny places. Pathways for the dead, a place for demonic deals, or so it has been told. I have one such tale to share. It happened not so long ago and not too far away.... "
"A traveler had a chance to visit Mortchester before making their way to Goatswood proper. It had been raining steadily throughout the day and it wasn't long before they found themselves weary and in need of a bit of refreshment. Spying an Inn nearby they stopped at the front stoop and did their best to kick the mud from their boots before taking a seat near the fire. After a mug of cider and a bit of roasted vegetables the traveler felt rather drained and soon fell into slumber where they sat."
" It was some time later when the traveler awoke as more logs were put upon the hearth. The common room had thinned out leaving only a few customers. Our traveler had just begun to gather their things when the door to the inn banged open in a gust of wind. A chill swept through the room and those unfortunate to be near the door were pelted in a stinging rain"
" Before any could shutter the door there was a crack of lighting outlining a misshapen bundle of a figure. Everyone seemed to be frozen, rooted into place as the figure knocked a heavy walking stick against the ground.
More than a few mugs of ale sloshed in surprise when the man spoke, his voice gravel-rough " Who will help a weary peddler across the threshold?" The barmaid made a strange gesture with her hands and pointed at the hunched figure. "Peddlers and tinkers stay in the barn tonight. Rooms are full." The traveler looked at the maid rather curiously, knowing the Inn still had rooms, but having seen such prejudice before.
The travelers made their way to the threshold, staring at the man. Water dripped steadily from the hem of his too short, threadbare cloak. The man looked to be soaked to the bone. The traveler was more than a little fed up with the local superstitions at the expense of a fellow human and before they knew it had thrust out their hand to help the peddler-man inside. The strength of the man's grip surprised our traveler as his hand latched onto their forearm. The traveler pulled back instinctively, and in doing so pulled the peddler across the threshold.
The cane rang a hollow note with each step he took into the room. The man with all his bundles began to twitch like some great grey beast shaking off the damp. He shrugged off the damp goods, pans clanking as the sacks thudded against the ground. All eyes watched as he limped towards the fire warming himself.
It was quite the scene, the old man hunched by the fire, steam rising off his sodden clothes. Our traveler felt a touch of sympathy as they too watched the man. It took the traveler several tries to catch the barmaid's attention. Poor thing was white as a sheet as she refilled the empty mug.
The traveler approached the man with mug outstretched, offering it to the peddler. " For your troubles on such a rainy night." The peddler turned to study our traveler with odd green eyes that held such intensity,they gleamed by the light of the fire. The gravel rough sound of his voice crept across one's skin as he spoke, " Much thanks to you. Strangers are not often inclined towards understanding on nights as these." He drank deeply and to the traveler's surprise, had drained the mug. The peddler turned to look at the barmaid who let out a gasp as she dropped the plate in her hands. He laughed, a disturbing sound given the nature of his voice.
The Peddler warmed his hands by the fire as he continued "Stuck in a ditch a ways back, carried what I could. Was hoping to hire some help getting my cart pulled free. Payment when the job is done." He shook a good sized pouch, the sounds of coins falling against each other echoed around the room. the sound alone was enough to get one man's interest.
The traveler watched as a lanky fellow in stained clothes amble towards the peddler. The rather oily man bent down and hefted one of the bundles to his back. "Ain't got nothing better to do. Might as well earn a bit of coin, name's Kip" The old peddler picked up the other sack and clapped Kip on his back bidding him thanks. Wanting to be of some help our traveler gathered their things and set out with them.
The rain has passed, leaving the damp quiet and pale fog in it's wake. It was quite a long walk, and they made idle conversation to pass the time. The peddler seemed to ignore the traveler's presence as they walked, limping along in no apparent hurry as Kip rambled . The peddler spoke in his gravely voice as he studied Kip. " Say again, where you were headed young Kip?" Kip shifted the peddler's bag as he spoke, " I mean to make my way to Goatswood, ply my trade there." The peddler gave a short nod and mentioned he knew which path held the shortest route to the village.
Well now this certainly was a surprise for our traveler as they too had plans to visit the village saying as much to the two of them. The peddler looked over at the traveler with that same intense stare. Our traveler shuddered as if a cat had walked over their grave. Saying nothing as he and Kip moved along. The traveler lost track of how far they trekked that night, but sure enough as they came upon the crossroads a small cart was spilled over into runoff by the road.
The three of them tugged and pulled at the cart until they had finally freed it from the muck and weeds. The peddler gave a satisfied nod as the job was done. As he reached inside the cloak for payment, Kip brandished a dagger at the old man. The peddler stood by while Kip made his demands of gold. He handed the pouch over, just as calm as could be while our traveler stood by in silent outrage over the whole situation.
Kip had gotten rather shouty as he demanded to know the path towards Goatswood, a mad light behind his eyes. The peddler ground his cane into the dirt as he pointed towards the fog. The wind must have shifted as the fog began to thin into wispy tendrils that curled down a winding path half eclipsed by shadows. Kip, who it seemed was as oily as he appeared began to head down the dark path. The traveler watched as the peddler limped to the center of the crossroads and brought the cane down with a mighty crack. The fog churned and roiled across the path, blocking sight of Kip. The only sound was a series of sickening wet cracks before the fog cleared. The path, and Kip were gone. The Peddler laughed in his gravely way as he leaned down to retrieve the pouch. Plucking a coin from the pouch he tossed it to our traveler who caught the coin on reflex. The coin burned with a cold fire that the traveler felt through their glove seeping through to the bone.
The traveler looked up feeling that strange gaze focused on them. Unable to put thoughts to words the traveler knew what the peddler was. He raised his walking stick and pointed back the way they came. " Take the train." The traveler finding themselves at a loss for words. Turning the traveler began the first steps of the long walk back towards Mortchester. Our traveler kept counsel with their thoughts as they walked. A voice inside their mind warning, don't look back. That, is just what the traveler did. Just a short glance was enough to see that the peddler, cart and were gone. The traveler heard that gravel rough voice speak their name and it sounded almost pleased. The traveler gave an involuntary shudder before hurrying back to Mortchester. The peddler's coin and advice well in hand. Arriving back in town a little after dawn and the traveler made their way towards the train station and requested a ticket to Goatswood.
Angeline, the storyteller danced a heavy coin across the back of one hand and then the other. The coin glinted strangely catching the light. "Now, I can't tell you what to believe or disbelieve but I always believed that you can always feel the truth of a tale in the way that sticks in your head and swirls around. At any rate it is up to you, the listener to decipher fact from fable.
I almost forgot. I'm not sure if it has anything to do with the weather this time of year but I have noticed an influx of ravens about the village. I think I shall leave offerings for them. I am fond of the corvus species and find them to be rather clever. I am sure I saw a reference somewhere that mentioned the birds can recognize their attackers.
I have kept you reading for far too long, my apologies.
Achingly yours, Angeline~