Opening post by mothbite · #1
i expected the brothers' rusted carriage—promised to be a quick way to haul silk from the forest—would simply sit in the courtyard while i sent it out, but instead the thing seemed to sigh and drift on its own, rattling the stone walls of my keep at midnight and waking the garrison with phantom hooves; i thought maybe the old folk tales were just that, folk tales—
when the night grew colder the shutters slammed by unseen hands, a translucent driver in tattered garb appeared at the doorway demanding tribute, and my troops scattered in panic, leaving three archers dead and a sack of our finest silk burned to ash; i lost a slice of my power and a bit of pride, and you, reader, should note that cursed rides rarely end well—except that one time i rode it to the market and got free ale, but that's another story