What we needs, is more fanfiction.
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Shagg surveyed the gathering of people around him in wonderment, trying to remember when exactly it was that half of Aedyr had parked themselves in his field. There were all sorts. A few yards away, a couple of chanters were engaged in a duel, spinning tales and enjoying the gasps of the onlookers as ethereal shapes unfolded in the air between them.
Not a bad way to earn a living, the would-be barkeep thought, but at least I won’t have to coax the spirits out of my taps with fancy wordplay. He shook himself – thinking in certainties again, that was a dangerous habit. It was the book, he was sure of it. His eyes shifted furtively for a moment, then he bent down and lifted up the corner of one of the crates.
Still there. It wasn’t resting on the ground so much as lurking there – if books could do such a thing that is, which, Shagg reassured himself, they couldn’t. Could they?
He shivered, remembering the evening that it had appeared. He’d been running the figures as usual, barely aware of the flow of people coming and going. He’d sensed someone approaching, leaving something on the bar. He’d assumed it was gold, like the rest of them, and hadn't paid much heed - until those words had slashed through his consciousness: ‘Soon... Very soon.’
Even if you could look past the sharp metal bindings, odd markings and suspiciously red stains, the tome did nothing to reassure any of the doubts in his mind. Evil radiated from its squat, dark form in waves. It had kept on talking to him after that evening; inscribing suggestions and directions into his thoughts with the same piercing voice. That was why he’d shoved it under the box; but he kept getting the urge to check on it, as if it might burrow its way out beneath the soil. So far, however, it had not. It just kept whispering to him.
This time was no different.
‘I need more.’
“Why?” Shagg managed, keeping his voice low. It ignored him.
‘More souls. This is... insufficient.’
“I...” Shagg straightened up, coming to his senses somewhat and feeling sure that someone must have spotted him talking to a wooden box. The bustle continued around him, unconcerned. Furthermore, two newcomers were approaching, hesitating at the picket-gate into the field, but on the unmistakable verge of a decision. All they needed was a little push.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered, and set off towards the couple, fixing a welcoming smile onto his face.
