I was standing in the tavern hall at the Inn of the Prancing Pony, frantically fluttering amongst the people of Bree in search of a story to publish for Bree Archet and Staddle Times Artfully Reported Daily's first issue. Evidently by the cover of our pamphlet on the notice board, I was not disappointed.
You see, voices are vanishing! Locals around Bree have been complaining about not being able to talk! This has left doctor's speechless all over Bree-land! Will this mean the end for the town criers? Or indeed even all Bree itself? My first interviewee was a woman at the bar, dark skin, messy shoulder length brown hair that one would die for, clearly an exotic foreigner with a spicy tang to her breath! I asked her for interview rather pleasantly as I often am, only to be met with:
"I would not enjoy being the centre of attention." (( Sylgmar ))
I know what you're thinking, dear reader. That this is a perfectly valid and normal response! But what I did discover as keenly as Detective Bob Lake, was that this was the first in a string of disaster detecting discoveries. My next victim spoke more alarmingly, a Bree Watcher wiping a ghastly, thick frothy foam from his mouth as he choked on his words. When asked to give us a story, he gasped out:
"I should think not sir." (( Danwick ))
Remain with me on this matter, loyal readers! It was clear this man was under some form of stress, a sickness, the foam not possibly from an ale from the tavern, but gruesomely spewed up from his guts! Oh how dreadful this event was to behold! This Watcher to this day continues marching the streets in a deafening silence, ever since he met that foaming fate, writhing on the taverns hay littered floor! My next and last two quotable duo were a couple, who I did find slobbering over each other behind the theatre stage in the tavern square. Upon questioning, they showed the worst of the silent plague! The rest had limited words, but these two had none by the end, language snatched from them, the final stage of this ghastly ordeal:
"I-I..." (( Enrinn ))
"No, I'm not-! No, I mean.. We're.. I li- I.." (( Devaki ))
The first words (rather word (rather letter)) came from the male counterpart in their no doubt adamantly sexually fuelled union. The second quotation came from his woman. Note that since this articles beginning there is a slow progression from Bree folk refusing their words in fear, to their words refusing -them- in fear! They have lost control of their own mastery of the local language! But I saved the most baffling quote, acting as a monument of sickening symbolism that came from his lady, who uttered a resounding statement that acted as the signature to this dramatic letter stating our impending muted doom:
"..."
Readers of Bree I implore you! Shout until tears stream for your eyes, sing until your lungs sickeningly split, and laugh merrily like it's not Monday! Fight this disease on land, sea, and in your homes, for there is no place where this silent spread of sickness cannot reach you.
