Forest Suspicions and a Bloody Errand

Noren rode her grey warhorse along the winding, rugged forest path. Today, she experienced none of the sudden dizziness or headaches that had plagued her yesterday.

Her fingers brushed against her temples.

‘I wonder if I harbor some hidden ailment, or if something within the forest itself triggers an allergic reaction,’ she mused.

The grey warhorse’s hooves struck the hard earth, producing a crisp, rhythmic ‘thud-thud-thud’ as they trod the path. Above the packed dirt path, the forest canopy remained as dense as it had been during their last visit. Only concentrated shafts of white sunlight pierced through, casting a mosaic of shifting light and shadow upon the ground.

“If I truly were allergic to something in this forest,” Noren mused, her gaze sweeping from side to side of the narrow path. She then lowered her eyes to the clusters of plantain growing along the way. “Then I should have fallen ill the last time I came here.”

Another possibility struck her, and she tugged at her golden braid in contemplation. ‘Could it be lingering effects from that poisoned wine back at the castle?’

The mere thought of residual effects from the poisoned wine ignited a sudden blaze of fury within Noren.

Noren – Stress +20 (Raging Fury)

In her rage, her grip tightened inadvertently, and she accidentally yanked out several strands of her beautiful golden hair.

“Ouch!”

She hissed in pain.

The pain from the torn hair was sharp and prolonged. She tenderly massaged the spot where her hair had broken, pulling away a few golden strands still clinging to their roots.

Gazing at the pure golden threads in her palm, she pursed her lips and blew softly, sending the golden hair fluttering away on the breeze.

‘I really must learn to control my temper,’ she resolved.

****

Deep within the shadowy, dense forest lay a subterranean lair, marked by a wooden signpost embedded in the earthen mound above its entrance. The sign bore an obscure slang warning, roughly translating to: ‘Beware, fierce beasts within; even warriors shall perish.’

At this moment, outside the lair’s entrance, the Thin Man waited with palpable anxiety.

“Little Brain, when will your brother finally emerge? We’ve been waiting an entire day!” The Thin Man fidgeted, anxiously tossing a dagger between his hands. The more frantic he became, the faster the dagger danced and spun through his fingers.

“Soon,” replied Little Brain.

The small boy, with an oversized head on a disproportionately small body, sat on a moss-covered boulder. Without lifting his gaze, he diligently worked with the mortar and pestle cradled in his lap.

“Soon, soon!” the Thin Man shrieked, his expression wild. He dropped the dagger and raked ten bloody scratches across his own neck with his fingernails. “You said the exact same thing last night!”

A grotesque figure with a deformed body, his pitiful patience had been stretched to its absolute limit by waiting an entire night.

“Go on, call your brother ‘Big Brain’ out now, or my brother Bru will smash you into a pulpy mess, eat you, and then crap you out as a steaming pile of dung!”

The Thin Man bellowed, his threats echoing.

Bru, standing nearby, tilted his head, utterly oblivious to the meaning of his brother’s words.

Little Brain set aside his work for a moment, glancing at Bru, the eight-foot-tall ‘giant’ with massive limbs. Bru held a spruce log, as thick as a man’s waist, now only twenty feet long, stripped clean of all its branches, its roots pointing skyward. Were he to face an enemy, whether with a fierce swing of the trunk or a brutal stab with the roots, he could effortlessly obliterate them.

Little Brain merely spared Bru a quick glance before returning his attention to his task:

“Even if you turn me into poop, eat me, poop me out again, and then eat me a second time, my brother won’t come out until he finishes his research.”

“Argh, argh, argh!” The Thin Man, seething with frustration, hopped and bounced maniacally, leaping from branches to boulders, from tree trunks to the very canopy. Finally, he even sprang onto his brother Bru’s back, his face a mask of savage frenzy, and began fiercely stabbing the back of Bru’s neck with the dagger.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! I can’t wait any longer, damn it!”

With each jab, the Thin Man raised the dagger high above his head, putting his full strength into every strike. Yet, surprisingly, no blood gushed forth; only the very tip of the dagger was stained red, and the Thin Man’s hands remained perfectly clean.

“Brururu?”

Feeling an itch on his neck, Bru shook his head vigorously, much like a bird ruffling its feathers, sending the Thin Man flying off his back.

The Thin Man executed a perfect mid-air 360-degree spin before landing steadily on his feet. He loudly chastised his brother Bru: “Bru, sit!”

With a resounding ‘thump,’ Bru sat down heavily, the displaced air scattering the thick layer of fallen leaves around him.

The Thin Man darted forward, seizing the dagger that was firmly lodged in the thick flesh of Bru’s nape, but despite several attempts, he couldn’t dislodge it. Climbing onto Bru’s back, the Thin Man braced his feet against Bru’s shoulders and gripped the dagger’s hilt with both hands, appearing like a knight attempting to pull a sword from stone. He strained with all his might, his face turning crimson, and the veins on his gaunt, withered arms bulged. After half a minute of stalemate, the dagger remained stubbornly in place.

