The Gift

Bulging at the seams, the sac oozed with a thick white goop. He approached it
carefully, making sure to keep it at a safe distance. It had appeared in the
guild hall this evening with no explanation except for the letter that lay
beside it. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read:

Cacophony,

Take care of it.

It was short and explained nothing. He frowned and took a closer look at the
sac. It was made of a human's skin and stitched together loosely with dark,
coarse thread. The strange goop had flowed out of the edges and puddled on the
floor. It was giving off a strong, acrid scent. He wrinkled his nose and
sniffed, then picked it up carefully by the edge, and dropped it in a nearby
chest. The puddle would have to be cleaned up, but that could wait. It was time
to hunt. He took his mandolin from his pack, plucked a few twanging notes, and
began walking to the door... only to step right into the disgusting puddle.

The liquid squirted up onto his leg and he shook it violently, letting out a
surprised yell. It was freezing cold. Exasperated, he took an old shirt from
his pack and wiped it off, shaking his head. The last of the goop came off with
a loud squelch, and thinking no more of it, he left to hunt.

The Sickness

The bard appeared suddenly at the milestone and looked around. It was a fine
day, and he took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. Smiling, he made his
way down the mountain and into the Moors. As he moved through the Moors he felt
a slight tickle in his throat, and coughed loudly to get rid of it. The sound
was revolting. It was scratchy and wet, and felt like something deep in his
throat was shifting violently. He continued, but made a promise to himself to
see a healer as soon as he could. He might be coming down with something bad.

The first few aslarans gave him no trouble, and his music put an end to them
with ease. He made his way north, and into the tent of the Mystic. The first
note he played caused blood to trickle from The Mystic's bright blue eyes, but
instead of immediately attacking, the Mystic looked at him and smiled. He
shuddered and played a second note, which didn't seem to have any effect at
all. Confused, he looked around, and suddenly everything seemed bigger. He
realized something was horribly wrong, and turned to exit the tent, but the
door had disappeared. Turning back around to the Mystic he attempted one last
shaky note but the sound of it was painfully weak even to his ears. The Mystic
rose above him, features distorting, his skin stretching tight against his
skull, and smiled again. White smoke billowed out from between large jagged
teeth and enveloped the bard. Coughing violently he stumbled back, and out of
the exit which appeared behind him. The Mystic leered at him and reached
forward, but it was too late, and the smoke filled the gap between them.
Choking and gagging he stumbled through the archway and into the Moors, feeling
his strength draining out of him with each step. He made it as far as Kipp's
farmhouse before collapsing, barely conscious but still alive. His entire body
burned. There was a dull, stabbing pain in every part of him. Kipp looked at
him, frightened, and he opened his mouth to explain but all that came out was a
messy stream of that chunky white goop. He spit as much as he could out, and
opened his mouth again, but it was no use. He could feel it rising up into his
throat and forcing its way into his mouth, and he let it out again. He realized
he had to get back to the guild hall, and the sac. Maybe the letter had
something he missed.

The Explanation

Dragging himself into the room he found all of it in, he looked around.
Everything was exactly as he left it, and he made his way to the letter. The
same message remained, and the back was blank. Frustrated he threw it away, and
it landed in the puddle. As he turned away, something caught his eye. Looking
back he saw spidery purple letters shimmer into view, floating above the
letter.

"The grimtul sludge is a curious thing,
Brewed long ago by an alchemist king.
The infection lasts for three long days,
And leaves the victim weak and crazed."

He barely had time to read it when the letters dissipated and the air itself
began to shimmer and twist. Above the puddle, a creature materialized. The race
of the beast was indistinguishable due to its age, and the bard thought this was
perhaps the oldest thing he had ever seen. There was no visible area he saw
without wrinkles, and hair sprouted up in random patches. Two dull black eyes
peered out from within the mass of wrinkles, and looked at him. If he was able
to move, he would have taken a step back. It began to speak.
"Thank you for participating in my little experiment. I wasn't sure if this
substance was quite as potent as it was in older times. Your service will not
be forgotten."
It winked and faded from view. Too delirious to think about much of anything,
the bard lay in a heap, still barely conscious, and only just aware of his
surroundings.

The Aftermath

He lay on the floor for three days, unable to eat, unable to sleep. The
infection would have none of that. It was keeping him awake and in pain, and at
this point, passing out would have been sweet relief. On the third day he felt
the pain lessen, and struggled into a chair. The letter was gone, as was the
puddle and the sac. As soon as he managed to drag himself up into the chair he
fell asleep. He slept for a full day, and when he woke up, there was a terribly
familiar itching in his throat. With a wild cry he jumped to his feet and ran
outside to the Inn, where he bought a cool ale to soothe his throat. The ale
did the trick, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The sickness was gone. Feeling
refreshed, he made to leave then Inn, but caught sight of a wave of dark slime
rolling slowly towards him. He would have to break through it, he told himself.
Charging forward he met it head on and it instantly clogged all his senses. He
struggled forward, but he realized it would be harder than he thought. Outside
the Inn two ur'Guard stopped, and stared. A bard was in the doorway, struggling
with nothing. He thrashed about in the air, letting out muffled grunts. They
blinked and looked at each other. At the same time, the bard broke through his
slime and rushed at them. One of them began clapping uncertainly and the other
made to join him but as the bard got closer they realized something was not
right. His eyes were large and bloodshot, and he was drooling. Letting out a
series of incomprehensible grunts and moans the bard sank his teeth into his
own arm and fell to the ground at their feet, slobbering. The ur'Guard stepped
foward and each took an arm, leading him away from the Inn and to somewhere
where they could keep an eye on him so he would not injure himself. Clearly he
was not well. They led him to a small study and locked him inside, with one
outside to keep an eye on him.

He remained in the study for a day, recovering from his temporary insanity.
When it finally left him he was still weak but his mind was well. He was
released and vowed to be more careful in the future about mysterious unknown
substances he found in his guild hall.