A madman’s journey.
The carriage rattles.
Light neath-rain patters against the mahogany exterior, slicking down the thick glass windows that peer out at the dwindling outskirts of London.
That’s what they say.
The inside is dry as a bone, however. Only literally, of course - a drinks cabinet, stocked with Grim Vineyards chardonnay that would have cost a fortune if not provided by the man himself, sits squat to the side, supporting an engraved cigarbox and a stack of newspapers.
A lunatic’s mission.
Through the tapestry of raindrops, the last buildings of London disappear. The brief nothingness between the carriage’s home and its destination stretches out beyond the window.
And they’re right.
Rumors, as they always do, swirl about London like fog.
A terrible, immortal beast, out in the High Wilderness.
A mushroom that stretches to the sky.
A Drownie heading mining operations out in the Prickfinger Wastes.
Rumors, and nothing more.
Fiction, and the talk of gossipy socialites.
So how did you end up in the back of a well-furnished carriage, being driven away from London into a rumor?
How did the four sitting quietly, hunched and thoughtful, in the carriage with you end up in the same place?
How did those in the carriage following behind you end up signing up, as you did, for the pointless quest?
How did the madman convince anyone to fund a suicide expedition?
You look at the newspaper on top of the stack once more.
PHILANTHROPIST GONE MAD!
Earlier this week, Elton Grim, well known founder of Grim Vineyards and up-and-coming business rival of the Portly Sommelier, announced that he would be funding a mining expedition situated in the Prickfinger Wastes.
"Yes, well," Grim said to reporters, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and scratching his moustache, "The expedition is actually being headed by, and was the idea of, a dear friend of mine. A gentleman by all definition, and a lifelong adviser - though the plan may seem farfetched, I can assure you, as he assured me, that it is in capable hands. There is no man I trust more with such a dangerous task, and no man whose ambitions I would be happier to fund."
Though Grim refused to publicly share who exactly this ‘friend’ was, saying the mining team’s leader had requested secrecy in their identity, doubt grows that the wine collector’s ‘adviser’ is a man at all, many claiming that they have seen the figure talking with Grim and that it is, in fact, a Drownie.
Reporters of the Unexpurgated London Gazette asked Grim what the purpose of the expedition was.
The text here is underlined sharply in red ink.
"To find the Stone Pigs, of course," Grim replied confidently, "There is no greater quest of man."
You look away from the newspaper.
You’ve read the rest of the article, and seen the advertisements already. The same as the rest of London’s dime-a-dozen newspaper ads - calls to adventure through overly fustian speech in thick blocks of font changing size with each break.
The Stone Pigs.
The Prickfinger Wastes.
How could anyone believe such a claim?
How could anyone join such a fool’s mission?
Why are you here?
(A warning - This quest will surely fail. Join with this knowledge in mind, O Faust.)