The Well of Quests

    What began as an ill-fated trip to Challiston Proper in a haze of fog had ended in an ill-fated off-roading campaign including one very spooked ostrix, one cartload of soggy official documents, and one extremely unamused Daniel Feuilly.  The fog had, in the end, transitioned into a thunderstorm to wake the dead, and the canine (and his rented ostrix) had taken refuge in a small broken-down hut they’d discovered.  Feuilly had managed to haul all the scrolls into the shelter, though whether their contents were salvaged would be determined when he completed the journey in less villainous weather.  For the time being, here he was, bedding down for the night in a damp, smelly wooden enclosure with a drippy ceiling and an unhappy, un-housebroken ostrix that squawked intermittently with some unspeakable anguish.  Although Feuilly considered reverting back to his primordial roots and telling everyone later that he’d encountered a wild wyvern, he kept his teeth to himself and was finally able to drift off to sleep amidst the crashing thunder and sporadic flashes of lightning.
  It wasn’t until he awoke the next morning that the clerk noticed the well out in what would once have been the shack’s back garden.  Seeing as it had just been raining, he assumed whatever water was inside was pure enough, and made the decision to traipse through the tall wet grass and wash up a little.  In spite of the shack’s and the well’s apparent age, he found that the handle was not even slightly rusty, and he was able to crank up a bucket of water with very little trouble.  At least, until the bucket itself arrived.
  Feuilly had removed his glasses to splash water in his eyes when he suddenly had the profound feeling that he was being observed.  He slowly lowered his paws and looked around, only to curse quietly and put his spectacles back on, blinking at the empty patch of woods that surrounded the shack.  Not even a bird was visible; come to think of it, none of them were singing.  The area was completely silent, and completely empty save for the ostrix back in the shack, and yet Feuilly could not rid himself of the notion.
  It wasn’t until he heard the voice that it occurred to him he wasn’t alone.  
“WHO CALLS,” it said, and the canine’s first instinct was to ditch the bucket and make a break for it, under the assumption he’d actually stumbled upon the private property of a very large and very austere… something.  Rather than dropping the bucket, he merely fumbled it in his surprise, resulting in its contents dumping all over his person.  
  “WHOOO DAAARES TO AWAKEEEN THE WELLL OF QUEEESTS?” boomed the voice, which Feuilly determined was emanating from deep within the recesses of the structure.  He quickly backed away, both terrified and minutely irritated that he was wet—in an effort to be proactive, he began to nervously squeeze the water out of his robe.
  “Oh, ah… nobody,” he assured it, glancing around once more as if to make sure this wasn’t some kind of elaborate prank, “sorry, I just, ah—“
  “APPROACH!”
  “Um…”
  “ADVEENTURER FROM THE REAAALM OF CHALLIS, APPROAAACH THE WEEELL AND ACCEPT YOUR DUUUTYYYY!”
  Feuilly stopped wringing, angling his head to stare incredulously at the well.  “Excuse me?”
  There was a long pause as he and the stones regarded each other, neither cowed by the other’s disbelieving scowl.
  “I’m not an adventurer,” he informed it, with the air of someone who was now certain he was going insane.
“APPROACH!”
  The last command was given with such force and volume that Feuilly nearly jumped out of his shoes.  Not one to continue mouthing off to a disembodied voice with such authority, he hurried over to the edge of the well, ears pinned flat against his head as he peered into it.
  “I’m here,” he said with nervous indignance, “I’m bloody here, now what’s my duty?”
  “ADVENTURER!” the voice boomed again, and Feuilly had to clap his paws to his ears with a grimace, “YOOOU COME TO MEEE FROM THE REAAALM OF CHALLIS!”
  “Yes,” said Feuilly frankly, “if I’m not mistaken, we’re still there.”
  “YOOOU HAVE BEEN SENT BY THE GREAAT SOVEREEIIIGN OF CHAALLISTON TO VANQUISH THE EVILS SOON TO ERUPT UPON THIS PEEACEFUL LAAAND!”
  “I what?”
  "YOU MUST BRIIING TO ME THREEE STOOONES!”
  “Wait—“
  “AS THE LAAAND’S MOST VAALIANT AND WOORTHY IN MIIND AND IN BAAATTLE—“
  “Well, in mind perhaps, but—“
  “YOOOU HAVE BEEN CAAALLED UPON TO SAAAVE THE CITIZENS OF THIS REAAAALM FROM—“
  “Can I—“
  “VICIOUS INTRUU-what.”
  "Can I say something?"
  An awkward pause hung in the air between them, as Feuilly lightly cleared his throat.
  “I think you’re mistaken.  I wasn’t sent here, I found it by accident.  I haven’t been to Challiston Proper since before the first snowfall.”
  The well was silent for a minute or so, perhaps contemplating his words.  Tension hung in the air between them; Feuilly began to fidget.
  “ADVENTURER!”
  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
  “YOOOU CANNOT BEGUIIILE YOUR TRUUUE IDENTITYYY!”
  “I’m leaving.”
  “THIS MATTER IS OF THE UTMOST URGENCE, ADVENTURER!  YOOU MUUST ACQUIIIRE THREE STONES AND BRIIING THEM TO MEE…”

  A small squeaking sound could be heard as Feuilly hastily lowered the bucket back down into the well.

  “…WHEREAS ALLL THE POOOWER OF KASUUURIA WILL BE HEELD IN ITS RIIIGHTFUL
PLAACE, AND THE IIINTRUUDERS FROM AFAAAR…”

  The shack door slammed, and paper rustled as it was hauled back out to be loaded back into the cart.

  “…WILL BE VAANQUISHED OOONLY WITH YOUR BRAAVERY AND DIILIGENCE…”
  “Squaaawk?”
  “Shh, shh, let it keep going.”
  “…FOOR YOUU AND OOONLY YOOOU CAN DO THIS TAAASK, ADVENTURER…”

  The faint sound of wheels rolling through new mud was all that resounded through what was otherwise silence.

  “….ADVENTURER?

…

COME BACK.

….

...

…I’M SO LONELY.”


The end.