A Curse so Twisted And Cruel.

The Drunk, the Dead, and the Tail.

⚠️WARNING: Mention of Rape and blood.

Gnarl.

The heat is sweltering as the sun beats down in the golden fields of Magen, where Lira, Vin, and Gnarl are hard at work behind one of their makeshift stalls.

It's not supposed to be this hot so near to the evening. Gnarl thinks as he wipes the beads of sweat from his brow. He shields his eyes from the glare of the sun, which is still high above the west horizon, (is that thing even setting?) before turning to look at Vin, who is handing over their last basket of strawberries to a tall, weedy man with beady eyes. Gnarl shivers when the man looks at him, his eyes black and soulless.

The man takes the basket and places down a few bronze coins, before moving away hastily, the limp in his step a sign that he's drunk. Gnarls eyes are still on the man when Vin exclaims; "Hey! Tha's ten bronzes less! He's chea'ed!" He sees Lira's head snap up from the corner of his eye, but he's already making his way around their small box of a stall, heading in the man's direction.

"I'll get him." He says to Vin, and before he can protest, Gnarl is hurrying through the dusty streets. He pursues the man past the fruit and vegetable shops, water tanks, and plant stalls, until they finally reach an old pub near the outskirts of the market.

"Hey!" Gnarl calls out, but the man steps inside the pub and disappears. He stops and leans against a broken street light, catching his breath and revelling in the breeze that had begun to blow.

He contemplates going into the pub, but decides against it. That specific pub is well known for the guards who like to stop for a drink and smoke there, since it's one of the only pubs in this place.
And causing a fuss in there is the perfect thing to do to get a one way ticket to prison.

He sighs, making to turn back, but just then, the weedy man steps back out, followed by two big and very drunk men. They stumble through the pub's door, guffawing loudly, and step out onto the street, swaying. One of them suddenly doubles over, clutching at his stomach with a groan. Gnarl thought that he was going to be sick, and shuddered at the thought of walking through it, when the man swore viciously.

Gnarl's eyes widened when he saw a dark red liquid spread on the side of the man's t-shirt. His companions finally stopped laughing and looked at him, the sight of the blood seeming to sober them up a little, and they moved to support the man, hooking his hairy arms around their shoulders, the weedy man struggling with his weight.

The bleeding man swears again , a long string of curses, and the other two men's faces darken. "It's that bloody bitch from the other market." The weedy one says, his voice filled with hatred. "The one who stole the bread."
"No, it's the bloody king." The other spits, not bothering to lower his voice.

"He fucking stabbed me! Just because I gave that whore what she deserved." The man in the middle wheezes, the stain on his shirt growing. "I had her," he continues, a bit out of breath. "I had my belt around her hands, that pretty pink hair of hers in my fist.."

It felt like someone had punched Gnarl in the gut. He knew he was overreacting, but there were only so many people with pink hair, who stole a loaf of bread. It couldn't be a mere coincidence. He watched the men, his ears pricked on their conversation. It wasn't hard to hear though. They were still speaking at the top of their voices.

"She even said my name." The man continues, his breathing ragged.
The weedy one turns to him, a crease in his forehead. "You said it sounded like she said 'Vin' or something."

Gnarl's head spins at that. His mind is conflicted between ripping the men's eyes out, or letting them live until he can get the full story. He decides to go with the latter, and follows them slowly, creeping like a shadow after them, their voices carrying back to him, as they turn a corner, heading deeper into town.

"How much did you drink?" The other man asks, changing the subject. The man in the middle grunts unintelligibly, the red stain on the side of his shirt growing. "I though' you weren't supposed ta drink for the next few weeks un'il the meds are ou' of yeh." The weedy man comments, before slow realisation crosses his face.

But it's too late, and only now does Gnarl notice that the man in the middle is foaming at the mouth, his face red as he struggles for breath. His eyes are wide and bloodshot, and he convulses, causing the other two men to let go of him, before he crashes to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. The two men stare at him wide-eyed with shock, as he gulps a desperate breath of air, his tremors lessening before coming to a full halt, along with the movement in his chest.

Gnarl knows with a startling certainty that the man is dead. But that fact doesn't seem to penetrate the two men on either side of the dead man, since they just keep staring, jaws slack as they stand, frozen in place. That is, until a stubby woman passes them and screams, and the basket of bread she was holding falls to the ground.

The loud, panicked sound snaps the two men and Gnarl out of their strange daze, and without a second thought, Gnarl turns and speeds back to where he knew Vin and Lira were waiting anxiously for him.

And boy, did he he have news for them.

The suffocating tightness in his chest that weighed him down ever since Jass's disappearance eased with every step he took. He exhaled deeply for what felt like the first time in days, thinking that the smell of cut grass that weaved through Magen like a fog had never smelled so fresh.

As he pushed his way through the crowd of people that were hurriedly trying to make it home before the evening fully set in, he tried to piece together what he learned from the men, which was confusing at best.
So he started with what he knew, adding details of his own where it was needed.

The men cornering Jass outside the market. The one guy eventually got to her, and was about to hurt her, but didn't get the chance, because someone came and saved her. No, not someone. The king. Gnarl rubbed his eyes. That didn't make sense. Firstly, because the king couldn't have just been in the middle of a wood, and secondly, even if he had, he wasn't the type to help out, forget rescue.

It must've been one of the king's servants, Gnarl eventually concludes. That's the only plausible explanation, although it still didn't make sense as to why he would take her away and not just leave her there.

A sudden thought pops into Gnarl's head, chilling his blood. No. Oh no, no, no.

He must've recognised who she was. Or, at the very least, what she was. And now, she's probably sitting in the dungeon awaiting execution.
If she hasn't been already.