Lore: Town Turned to Dust Journal

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17 Brigill

Jaruth’s coming today. I ain’t seen him in years. Best not go running today, as he could show up any time. I want to be here when he comes, show him around. So much has changed since he left. Lots of new folks he should meet.

I can’t wait.

What’s This?

Jaruth has something attached to him—some kind of...beastie is all I can describe it as. It sparkles like jewels but moves as if it were alive. I never seen anything like it. I was horrified first time I laid eyes on it, but Jaruth seems very excited about it, and...it is rather fascinating. Captivating. I guess. The gleam in Jaruth’s eyes is something. Brighter than I remember. Stronger.

He won’t say where he got the beastie though. Gets defensive when I ask. Suspicious even. And he’s got this...smell about him. I can’t place it. It’s like...metal or rust or something. Sets my hackles, it does. Something ain’t right.

What am I saying? This is Jaruth, my friend! No, I’ll take him around town, introduce him to folks, and it’ll be right. Yeah. It’ll be right.

Around Town

Well, that was a right wreckage that was.

Jaruth insisted on bringing the beastie along. I told him it would be...unsettling for folks. A distraction. Not a good impression. I tried to get him to leave it at home, but he shouted at me! He ain’t never shouted before. So fine, whatever, I let him bring it.

Well, I was right, of course. Everywhere we went, folks looked at us funny. At him. Old Donfast wouldn’t quit asking where he got the bugger, and Renson had this twisted look in his eyes. Angry. Hungry. I don’t know, but I ain’t never seen either of them act like that before.

It’s the critter, I reckon. I don’t like it. They got no place acting like that around Jaruth. He’s my friend. That’s my beastie.


I shouldn’t write this down. I still can’t believe it happened. But maybe if I put it to words, I’ll see it makes sense...or ain’t true.

So, Renson came over. Unannounced. Didn’t even knock, just walked right in the door. I was in the kitchen at the time, so I didn’t know he was here until the shouting started. Renson said Jaruth stole the beastie, said he’d seen it in the northeast corridor earlier this morning—same place I usually go running—but when he went there just now, it weren’t there.

I didn’t hear what Jaruth said next, but then Renson punched him in the face! I ran out to ‘em then—to stop them...I imagine...but I was too late. Renson was on the floor, a puddle of blood around his chest, the metallic smell of rust thick in the air.

And Jaruth hovered over him, knife in his hand, glowing beastie pulsating like a beating heart. I nearly tore it from him then and there.

But Jaruth had that knife.

He tried to leave, said this town weren’t good for him. I didn’t like that none, but I bit it down and told him, hey, he didn’t do nothing wrong. Weren’t his fault Renson went down the river. Self defense is what it was. I heard the whole thing. Jaruth was innocent and didn’t need to go nowhere.

Course, that ain’t what I was thinking.

I think Renson was right. I run that corridor every day and would have today if Jaruth hadn’t been coming. Did he know that? No. No, that’s crazy. But it is his fault I didn’t find the beastie first. Why else would Jaruth hide where it came from?

By rights, that beastie’s mine.

Jaruth’s out back now, looking for stones to sink the body. I came in for some rope and to set my thoughts down, get ‘em straight.

Well. I’m straight now. Best go...help him.


It’s done. Renson’s sunk. Dragging him was hard work. Long work.

I asked Jaruth if it were true, if he’d found the beastie outside town, in the corridor I run every damn day. Bastard lied to my face. But I didn’t show nothing—just kept dragging the body, one eye on Jaruth keeping one eye on me. A right pair of suspects we were.

Well, Jaruth, you can’t hold a knife while you’re dragging a body, now, can you?

Beastie’s mine now. Mine.

Dropping two in the water ain’t much harder than one.