Burning of Markindale, Part 1, Act II

Richard and Pearson went ahead of the others into Markindale, their sleek black horses glistening in the morning sun. As they approached the wall of the town, they beheld a figure crucified on a large tree. As they approached, they could see it was a woman with long blonde hair. Below her was a sign that read, "Thieves have no place in Markindale."

The woman was still conscious. Her wrists were bleeding from the ropes that bound her to the tree. Richard approached and asked, "Madam, your crime?"

"Who in Saros' Bowels are you?" She said angrily lifting her head and glaring at him.

"Richard Evans Saddler, the Third," he drawled. "Your attitude does not endear me to you, madam. I haven't the time for this and must press on."

"Wait! Aren't you going to let me down from here?" she begged him. "Are you not chivalrous? A fine man like you?

"No, no, no," he chuckled. "Come, Pearson. They'll be others along. I don't have time for chivalry." He put his heels to his horse and they galloped away, leaving her behind.

As Richard and Pearson rode on, they began to notice livestock roaming free. Cows were standing in the road and chickens ran to avoid the hooves of their horses. Just before the town gate a huge dead sow laid in the middle of the road. The sow's head had been crushed with a blunt object. They unflinchingly rode on towards the gate. The gate was standing wide open. There were no guards on duty. Trash littered the streets. The windows of many of the houses were boarded up. A lone man was walking furtively up the street. He caught sight of Richard and Pearson and hurried into a house, slamming the door shut behind him. Richard was mystified. This was not what he was expecting from Markindale. The way Khiyra and Zagros had talked, he should be walking through a typically friendly agrarian town complete with people trying to sell you things and strange housewives asking you to tea.

They turned down a side street. Again, they saw someone duck quickly inside and close the door. There was some riotous shouting off in the distance towards the market. Carefully, Richard continued to head northeast towards the the Town Hall and Mayoral Residence.

As they were riding along, they were treated with very odd sites: A butter churn upended in the street. A long line of spinning wheels, one after another and some dead chickens. Richard leered at the chickens. Maybe I'll create my own oddity. He muttered under his breath a hand outstretched over them. They sputtered, cackled and came to stuttering life, their eyes white and glassy with death. Some of them had broken wings or entrails spilling out of their bellies and trailing along the ground. With a sweep of his arm the chickens stumbled and weaved out in the the road in front of his horse, leading their way through Markindale. Occasionally, they would peck at the ground. Feral cats hissed at them and ran tearing through the alleys as fast and far from them as possible.

Richard looked down a trash strewn street that led directly to the market. He could see a man in the distance sitting in the market, holding his head in his hands. What has happened here? Richard wondered. Remembering that healing potions and herbs were needed he headed away from the man and towards the herbalist.

Richard and Peason rode up to the herbalist shop and tethered their horses to posts outside. Some of the chickens bumped into the steps leading indoors. The others wandered around and tried to peck at the horses ankles. Inside was a neatly kept shop with many small bottles of potions, jars of herbs and even some leeches. Behind the counter was a tall elderly woman, still broad of shoulder and stern of countenance. Her steel gray hair was tied into a severe bun in the back and on her head a pointy black hat. She smells like patchouli. Richard laughed to himself. Her appearance amused him, greatly.

"What is it that you seek, young gentleman?" she asked. She had a strong deep voice.

"I would like to purchase some herbal healing potions," said Richard, "and perhaps some leeches."

She peered at him and turned to the shelves and began selecting some bottles. She was muttering to herself. Something about travelers.

"So, I am curious, good woman. What happened in this village?" Richard ventured to ask.

She spun around quickly. Instead of looking at him she looked off into the corner right behind him and said, "Everyone want to burn you. Everyone wants to burn you at the stake!"

Richard replied, "But I've done nothing."

"You think you're so innocent! You probably want to burn me at the stake. They all do!" she looked wild-eyed and frightened. She reached suddenly behind the counter, raised a large blue glass bottle from a hidden shelf beneath and smashed it to the floor.

"Pearson!" Richard cried out, before the world went black. Richard slumped to the ground.

Pearson moved quickly to stand between his master and the old woman.

"And what are you?" she said looking up at him.

"What you talking about? What have you done?!" Pearson grabbed her by the neck and pulled her up off her feet.

"AAAAHHHHH!" she screamed.

"Awaken him, NOW!" roared Pearson shaking her.

"You're going to burn me at the stake! You're going to burn me at the stake!" she screamed deliriously.

"I'm not going to burn you at the stake," said Pearson. "But I might pull your arms off."

"What are you?! You're not even human! You're going to burn me at the stake!" she screamed.

Pearson slapped her. Then he slapped her again. She passed out.