Chapter Text
No. I will not let more fall to those terrors. Not when they're led by my hand. I barely escaped that garden, and fled alone. …If I must, perhaps I should find certain hires. Ones that won't be missed.
•¤•
A carriage rattles and bounces down the old stone road. Weathered souls discuss their destination, their luggage fastened to the carriage roof.
And from that luggage, a vagrant clad in worn chains and ragged cloth pokes his head. Bigby was no stranger to sneaking onto carriages such as these, fleeing from town to town to keep his inner demons hidden. Trying to find somewhere to hide, but being found all the same. But this town, this dreary village… it held promise.
The Hamlet, home of the Darkest Estate. Almost entirely abandoned, after the previous lord drove it to ruin. Many rumors and tales circle the town, but one is consistent: most who venture there do not return. That is, if they don't flee first. A town where if someone goes missing, few bother to look.
And, Bigby believes, a rightful home for an Abomination like him. The carriage pulls into town, and Bigby hops off before the carriage stops. He watches it carry on without him, relieved that he has yet to be noticed.
Feeling the cobble and dirt beneath his feet, Bigby begins to wander the threadbare homestead. Many buildings are condemned with age, held together with hasty scaffolding. A few, like the tavern, are just functional enough to open their doors. He can't help but scoff at a foreign trading cart, wondering what they expected to gain from such a place.
But it begins to dawn on him that this town is… busier than he anticipated. Expecting the occasional stubborn hag, the village was instead populated by people from near and far. Not many as of now, but perhaps more will trickle in with time. Some are helping rebuild. But it's fine, that just means more crowds to hide in. There can be safety in numbers, Bigby tries to tell himself. His ears are pricked by the sound of a ringing bell, which Bigby follows to the town square.
“HEAR YE, HEAR YE!” A man cries, standing on a box as a wilted tree looms behind him. In one hand is a bell, the other parchment. An announcement for the village. Bigby patiently waits, nervously watching the villagers flood in. Not the biggest village he's been in, but still a touch larger than he would like. The man clears his throat, and the audience’s chatter falls silent.
“The expedition team from the ruins has returned! After much consideration of the retrieved information, our lady has approved the formation of guilds! Each party must have at minimum four members, as any less will be denied entry to the estate. Once at the estate, the party is allowed to enter one of the surrounding dungeons. Prepare accordingly! Any trinkets or baubles found on your expedition will be bought by our lady for a fair price, and same goes with the trade wagon. May the Light guide your way.”
The crowd murmurs, and the man continues. “HOWEVER; you are still PROHIBITED to enter the Estate itself, the Gardens, or the Farmstead. Expeditions or otherwise. If you spot a new manner of beast, notify our lady IMMEDIATELY. All manner of horrors are exiled from our Hamlet, and the guilds will see that such remains true. That will be all.”
The man steps down, and the village is awash with excitement. A resurgence for the Hamlet, lined with adventure and treasure. Bigby can feel the blood drain from his face as he realizes his mistake. Monsters. This town had cursed lands possessed by monsters, and populated with monster hunters to cull them. One misstep and the entire Hamlet would be upon him like a swarm of locus.
The ringing starts in his ears. A symptom of stress, and a warning of the approaching beast within. Escaping the town square, Bigby tries to comfort himself.
They can't really be monsters, can they? He thinks to himself. No, it can't be. I've never seen anything like what bit me in the moor since that day. They must mean the wildlife. Wolves. Bears. Not… not me.
Reaching into his pocket, Bigby retrieves two measly coins. He needs something to take his mind off this. Heading to the tavern, he contemplates his purchase. A roll? No no, no food. Starvation keeps the beast at bay. He can't shift if he doesn't have the energy. A pint of mead will do.
Entering the tavern, Bigby is met with lively patrons that pay him no mind. Shuffling to the bar, Bigby meekly places his payment and states his request. Taking a seat once his beverage is in hand, Bigby can't help but reminisce as he drinks. When was the last time he was in public like this? Mingling. He wasn't very social, even before the curse. He much preferred his studies, examining critters in the wood. After the curse, Bigby avoided civilization for quite a while. But in time, the loneliness was too much to bear.
