He seems to notice your hesitation—the momentary flicker of your glance back towards town, whether looking for a clear exit or hoping to find yourself less alone with this stranger than you feel—and he gives a vague wave, taking another step into the evening half-light. “Apologies, I don’t mean to frighten ye.” He says, “Just lookin’ to have a wee chat.”
When you don’t turn and run—and he certainly gave enough of a pause that you suspect he might have expected you to do so—he continues: “Sure you’ve noticed by now,” he begins, gaze sliding back to the dark woods from which he emerged, “that recently there’s been some mischief about. Laughter on the wind, misplaced belongings, more little accidents than usual. Small misfortunes, all about.”
Now that he mentions it, you do recall having seen a few odd happenings recently; hearing a few strange sounds that you’ve been unable to place. In fact, now that you’re thinking about it, you realize that this drasillis actually looks a bit familiar, too. Those red eyes—like you’ve seen him somewhere recently, tucked away in a crowd or barely noticeable in your periphery. For just how long has he been watching you?
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it seems your little town here has been besieged by fairies. They been slippin’ through from these very woods—a great number of ‘em, too. Causin’ all sorts of devilry, they have been. An’ the more that come about, the more malevolent they become. Bad influences, that lot; bad influences all around.”
“How do you know all this?” You ask, finally finding your voice. “Who even are you? And what do you want with me?”
“The name’s Bardouk, and I’m in the business of keepin’ these sorts of creatures from meddling with common folk.” He replies, giving a polite tip of his hat as he introduces himself. “Typically tend to do me best work alone, but this particular infestation seems to have gotten a wee bit out of hand. I’ve been approaching folk who seem like they’d be a help.”
A tight, wry sort of smile pulls itself onto your face. “And by that, you mean ambushing unsuspecting Mycenians while they’re walking alone at night?”
You hear a puff of air leave his snout, and figure that’s probably as close to a laugh as he can manage. “I’m sure it’s apparent by now,” he says, giving a bit of a half-shrug, “but I’m not exactly the social sort. I apologize—again—for any fright I might’ve caused ye.”
“How, exactly, do you want me to help?”
“I’ve got a small workshop set up in the woods, here.” He motions vaguely toward the trees. “I’ll provide the know-how and the charms; you, as my assistants, will help me put together some wards—and then set out into the forest to capture as many wayward fae as possible. Bring the captured fairies to me. Once we’ve got the lot of ‘em gathered up and their pathways warded off, I’ll return ‘em back to where they belong.”
This isn’t the first time you’ve been approached to help with something like this. First time for fairies, sure, but doing strange work for mysterious figures is almost a Mycenian tradition, at this point. So, you ask, “What do I get out of it?”
“Of course, it’s only fair that you’re compensated. The experience is invaluable, but I doubt if ye’ve got what it takes to make a career out of doin’ what I do.” Bardouk gives you a bit of a once-over, then shakes his head slightly. “Dangerous path, that. So, I’ve gathered up some trinkets and whatnot from my travels, includin’ a couple o’ interesting mushroom specimens, which I’m happy to trade in exchange for your efforts.”
While you’re perhaps, momentarily, a bit offended that he’s so quick to write off your ability to do whatever mysterious work he makes his living off of, the rest sounds pretty typical. If he’s as well-traveled as he seems to be, you imagine he must have picked up some pretty interesting items along the way—and your wardrobe could always use a few more accents.
He extends a paw toward you and says, “Have we got a deal, then?”
Clasping the proffered paw, you give a firm shake.
