TRASH - Act 1: The Spinner

Maddison pretended to read, peering over the rim of his book with a critiquing glare at the boy who had waltzed in. He was incredibly young, with oddly short strawberry-blonde hair swiped to the side, a large broadsword strapped to his back, and a silent yet disturbing smile on his face. He couldn't have been more than thirteen in Maddison's eyes, and yet there was a strange sink to his cheeks.

"Well hello there adventurer, make yourself at home!" Tarson said, his smile dropping to a murderous scowl as he turned away from the child, walking over to his table and relaxing on a chair.

The boy looked around with a dead stare, blind to the world as he bent down and sifted through Tarson's trash pail, pulling out the lockpick and shoving it in a bulging pouch that had more stains than a tie dyed shirt in sewage. He grabbed the block of cheese, shoving it in the same pouch while staring at Maddison.

Maddison felt the soft poke, but stayed true to Tarson's orders, ignoring the wide-eyed boy as he gave him another poke.

"Feller doesn't talk, he's a friend from the frontlines, saw the Dark Lord himself," Tarson cut in, concealing his script before the boy saw him. "Doesn't talk unless he has a quest for you."

The boy nodded, giving Maddison a hard stare before approaching Tarson and poking his shoulder.

Tarson forced himself to perk up with a sprig of energy to his voice. "Welcome adventurer, how can I help ya?"

The boy yanked a piece of paper out of his boot, pulling a handful of flowers from a separate pouch and holding them out to Tarson with soulless eyes. In response to the odd gesture, Tarson let out the fakest sniffles Maddison had ever heard, pretending to wipe some stray tears from his eyes.

"Those flowers always bring a smile to my face... her favourites." He grabbed the sack he'd recently stuffed with miscellaneous items, holding it out for the boy to snatch. "You be sure to come back when you get some more, flowers wither too fast for the dead."

The boy nodded, poking Tarson again.

"Welcome adventurer, how can I help ya?" He growled.

"Sell or buy," the boy replied, his monotonous tone setting an eerie chill in the room.

Tarson's lip twitched in disgust, warping into an enthusiastic smile as he threw out his arms. "You've come to the right place adventurer! I've got the finest pelts in the Bersic region!"

The boy grabbed a wad of the festering muck sitting in his pouch, dropping the conglomeration with a wet splat in Tarson's outstretched palm. Tarson stared at the small pile of stray organs and torn fabric, a few claws and eyeballs sitting around in the putrid stew. He retched, holding up a pail to toss it in, and returning the favour with a handful of copper coins. "Pleasure doing business with you..."

The boy nodded, mindlessly turning away and checking the trash can again before leaving the house. As soon as the door clicked, Maddison closed the book, giving Tarson a serious look. "What...?"

"Sajus." Tarson poured the contents of the pail into the closest trash can, giving the mound one last look with an uncontrollable dry heave. "He was one of the first ones to go absolutely insane... poor kid."

"You really don't know what's going on here?" Maddison replied, searching Tarson's expression for even the slightest falter to show a lie, but he just shook his head with a sorrowful sigh.

"If I knew, I would've fixed it. It started with Old Man Maynard and I've tried talking sense into him, but he's a stone wall."

Maddison rose from his seat, slapping the book into Tarson's hand. "Alright. I'm going to ask around."

"No!" Tarson froze, staring at Maddison with wild eyes again. "You can't, they'll think you're a demon of the Dark Lord if you don't follow the script." He grabbed the stack of papers. "Your next quest is with Cindy-"

"A demon of the Dark Lord?" Maddison folded his arms. "What Dark Lord? There hasn't been a single damn demon or man that's taken to a cheesy arse nickname like Dark Lord."

"I know!" Tarson snapped. "There's no Dark Lord, it's all made up! Everyone is freaking crazy, so if you don't want to get tied to a stick and crisped like a pig roast I'd pay attention pal!"

Tarson ignored the fire of challenge in Maddison's eyes, drawing a sheet of paper and waving the quest at him. "Go to Cindy the Bun Baker. She's to the right as soon as you walk out, straight to the end of the path, most colourful building in the town square."

Maddison grabbed the paper with a condescending scowl, cramming it into his pocket.

Tarson didn't shy from the look, overtaking him on his way to the door to hold it open and point off to where Maddison assumed he wanted him to go. "If you don't want to listen to me, then skip town and find another bounty. Otherwise you'll look just like the sods on display in the town square."

Not another word was exchanged as Maddison came outside, the tanner taking to silence as he went back to his chair in front of a stretched hide. However, the look in his eyes said a lot. Leave or keep your head down.

