MARGARET CONTINUES HER QUEST FOR VENGEANCE;
As she crept out from beneath Burial Hill, Margaret was exhausted. Having found Francis dead, it was as though she had been possessed by some kind of inhuman motivation, bent on vengeance, with only one purpose- to destroy the source of the Aetherials around Devil’s Crossing. Now that she had extinguished the threat, her killer instinct had receded and left her completely drained. She hadn’t slept since fleeing the outskirts of Malmouth, and it was catching up to her. She needed to find a safe place where she could sleep without fear of being attacked.
Trudging back the way she came, Margaret made her way through the ruins of lower Devil’s Crossing, and without the fight or flight instincts flooding through her she was painfully aware of the thorough destruction that had been unleashed upon the Crossing. There was not a single structure that had escaped serious damage. Buildings churned with fire, and corpses littered the streets. The stink of bloody death hung heavy in the open air, a testament to the butchery that had befallen this quiet southern village she once called home, what seemed like a lifetime ago.
Upon arriving at the old Prison, she was met by a welcoming party of a townsman turned mercenary, crossbow raised in her direction, his expressions an agonizing mixture of fear and hatred.
“Who goes there! If you’re human, respond, or I shall take you for the living dead and open fire upon you!”
“My name is Margaret! For gods sake I used to LIVE here! They killed my…” She suddenly felt very heavy, and struggled to inhale the air required to finish her sentence. Her chest felt as though it had been bound tight and was being squeezed in a vice, in a matter of mere seconds Margaret had become breathless, and drew in several gasping, panicked breaths, gulping at the air in an autonomous behavior she could not control. Between her sharp breaths, she spit out fractions of the remaining sentence as best she could before being overtaken by fits of uncontrollable sobs and wails, tears running down her face “My husband! Francis!!! They killed Francis!!”
She fell to the ground, her palms bracing the fall and fingers curling into the dirt, pulling at the grass and roots as if in a mad attempt to dig down and retrieve Francis from the land of the dead. Throwing her head back she screamed to the sky, demanding the gods of Cairn answer and explain why they had taken Francis away.
The guard lowered his crossbow, now confident she was not a threat. Squinting, he noticed her features, she looked familiar.
“Wait a minute… My god… Margaret?? Is that you?!” The guard asked, but Margaret was in another place by then, completely overcome with grief and fatigue, and she collapsed in the dirt before the guards could get an answer.
When she awoke, she was inside the old prison, where firelight threw strange shadows across the surrounding prison structure, now in shambles. She reached to her hip and, not finding Francis’ gun there, sat up with a start sending the blankets shed been draped in flying off of her. A few people huddled around the nearby campfire looked over, startled by her sudden movement.
Margaret spared a short moment looking at them, but immediately returned to her panic- where was the gun! Patting her hands on the ground around her as she swiveled her head left and right, sweeping her vision around, her right hand touched the familiar sanded wood of Francis’ gun, and she let out a sigh of relief. The gun had become her only solace in this wild world, and the most precious thing to her. She brought it up and clutched it to her chest with both hands like an infant, snuggling back down into her resting position, and falling into a dream.
She dreamt that Francis was still alive. In the dream, they were walking. She couldnt quite determine where, but it appeared to look like Malmouth. There were great pillars of Aetherial growths clinging to the structures they approached. Margaret held Francis close, onto his shoulder and walking behind him as though he was a shield. The Aetherials noticed them, and as they did so, turned to face them. As Francis approached one of the clinging Aetherial masses, he took Margaret’s hand and raised her arm, pointing her finger towards the peak of the mass.
“This is the way inside” he whispered into her ear, and slowly wrapped his hand around the back of hers, his fingers tracing over her own, and making a finger pointing motion. Suddenly the world began to shake- she was being woken up! No! Just a little more time with Francis… Just…
Her eyes opened and John Bourbon had a hold of her arm, which was currently outstretched, pistol in hand and aimed directly at him from across his table.
“What the hells gotten into you, woman?! First the dead attack our village, and now youre sleepwalking, waving this pistol around-” reaching for Francis’ gun, John Bourbon found only air as Margaret spun away from him.
“Dont you TOUCH my gun!” She shouted, the weapon held level with Bourbon’s head in the ironsights. Bourbon had always been a good man, a friend to Francis in the days of yore. He was surely only trying to help, but Margaret would not let anyone take her gun away from her. Bourbon simply raised his hands, brandishing his own pistol
“Come now, Margaret… There is a much more pressing threat to all of us, surely you have encountered it? The dead walk among us, and worse, there are numerous abominations at large in greater numbers than we could ever hope to match. We need to work together if we want to stay alive”. Lowering his own pistol, and placing it on the table as a sign of trust, he backed away from the weapon entirely.
Margaret dropped her gun arm and slumped down against the wall, sobbing.
“I’m so sorry, John. I don’t know what’s come over me. My husband Francis, those THINGS, they killed him, and now I hear him speaking to me in my head. I was so exhausted, I just fell fast asleep, and the next thing I know I’m holding a gun to your head.” Bourbon helped Margaret back to stability, and explained the situation, and when Margaret told him she had slain Kyzogg, Bourbon’s response was one of shock and relief.
“A creature was doing this?!” He said with disbelief, but noted that the attacks had lessened since her reported slaying of the Aetherial monster.
It made sense. These couldnt be the only Aetherial monsters in Cairn, though. The others would need to be stopped before the people of Cairn would be safe. This was a great victory for Devil’s Crossing, however, and bought Margaret great acclaim with its residents.