Zmythosthefalloflandsbury

The Fall of Landsbury

“Son, take a drink.” The sailor was quite old, with rough, unwashed hair knotting down his back. He had so many wrinkles underneath his eyes that he looked like he was constantly squinting, and that, combined with his perpetual scowl gave him a hostile, combative look.

“I… shouldn’t.” the young man said. “I have a ship going out first thing tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want to miss my ride.”

The sailor made a deep, guttural sound of disapproval. “Son, not one of those sailors taking you away tomorrow will be without a hangover. Now stop being an ass and drink the damn whisky.”

The young man, taken aback, took a sip. “Good.” The old man leaned back in his chair and took another sip. “Good.” The two quietly drank their whisky, the young man nervously and the sailor blissfully. This went on for a while.

“Son, where are you off to?” the sailor asked at length.

“Moontown Port.” the young man replied. “Um, the southern one. Below the river.”

The sailor nodded. “You know, Moontown is quite close to the Landsbury Port.”

“The abandoned one?”

“One and the same.” The sailor flashed a knowing smile. “’Course, wasn’t always abandoned. In fact, I was there when it was in the swell of life.”

The young man sat up in his chair, and put down his whisky. “How old are you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe eighty, maybe more. But I was only nineteen when I came to the port.”

"So you know what happened to it!”

“Nope.” The sailor attempted to run his hand through his hair, and failed. “I left before it became abandoned. Had a job in Porluca, on the other side of the ocean. I’ll tell you what, though – I’m not surprised in the least by something going down at the port. Landsbury Port has always been plagued, from the first settlers to my generation.

“By the time I came to Landsbury Port it was still pretty young, but it was bustling despite that. A port in that region was long overdue, and the demand was high for seaborne goods. Only problem was, it bordered the most dangerous waters this side of the Atlantic. The high risk, high reward brought young sailors in droves, all trying to prove themselves. They were full of brashness and bravado, but they were all, for the most part, skilled and ready to take on the risks of sea. Which is what made it even more surprising when boats were wrecked by the dozens, from fishing runs to cargo shipments. So many men died on those waters, it’s a wonder you can sail through it now without getting bogged down by all the damn ghosts.

“The situation was getting bad. Landsbury Port was in its infancy, and due to the lack of resources around it, regular shipments of supplies were required to expand. The worst part was wood – the trees around Landsbury were soft and flaky, awful for shipbuilding. We exhausted the usable wood far too quickly, and were left to build with whatever was on hand.

“It’s not only the waters that seemed cursed. Every building effort we made went through some major hitch. Some got completed, some didn’t. The tavern, due to an inexplicable breach in the earth, had half of itself fall into mud and mire. Believe me, //nothing // makes sailors more irate than a damaged tavern. Anyhow, the port had a powerful curse about itself, I soon decided.

“Morale was low among the sailors. It had gotten to the place where they were scared of going out to sea. What kind of existence is that, I ask you! Sailors, scared of the water. It was all wrong!

“So I got myself a plan. I gathered a band of unemployed seadogs and took them out to the coast, where we harvested the washed up remains of ships lost at sea. We took the planks back to town, where we set about constructing a temple of the sea. I myself am not a religious man; never had any time to look to the heavens while rigging my ship. But the sailors of Landsbury Port needed a little bit of mysticism to pick themselves up out of their slump. So we built the temple out of the remnants of decks and masts, and the sailors came to sit and pray.

“Now, I fancy myself a rational man. Hard to be a sailor without surrendering to rationality eventually. The sea requires competence, not romanticism. But, I swear to you, as soon as we built the temple, the seas were clear. We got the supplies we needed, and Landsbury Port finally lived up to its potential. Now, the damn place was still cursed, I’m sure of it. Couldn’t build a tower there without have it keel over and destroy a nunnery or what have you. Should’ve built more temples, I suppose. But we could sail again, and that’s what mattered to me.

“When I left there, I felt a strange feeling. Like something lifting from me. There was something //wrong // with Landsbury Port, mark my words. And whatever happened to it, it was inevitable.”

The young man nodded. “It’d be interesting to visit it, huh? I’ll be in the area…”

The sailor violently shook his head. “No, no. Landsbury Port deserves to be dead and buried. And hopefully, it will be.”

---

The young man had thin, red hair that came down in streaks down the side of his head. His goatee was rough and underdeveloped, the beard of a traveler going unshaven by necessity. He walked through the abandoned port slowly and on edge, scratching his goatee nervously. His name was Walton.

It had been a hike, going from Moontown to Landsbury through the connecting mountain range. The road had fallen into disrepair in the years since Landsbury became empty, and there had been times that the young man had almost fallen. Through caution and slow progress he had come through the pass, and arrived at the empty Landsbury port.