"Come on Horse." Maddison muttered, grabbing the lead and trying to pull the stolen mount to follow him. Horse had other plans, chuffing sassily at his tugs and staying form to the spot. It wasn't the first show of laziness Maddison had seen from the mount. He was trained cheap by the Heroguard, a literal show pony. But pampered or not, having a horse refuse to walk into a town was always a cause for unease. Maddison tied the lead back up, shooting Tarson a look that he seemed to understand with a nod.

Maddison growled to himself, turning to venture deeper into the strange town and find the next sane person. Most of the townsfolk weren't very shy with their creepy stare downs, waving for his attention but never moving to confront him as he ignored their pleas. Others still had an unnatural stillness about them as they stood facing one another, muttering repeated phrases under their breath without blinking. He didn't like playing along to curses, but he wasn't getting anything out of the scripted chatter, so moving along the strange plot stood as the only solution to him.

"Cindy the bun baker..." He gave his surroundings a cautious squint, none of the articulately painted signs bore a resemblance to baked goodies, and the paved street had yet to widen into a recognizable town center. He stayed course, moving through the streets with a single tower dwarfing every other building to guide him. It didn't quite match the rest of the town, stacked tall with off-white slabs of stones, and polished shingles that looked like autumn leaves. Maddison could see its base where the shops were smaller, the entire structure seemed to be attached to a dark wooden mansion as an afterthought. All that stone stacked on wood would have normally crushed the house by now, but perhaps it had a harder interior to support the new add-on. Stranger still, Maddison swore if he tilted his head a certain way it was definitely leaning.

"Adventurer!"

Maddison flinched at the short man that had snuck up on him, pivoting to avoid the conversation, and holding in his disappointment as the little old man mimed his movements to cut in front of him again.

He slapped Maddison's arm, jovially crazed like some of the other cursed townsfolk Maddison had successfully avoided. "Always great to see a fresh face! Why you look lost. In the words of my late pops, better to seek guidance than flounder about, streets can be mighty dangerous once the sun goes down. I hear the Dark Lord works his schemes in the wee hours of the night."

Maddison looked left, and then right, hoping someone off to the side had a hint on what his line of the script was. Hand on his sword, he looked down at the old man, and silently nodded.

"Ah! You're too funny!" The man cackled, pulling out a small piece of paper and handing it off to Maddison. He stared at the strange drawing as the man strutted away, giving it a few seconds before he realised the shaky ink and smudged charcoal was some attempt at a map. Even without the looming threat of being jumped by cursed townsflok, he wasn't one to refuse free maps. Even if this one was scribbled out by a five year old that didn't know North from South.

Maddison traced his finger along the shakily drawn paths, finally finding his place with a statue of a horse for reference, and walking his fingers up to what he hoped to be a bakery. He glanced at his right, the horribly drawn shops seemed to match up with the real deal, and there was the faintest scent of fresh pie lingering in the air. As he stepped out of the alleyway and into the town square, another scent struck him, its pungent and bitter tone scrunching his nose.

He'd smelt it less than a week ago when he lead Sariel back to her village. It was the worst smell imaginable, and always managed to rip a cough out of him whenever his job put him in the path of fire and people.

Which admittedly, seemed to be a trend this week.

He scoured the well kept square, focusing on a stone plateau nestled in a circle of emerald grass. It was the same white slabs that made the tower, and he could see the structure in all its strange glory framed perfectly behind the podium. But the dark mansion failed to pull his attention, for on the white stadium was something far more hideous and intriguing. There was a line of spiked metal cages, blackened at their bases from the kindling they had once sat on. They had been lined to face a white statue at the center of the stage, tall and imposing as she looked down at her offerings with glazed marble eyes. The woman did not have the defining features of a goddess or saint Maddison recognized, dressed plainly in her stone alikeness, with small ears that barely pointed and a soft smile as she stared at the ravens and crows pecking at something in her cupped hands. Even in her carved beauty a half Elaren was a stretch, a human, more likely.

He stepped into the square, careful to stay at the edge of the grass. The stage was still far, but he could now make out the blackened lumps inside the cages, some of them reaching through the bars with stubby limbs in a final plea to be rescued before the flames took them. Behind each cage, proud in its blasphemy, was a wooden pike with a scorched cloak flapping in the wind. Bloodied and burnt to a point where Maddison could hardly make out the Heroguard sigil anymore. He looked back at the statue, her pale hands stained with cracks of reddish brown that had trickled from the sides and collected in a small puddle at her feet. Whatever the birds were gorging themselves with in her hands were definitely the culprit for the stain.

He stared for a moment, aghast at the spectacle. But one too many townsfolk tossed him a glance in the shades of their shops, and he quickly pulled his gaze to the cobble, turning to scour the rest of the square. One detail in the macabre scene had stood out to him the most.

Of the burnt and mangled bodies, there was only three cages.