“Brururu,” Bru mumbled again, feeling his neck itch once more. He released the massive spruce log he was clutching and used one hand to scratch the back of his neck.

With just a casual scratch, the dagger simply tumbled out.

The Thin Man snatched the dagger from the ground and, fuming, rushed to his brother, unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks. Though his fists and feet connected solidly, they caused no pain or discomfort.

“Bruu~” Bru chuckled foolishly. The Thin Man’s blows were so light that he mistook them for playful affection.

“Boom—” A sudden, deafening explosion ripped through the subterranean lair. With a tremendous roar, the lair’s main gate burst open, sending two half-human-sized door panels hurtling through the air.

Seized by a playful impulse, Bru rose with a thunderous motion, and, still clutching the massive spruce log, he smashed the two flying door panels into splinters.

“Bru-Bruu~” Bru clapped his massive hands together with loud ‘thumps,’ his grotesque, toad-like face now beaming like an eight-year-old child.

Then again, Bru was, in fact, only eight years old.

As the lair’s entrance was blown open, countless plumes of smoke and dust billowed out from within. Within the swirling haze, a small figure began to emerge.

“Cough, cough, cough…”

“Another failure… sigh!”

The figure limped out of the smoke, revealing first an enormously oversized head, closely followed by a tiny, disproportionate body. If one were to paint him blue, he could easily cosplay as Doraemon.

“Big Brain, you made me wait outside for you the entire night!” The Thin Man roared at ‘Big Brain,’ who had just emerged from the dust.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. So, what’s up?” Big Brain grumbled, picking his ear with his pinky finger. His face was etched with impatience; the failed experiment had left him thoroughly annoyed, and he was in no mood for the Thin Man’s rambling. He jabbed a thumb back towards the lair. “Everything’s ruined. If you’re feeling unwell again, I have no potions to give you right now. And as for Bru, he’s truly beyond help; idiocy isn’t something one can cure.”

The Thin Man didn’t bother with further words. He tossed a crumpled piece of parchment, balled up like a small wad, towards Big Brain.

“What’s this?” Big Brain asked.

“A letter from Kunar,” the Thin Man replied. “I can’t make sense of what he wrote.”

Big Brain unfurled the crumpled parchment, revealing Latin script. “Right,” he deadpanned. “An imbecile wouldn’t understand Latin, would they?”

“Waaah!” The Thin Man exploded in indignant rage. “Those noble lords can’t read either! Are you saying *they’re* imbeciles too, huh?!”

Big Brain merely skimmed the parchment’s contents and immediately grasped Kunar’s purpose in writing. He explained the letter. “Forget whether noble lords can read or not. Kunar wants you to kill a few people.”

“Kill people?”

Confusion clouded the Thin Man’s eyes. “Didn’t we just kill Sir Černý a while ago? Which lord is it this time?”

“Not a noble… wait, no, it *is* a noble.” Big Brain lowered his head to reconfirm the letter’s contents, then summarized briskly: “He wants you to intercept a convoy. This convoy is expected to pass through the forest tomorrow…” As he spoke, Big Brain looked up at the Thin Man. “Kunar wants you to kill everyone in the convoy and find a wondrous potion among their belongings.”

“Pah! Another dirty job!” The Thin Man spat, his expression indignant. “Kunar hasn’t even fulfilled his previous promises, and he already wants us to do more of his dirty work!”

“I advise you to make haste,” Big Brain suddenly stated.

“What’s the rush? Isn’t it tomorrow?” The Thin Man was not one to rush into tasks. Besides, going early would only mean waiting around for an entire day, wouldn’t it?

Big Brain crumpled the parchment into a ball again, tossing it up and down. “Yesterday,” he said. He then unfurled the wad, pretending to read it, and muttered, “Today.”

“Uh, yesterday, today, so what?” The Thin Man frowned, staring impatiently at the big-headed figure who spoke in riddles.

Big Brain covered his face, sighing in exasperation. “Didn’t I tell you you were an imbecile…” After his moment of despair, Big Brain spoke plainly. “The letter arrived yesterday. You waited an entire night. Yesterday’s tomorrow is today, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean, ‘yesterday’s tomorrow is today’?”

The Thin Man hadn’t yet grasped the implication. He first looked at Big Brain, who was rolling his eyes and sneering, then at his ugly, drooling, imbecilic brother, and finally, he turned to ‘Little Brain,’ who was silently laughing, a grotesque grin on his face. ‘What’s so funny?’ The Thin Man irritably picked at a pimple on his face. With a forceful squeeze, ‘Splat!’ the pimple burst. He glared, snapped his head up, and roared a curse:

“Damn it!”