He hadn't brought nearly enough to eat or drink. He looked furtively at the abandoned warehouses he passed and considered searching them for supplies, but the warehouses were huge and unlit, and he told himself that he might get lost. This was a more calming explanation than the simple fact that he was terrified of something supernatural attacking him, and was imagining a thousand horrific potentials every time he passed a dark alley.

He swallowed dryly, and leaned on a nearby building to take a rest. Abandoned houses with cracked walls were all he could see, except for what looked like a heap of wreckage sitting in the middle of the clearing.

As Walton walked towards it, he saw that it was a building, with the words "Church of the Watery Masters" standing over the entrance. Walton realized that this was what he had been looking for, and he turned the creaky door to go inside.

The interior was startling in its pristine condition; the rugs on the floor had no mold, and the paint on the walls was not cracked, as Walton thought it would be. Most surprising of all, the altar was covered with books, scrolls, pearls, and all sorts of objects that all seemed to be glowing with a dull light.

A suave voice floated to Walton. “Well, hello there.” Walton looked around, and saw a figure perched on a bench behind him. The figure was clad entirely in black and wore a large, grinning mask with black mist emanating from behind it. The figure snapped its gloved fingers, and appeared sitting on the altar in front of Walton.

Walton immediately jumped back, and fumbled for a cross in his pocket. “What is your name?!” Walton bellowed with fleeting courage.

“Hm…” the mask demurred. “I’m afraid I simply can’t choose.” The figure picked up a pearl, and rolled it around in his palm. “Call me Black Tom, I suppose. Good a name as any.”

Walton tensely eyed Tom. “What are you?”

Tom shrugged, stretching out his long legs as he did so. “I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to start."

“A spirit.” Walton said, his voice cracking slightly. “You’re a dark spirit, and you ruined this town.”

Tom laughed, and his mask seemed to grin wider as he did so. “A spirit... I’d say that’s understating things quite a bit.” Tom leaned in so the mask was directly in front of Walton’s face. “I’m an old god, Walton. And this - ” Tom gestured around him, and through the windows of the temple Walton saw the collapsed buildings, vines and trees violently bursting through the roofs, the unnatural, dark dullness of the sky. “ – this is my domain, and my prison.”

The mask now had a vaudevillian frown running down it, and its squinting eyes turned droopy. “I was trapped, you see. Don’t know exactly how it happened, but these temples trapped me when I came back to gain revenge on my enemies.” The mask turned towards Walton’s stunned face. “My enemies are the new gods, you see, who had dominion over this town and others. They trapped me, and then when I escaped I summoned the power of the land to destroy this town.”

Tom laughed again, a sharp, bitter laugh this time. “They tricked //me //. How about that? And it’s a good trick, too. I come back to wreak havoc, and they saw it coming. They did something to trap me, what it is I don’t know, I’m still trying to figure it out, but they did it! And the worst part was, I didn’t know I was trapped, so I... broke the dollhouse. Imagine a town trapped with you, your whims, your commands, your manipulations! That's almost a vacation. But I made my prison solitary confinement, by indulging my wrath and executing the town.”

Tom sighed. “Do you know //unnatural// it is for me, to be trapped in one place? I belong on the road, the road is my temple, and to sit on this empty throne in this empty kingdom…” Tom shook his head. “This is my hell."

The mask's empty eyes stayed pinned on Walton as Tom stood up. “You know, I'm sure we have a lot to offer each other, Walt." The eyes of the mask twinkled with black stars as Tom walked towards Walton. "I could take you to fantastical places, Walt. I know how to travel - the fine art of flickering in and out of people's lives. You could see the world!"

"Stay back!" Walton barked, backing away frantically. "You won't possess me!"

Tom snapped his gloved fingers and appeared behind Walton. "Be reasonable! In my prime, there would be //ceremonies// for the privilege of a possession by old Tom!" Tom's mask narrowed and became sharper as Walton stood transfixed, with eyes slowly glassing over. "Oh, we'll be a fine old couple. Trust me, you haven't lived 'till you've traveled with an old god." The mask stared intensely at Walton's blank, terror-stricken face. "Y'know, it's a real shame this isn't mutual. Don't worry, though, you'll come to love me."

The mask dropped on the floor, empty. The only body in the temple was Walton's, noticeably changed. Whereas Walton had previously been hunched, unsure and tentative, this new Walton was full of confidence and swagger. His hair swept wildly behind him as he swung open the temple doors. As he left, the temple seemed to decay, its fresh paint turning to dust and its artifacts become rusty in seconds. This new Walton went on past the city, without a backwards glance. His eyes, at once dangerously brimming with life and empty like a mask's, were firmly trained on the horizon before him. Tom was free again.