Bigby was snapped out of his thoughts by a man kicking open the tavern door. A braggart, here to show friends his latest spoils. On one of the neighboring tables, he slams down a skull. A human skull. And with sensitive ears, Bigby can hear it still try to gasp a wheeze. It's jaw twitches. The braggart claims the Ruins to be it's origin, as the bar keeper reminds him that such spoils aren't allowed in the tavern.
Slack jawed in shock, Bigby stares at the skull until the ringing in his ears appears again. He finishes off his pint as fast as he can, and flees the tavern. It's real. The monsters are real, he's not safe here! If the ghouls don't get him, the villagers will! He has to run, find another carriage, something-
Bigby’s train of thought is interrupted by bumping into something that jingles, and can't help but yelp at the sudden appearance of a clown.
“You got a problem?” The masked jester sneers at the stammering changeling, voice dripping with venom. A hand rests on a dagger in his belt.
“N-no! I uh, was um-” He points over his shoulder as he scrambles for an excuse, only to point at the church they were in front of. “UH.” He turns back to the jester, both hands clutching the green cloth over his shoulders. He won't be involving himself with the church, he doesn't need to be branded twice. He stares at the ground, looking for a lie.
The tension is cut by a woman clearing her throat. A lady with brown hair has approached the two, wearing red aristocratic garb. With her is a curious looking man, dressed in a turban and worn silks. “You're here for the expeditions, yes?” The woman asks.
“Who's asking?” The Jester snaps back. Bigby wonders if this is a good enough distraction to slip away.
The woman sighs. “Lady Maryam, heiress of the Darkest Estate.”
Both Bigby and the fool are surprised to meet the heiress herself. Much of her motivations are shrouded in mystery, but she was who breathed life back into this dismal Hamlet. She continues. “I wish to form a guild.”
“...Yeah?” The jester tilts his head, almost mockingly. “Whats the difference between your guild and all the others knocking around? You get your family heirlooms either way.”
The heir glares in return of the jester’s attitude. “I pick the expeditions and stay behind. Some will be exploratory. Some will be to cull certain beasts. Whatever the task, on top of your standard pay, I'll pay you double for whatever you find. I'll also be handling your lodgings.”
The two balk at the proposition. It makes sense now why the man was with her now, he had already joined her guild! Bigby nervously thought it over, scared of what would happen if they discovered his other half.
The jester, however, is clearly intrigued. “Well shit, why didn't you lead with that?” He asks, hand leaving his dagger.
“Wait.” Bigby speaks up. “Didn't you say expeditions need a team of four? W-we’re only three, since you're not coming.”
Just then, the doors of the church fly open, and a man is shoved out of the holy sanctuary. Promptly losing his footing, he tumbles down the stairs, landing among the fledgling guild. Everyone, including the stoic man by the heiress’ side, winces at the sight. Bigby would think the man is a vagrant like him, with tattered black pants and matching hood. But with his spiked collar and cuff made from gold, the Abomination thinks otherwise. The stranger peels his face off the ground, grumbling. “Nobody appreciates a good flagellant these days…”
The heiress paused, before pointing at each man in her company. “One, two, three, four. We have a guild's worth of people.” Bigby sputters at the growing nonsense this situation holds.
“Guild? What guild?” The flagellant questions as he comes to his feet.
“One ran by our lady that pays double.” The jester states bluntly.
Without missing a beat, the flagellant agrees. “Oh okay! I'm Damien!”
The jester shrugs. “I've been in worse freakshows. Sarmenti.”
The stoic man steps forward. “I am Alhazred. I hope we can work well together.”
"Bigby!" The final member nervously squeaks out, already kicking himself for agreeing to such a horrible idea. He hopes a proper bed is worth such a risk on his life.
The heir nods. “Then if you'll come with me, I'll show you to your contracts, and where you'll be staying while you're here.” The group begins move towards the Hamlet's manor before she continues. “Any questions?”
“Yeah, I got one.” Sarmenti quickens his pace to be beside Maryam. “Why us? Aren't there war vets out here? We can't be the only options for you.”
Their lady glares in response. “You should be thankful that anyone is willing to hire foolish horrors like yourselves.”
After a beat of silence, Sarmenti chuckles. “We should call ourselves that! The Foolish Horrors!”
Beginning to hear a faint ringing in his ears, Bigby mentally starts to count backwards from ten.