While I'm all but certain that the idea's already been proposed, and likely integrated into the .plan , I couldn't help writing... well, I guess it's DF fanfic.
It was the eve of the vernal equinox when we set out from Wothacuro for the dwarven fortress of Ngumrashlocun, the druids having advised us that it was a well-omened day for travel. Nawara, Léna, Ale and I had filled our carts with baskets of food, rolls of cloth, and fine elven jewelry - all asked-for by the trade minister, Rakust Ultèrmonom, who was to me, if not a friend, then a friendly figure to see on my trading trips. I had tucked away for him ink and vellum, as I knew his fondness for writing - just as he knew of my fondness for the thick dwarven rum for which it would be quietly traded. I smiled at the thought - Rakust always made sure to tell me of what the nobles were fond, letting me choose the goods which would fetch the most profit.
The trip took longer than I had hoped, for circumstances conspired to delay us. The x cedar right wheel x on Léna's cart shattered on the rough dirt road some hours west of Tetpobe, and the human carpenter there took a week to fashion a new one; it was our good fortune the axle had not been damaged, or it should have taken longer. In the Narrow Gorge of Tightness, we found the mountain pass blocked by rocks; we were forced to blaze a new trail around, all the while beset by mountain lions - an endeavour which took us several weeks. Ale seemed to feel it his obligation to live up to his name in each hamlet, village, and outpost we visited, which further delayed us - in all, it was early autumn before we reached the smooth stone road up to Ngumrashlocun.
Nawara rode up beside me as we climbed the trail. "There is a strange feeling in the air, Rayali," she said, "a feeling of death, of decay. I do not like this."
Ale broke in with a mocking laugh. "You're jumping at shadows, Nawara! It's autumn - nothing more - or perhaps the dwarves have given up on their efforts to tame nature! Wouldn't that be amusing?"
I sighed - again regretting having brought Ale along, friend or no - and peered around. "There is no sign of attack or invasion; whatever you might sense, it is no goblin horde, nor demon army - in the either case there would have been word in the towns. Let us get our goods unloaded; Rakust will surely tell us what has happened."
We rode up to the trade depot. The floor was littered with dead leaves - it looked as though someone had made to push them into a pile, but given up; I swept them aside to lay out my wares. I felt a slight jab of resentment at not having been greeted by Rakust when I arrived, but told myself that he must be busy, perhaps sleeping - our arrival had been much-delayed, after all - and pushed it out of my mind. It was quiet, apart from the sounds of our unloading, and I hummed a simple tune under my breath to fill the silence. It was not long before our goods were all arrayed for display in the depot, and I waited impatiently for Rakust to appear. Minutes passed, then hours; I began to grow anxious. Ale had grown angry at the dwarves' perceived disrespect, and only through my best efforts was I able to dissuade him from pounding on the twin *sandstone doors* of the entrance. By the time the sun was hid behind the high-ridged mountains, though, I had grown too anxious to keep waiting; determined to seek out Rakust myself, I gathered the others, telling them of my plan. To my surprise, all decided to accompany me - even Nawara, whose curiousity seemed to have won out against her earlier instincts. We hitched our mules to the depot and pried open the heavy *sandstone doors*.
It was as quiet inside as out; the floor was covered in a thin layer of dust, broken by a trail of footprints between the living quarters, kitchen, and well. As we walked, we stirred up the dust, and I put a cloth over my mouth so as to not breathe any in; Nawara, ever cautious, did the same. I followed the footprints down towards the living quarters when, turning a corner, I nearly stumbled across a dwarf lying prone across the corridor. His clothes were stained, his beard unkempt, and I would not have recognized him as Rakust had he not opened his eyes and wheezed, in Elvish, "Friend... Rayali... leave me..." Nayali and Léna recoiled, and Ale looked suddenly queasy at seeing Rakust's sickly state. I eased his head upwards, placing my x+pigtail backpack+x under his head and my canteen to his lips. "Drink," I told him, concern in my voice, "and tell what has happened here..."
Rakust drained the canteen, then, coughing, pushed it aside. "A great sickness, Rayali, a plague - the rats, the flies, they spread it - and all died, all died... I tried, Rayali, tried to help, but..." He broke into a coughing fit and I held him to ease his breathing. "Thank you, friend... they all died, the children, the elders, the peasants, the nobles... I am all of Ngumrashlocun! Take my... take my journal, and leave this place; perhaps your druids can... stop this..." He closed his eyes, and I felt his breathing slow and stop. I said a brief prayer, then laid him back down on the rough stone. The journal, which lay beside him, I snatched up, placing it in my pack as I ran for the door, Nawara already ahead of me, Ale and Léna following quickly behind.
We left our goods in the trade depot, leaving that wretched place and its mystery illness behind - or so we had thought. As we passed through towns and villages, warning of the plague, Léna grew a cough which Nawara's elixirs could not cure. We had no choice but to leave her behind, and wept bitter tears as she walked into the Jungle of Rawness alone. Ale, too, grew ill, but concealed this from us, riding behind so we would not hear his sickly coughs. When we arrived in Wothacuro, I immediately presented Rakust's journal to the druids, telling them our tale. Their decision was swift - exile. They feared we might be infected, feared that this disease they did not know might spread to the elves, and so Ale, Nawara, and I were to be sent across the Great Ocean. When I told this to Ale and Nawara, Ale grew angry and stormed off, while Nawara gave me a sad smile. "If we are to be companions in exile," she said, "we had best prepare for the voyage."
The next day, Ale had vanished from the village, taking his valuables and clothing with him. I feared the worst - and the druids shared my concern, sending out soldiers to search for him in the forest. Nawari and I were sent off, with little fanfare, and sailed across the dark ocean, alone. It was only many years after that I learned what happened - Ale, in his flight, spread the disease amongst the elven and human towns of the region, killing many in his selfishness. Léna apparently recovered, becoming a great general for some human kingdom. Rakust's journal was stolen and copied, and the copies spread throughout the land; there are rumours of a cure in the south, but these are still unproven. Nawara and I live simply in our peaceful island home - though our visitors are few, we are happy enough... together.
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Topic: Making Health Care more important: infection (Read 940 times)