#native fiction

"Ah! Hello there Traveler! Come and sit a spell! Best to keep warm during this daunting haze."

You accept their invitation and step forward; you can not parce from the sound of their voice whether or not they are man or woman, though either way they do not seem a threat. They sit hunched at the fire with their red serape covering most of their body, giving their frame a small and meek look.

"So I guess you've heard that the fog was supposed to clear up, eh? That a path was opened up to riches in the hills? Yes, that is what everyone who passes by has heard." They laugh a wicked laugh, "But the threat is not fully extinguished, and the people are not completely safe. Do you know where you are?" You nod your head no. "You are in the Ghostlands! Or at least that's what the newcomers have dubbed it. Strange happenings in these parts, though the natives say it has always been like this."

They light their lantern with the fire in front of them, and keep it near their face as if to add some forebodance to their words. With this you can see that their visage is bandaged up, with no discernible features to make out within the gaps of the white tape covering their appearance. "Yes, you chose to come from the southern route, didn't you? Hah! You chose the hardest path! Everyone goes around to take the eastern route through the Elklands."

Damnit, who was it that gave you this map again? And who was it that helped set you on this path? They're bound to get their ass kicked.

"But now you're here, and here nary a colonial nor native is seen wandering through these parts. It's just you and me, and those of us who choose this route have to stick together, for mutual security. If a voice speaks to you from the fog, I'll tell you whether it is just imagination or not, and you the same for me. If you thought about rough backing it through here and proving something to yourself, you're in for a bad time, ha!"

They hand you a can of something, with a small spoon to scoop out it's contents. Though you swish your spoon through the gray mush that seems to inhabit this can, you feel afraid to actually explore it's taste.

"And out here, we use stories for bonding and company. Stories are just as valid a currency here as any other. Might you have one to spare?"

You have not created your story yet; you set out on this path to create your story.

"Hah! Perfectly fine if haven't a story yet, that is why we set ourselves on routes that seem suicidal to others." They pour a bright liquid from their canteen into a small cup and hand it to you. "Might you be willing to stand a tale weaved by a fellow death-wisher?"

Taking a sip of the contents in the can, you attempt to keep yourself from spitting it out as you nod yes.