The Melancholy Imp

The Melancholy Imp

Edited by Neil C. Cladingboel

Contributing members:

An8el, Sanclemente99, Aleya, Dennizm, Kats, Enazwo, Giarc, Lior, Duarh, Voider, Erebus

Prologue

Gnash had always been such a happy, somewhat mischievous imp. If there was ever laughter echoing around the capacious halls of the Kingdom's palace, you could be sure in your belief that Gnash had started some sort of ruckus or practical joke. His humor was legendary and unrivalled - at least it had been.

Everything changed with the rising of the seventh moon this year. No longer was there fun and laughter in the Kingdom. Instead, a feeling of unexplained sadness had overcome Gnash, descending across the Kingdom like a veil of evil.

Even the much-respected King had lost interest in his Kingdom, estranged from his Queen in self-imposed exile, leaving her to reign over the what would become the Kingdom's darkest hours.

Part One - Herbs and Crisis

1.

"It can't be that bad."

Gnash had just hit his head on the top of the doorframe. He'd brushed against the edge of it to get around Neffer and the crossbeam had fallen on him. He stood there, rubbing it and looking up while Neffer parted his hair to appraise the damage, narrowly suppressing a giggle.

"How could I miss the fake edge!" growled Gnash. Somewhat annoyed, he picked up the linen he was carrying.

"It's just a cut. The Healmaker will rub it away with some of his stinky gunk, and you're heading there anyway. Whoever set that one up must be trying to make you feel better?" Neffer giggled openly this time. She slapped his back. "Right?" Gnash twisted by her with no comment.  She grabbed his cloak and said, "Cheer up, Gnash?nothing's ever as bad at seems. You'll see."

Neffer continued on her way with a worried look on her face. She was heading off to collect spices from the Herbalist, but decided she could spare enough time to stop in at the Diviner's first, to ask him about Gnash.

***

Gnash stumbled down the hallway, rubbing his head while awkwardly balancing a bundle of linen. He'd skip the Healmaker; not enough time as it was. Not enough time at all. The light from the window he was passing glistened off the fresh blood on his hand. He stopped, dropping the linen in shock as he glared at his bloody fingers. It reminded him of what was to come, and how he felt so powerless to stop it.

"Gnash! Pick that up this instant. What do you mean leaving my clean linens on the floor?"

"Sorry ma'am," Gnash bowed and rose, then bent again to retrieve the linens. "Just taking them?"

"Back to the laundry! I'll not have Her lying on filthy linens," said the parlor maid, pointing the way to the laundry.

A clever retort flash in his mind but was gone before he could grab it. He frowned. "Yes, ma'am." Another bow and he disappeared up the hall.