The
next morning was dark, so too was the day and the night. In fact, it was always
dark in the Frozen Abyss. But even this lack of daylight was not the
centerpiece behind the Frozen Abyss’ association with being dark. Its ever encompassing
connection to death had claimed that seat long ago. Countless stories, rumors,
and legends linking back to the early days of the four Realms spoke of the
miseries suffered upon the frozen tundra in great detail. If one were to believe
them, no one in their right mind would enter this wasteland for any reason.
Clearly, the Man was not one to give merit to these tales. His beliefs only
went as far to say that even priceless had its price. And that it was his job
to collect. To him, this morning looked no different than any prior, but indeed
darkness was growing.
The Garrison lost its first member
that very day. A miner was found with a pickaxe in his chest. It was attributed
to an on-the-job accident due to the slippery, arctic conditions. An unlikely scenario
perhaps, but it was at least somewhat believable in this harsh habitat. That
was until another died. Victim two was found the following day in exactly the
same manner. Finding another body impaled by pickaxe started making everyone in
the Garrison start to feel nervous. They started hearing noises that didn’t
exist and seeing shadows that weren’t there. The ghosts of the garrison they
called it, though it in no way amused the Man. He wanted results, and results
came slower while men were constantly looking over their shoulders instead of
concentrating on their work. The audacity of the whole situation was almost enough
to make him leave his cozy place by the fire. Almost, but his radio took on
that burden instead.
The Beacon didn’t appreciate the
language he used while speaking to his men. The rest at the inn were used to
far worse, and the Librarian was lost in a book and heard none of it. Still, that’s
not to say commotion didn’t stir throughout Jazmin’s Tavern about what was
going on. It was clear to tell the Garrison was under duress simply by the
tones of their voices echoing through the speakers of the radio when the Man
answered their calls. It was tough to overhear what exactly was being said
though, outside of that from the Man who shouted his dissatisfied replies for
all the world to hear. Apparently things were not going as planned. That’s the
gist of what everybody understood. How dire the situation had become was nearly
impossible to figure out. It left an uneasy feeling amongst Jazmin’s patrons, herself
included. Telling the Man to quiet down and calm himself was all she could do to ease
the tension. Maybe the situation wasn’t as concerning as he made it seem.
But
it was. As the body count increased with each passing day the Drifter would sit
and watch the Garrison return to their trucks- slowly dragging their feet after
a day at the mines. On this particular evening he noticed one falling
significantly behind the group. Normally he wouldn’t have paid any mind to it, but
there was something strange about the look on their face, their posture; the
way they moved about. Long after they disappeared out of sight along with the
rest of the Garrison the Drifter continued staring off into the empty abyss.
There was something he was missing, something he couldn’t quite put his finger
on…
No comments:
Post a Comment