1. Seeking Shelter The carriage-driver in the last town before Lethe Wood would go no further, so Fitzjames took down his trunk and bargained with a local for a donkey-cart that he could continue with. The cart was rickety and the donkey a pathetic, spavined beast; Fitzjames reckoned neither would be missed. Nor him, for that matter. As he guided the beast along the road, something spooked it and somehow it broke its traces and vanished into the night. Fitzjames thought he heard it braying, and then the sound was abruptly cut off.
Now he's hauling his trunk along in the dark, soaked to the skin, too miserable to be angry, when he sees a light through the trees. He follows it to a small shelter, the sort of thing a hunter might take refuge in; there's a lantern lighted and a half-burned-out fire in the corner. There's just enough embers for him to get it going again with the bits of wood and kindling he can scrounge. Someone, he thinks, was here recently. Hopefully—if they're coming back—they're friendly.
2. The Beast He's taken to wearing his service revolver as a matter of course, and a good thing too when the creature charges him. He gets the revolver out of its holster and up—
and then despite the chill, he suddenly feels the heat of Africa on his skin, sees the monstrous lion-thing that killed Franklin, and he freezes. He's seized with nausea, his hands shake, and he can't pull the trigger.
The Beast creeps closer, foulness dripping from its jaws.
3. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry Fitzjames is sitting by the fire with a glass of sherry in his hand, and if you want to be regaled with his adventures in the Crimea and Africa, well, tonight's your lucky night.
Though if you catch him later, you might find him staring into the fire, not quite all there apparently, lost in thought.
James Fitzjames
The carriage-driver in the last town before Lethe Wood would go no further, so Fitzjames took down his trunk and bargained with a local for a donkey-cart that he could continue with. The cart was rickety and the donkey a pathetic, spavined beast; Fitzjames reckoned neither would be missed. Nor him, for that matter. As he guided the beast along the road, something spooked it and somehow it broke its traces and vanished into the night. Fitzjames thought he heard it braying, and then the sound was abruptly cut off.
Now he's hauling his trunk along in the dark, soaked to the skin, too miserable to be angry, when he sees a light through the trees. He follows it to a small shelter, the sort of thing a hunter might take refuge in; there's a lantern lighted and a half-burned-out fire in the corner. There's just enough embers for him to get it going again with the bits of wood and kindling he can scrounge. Someone, he thinks, was here recently. Hopefully—if they're coming back—they're friendly.
2. The Beast
He's taken to wearing his service revolver as a matter of course, and a good thing too when the creature charges him. He gets the revolver out of its holster and up—
and then despite the chill, he suddenly feels the heat of Africa on his skin, sees the monstrous lion-thing that killed Franklin, and he freezes. He's seized with nausea, his hands shake, and he can't pull the trigger.
The Beast creeps closer, foulness dripping from its jaws.
3. Eat, Drink, and Be Merry
Fitzjames is sitting by the fire with a glass of sherry in his hand, and if you want to be regaled with his adventures in the Crimea and Africa, well, tonight's your lucky night.
Though if you catch him later, you might find him staring into the fire, not quite all there apparently, lost in thought.