The Traveller

Log 1. The Village in the Swamp.

In a part of the land there was a large swamp with murky dark puddles and white mist that curled like the claws of a cat. The trees were tall and thick, with a canopy that loomed overhead, blocking out any trace of sunlight. A lonesome traveller was navigating an obscured path through those trees in the swamp. A traveller that was well accustomed to the encumbering journeys that the road brought with it. And he sought a destination among those dark mires, a haven where he could take refuge.

Fae trod through the puddles, feeling the sordid water seeping up through the soles of his boots. The darkness around him brought with it a sort of eerie feeling that he was quite used to. Though he could feel the invisible eyes of the forest watching him from overhead, and hand-like icky reeds grasping his ankles with every step. If he was not careful, the place would swallow him up. And although he was quite confident he knew the way through these parts, one wrong turn could see that he was lost forever.

He rounded several trees before the shrubs and the trunks cleared and the wet puddles gave way to hard barren dirt. Even though the mist did not disappear completely, it came to thin out a little. Before him was a secluded village with cosy houses, made of skewed logs and thatched roofs. The village was surrounded by gloomy trees, they hung tall overhead, with branches akin to crooked hands reaching out to take the life of something innocent. On its other side there was a small grey lake with a dock that was rotten and broken and that looked as though it hadn't been used in centuries. A tiny boat floated beside it, moored with a thin, withered rope.

Fae made his way into the midst of the little village. Previously on his travels he had crossed paths with an explorer who had claimed to have stumbled upon the secret village in the swamp by chance. Fae had been told that it was inhabited by strange people, hermits who had a peculiar way of living. Fae had heard circulating rumours of the village, but most people dismissed them as exaggerated stories at best, and at worst they were tales told by parents to discourage children from venturing into the swamp. Nobody was senseless enough to actually go searching for the village, and so the stories remained just as they were, rumours. So when Fae met someone who had actually been to the village, he paid the man handsomely for directions and prayed that he wasn't being conned. Fae, was a Traveller, and Travellers had a particular reputation throughout the land – but even so, there were many swindlers who'd happily deceive royalty for a quick bit of money.

The man gave him very specific directions, and had warned him that the people of the village were sceptical of outsiders, and it may take him a while to win their trust. It seemed that the man indeed had not been lying about the village itself; but the story of its inhabitants were another question. Fae had come expecting to have to put on a show, to convince the people that he was harmless and simply curious, but it was becoming more and more obvious, as he observed the village, that it was not inhabited at all. The thick smoke that hung overhead seemed to watch him with ever-growing intensity.

Fae tried knocking on several doors, and after no answer he began searching the houses intently. Nothing was damaged, there was no sign of a bandit raid or any other kind of battle, yet there was dust on the floors, cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings and grime had begun to grow in the cracks of the floorboards. Whatever had happened, it was clear that it had happened some time ago.

He searched three more of the cottages before he ventured to the centre of the lifeless village, and began to silently ponder what had gone on. And also what his next move would be. Almost nobody believed in the existence of this place, so it was hardly plausible that there had been an attack on the people. And the folk here hated the outside world – so there was no way they would have left. It was as though life here had simply just stopped. Suddenly, a sound like that of creaking wood awoke him from his thoughts. He spun around quicker than a frightened deer, turned and drew his sword with the same motion.