The Sacrifice of Herogrios Minor (people)

It was in the western parts of the great Ogrebelly forest, just where the river Broad splits and turns into the Ten Snakes, that Billobi first met Herogrios Minor. Or rather what turned out to be one of many people with that name, as he found out during a rather confusing interview for the Inquisitive.

But these people had more than a strange name in common, Billobi learned, even if that was a remarkable thing in itself. When he asked around, they all answered the same: it was a name given to them not by their parents, but some higher cause. All of them had run away from home at the age of eleven, regardless of social class or background; some came from nobility, others from poverty. They hailed from all over the world, even from across the great waters. Billobi couldn't help but wonder if Tristan had met any Minors on the Acorn Afloat.

Besides sharing a name that no one could explain to him, they also had a firm belief that therianthropy was a disease that the world needed to be rid of (after asking around a couple of times, Billobi made a short note in his papers that said "theriansomething = human to animal to human to animal & so on"). As a Herogrios Minor, they made pilgrimages all over the world in search of these "sick" people. Through prayers, they explained, they transferred the disease from the victim to their own body so that they'd become a prison of flesh and blood to bind the illness. The transferred animal would live inside the Minor's body, and as more and more diseases were transferred these animals would become either a hunter or the hunted; nature would continue its way inside the Minor.

When Billobi asked about the consequences of these transfers, he was taken to a glade outside the camp. It looked like a slaughter had taken place, maybe a great bear finally catching up on its prey, but who lacked the hunger to eat it all. When he bumped into a fleshy piece that without doubt was a human arm, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"This is the last battle of Herogrios Minor", one of the Minors told him. "As our vessels fill up, the internal struggle between the animals therein builds up to enormous strength, until the day when our bodies no longer can bear the tension. This is what we strive for. This is the sign of approval we need. This shows us that we have completed our mission."

Cartographer's disease (people)

Badgerbrough housed a lot of different people. The streets were long and winding, tangled up in each other, much like people's minds.

"Thoughts get lost", Billobi's father used to say. "It's as if they start their journey fully aware of where they're going, but forget it halfway there. Thoughts get lost, and seldom are found. Just like the people here. They start out hungry, and decide to walk over to my shop to buy something, but get lost halfway here and instead they end up at that bloody Clarke's Candy! I hate that man!"

Billobi sat on a bench in his father's bakery with pen and paper in hand. He had just received a short message from the editor at the Inquisitive that said:

"Bill! Funds are low, so can't send you anywhere. Please find juicy story here in town. Exercise good for you."

But mysteries didn't just show up whenever someone wanted them to, and despite all the strange things Billobi had seen up till now, none of it had happened inside his father's bakery.

"How about a funny story?" Billobi's father asked. "I know quite a few! There's the one about the horse in a hat..."

"No, thank you, please. Not even mother finds those funny."

"Alright, Mr. Critic, I guess you'd know. How about writing about your father's lovely bakery?"

"There's nothing exotic about bread, father."

"There's dried fruit in some of them."

"Not exotic enough, father."

"Alright. But can't you write something about all the rats in Clarke's basement, that licks on all the candy that he sells?"

"There are not rats in his basement and you know it."

"Really? Then why is his candy so sticky, hmm? Stupid Clarke and his stupid, cheap candy..."

A loud voice from outside cut through the open door, and Billobi walked outside to see what the fuss was all about. Across the street from his father's bakery, a bald, thin man in rags were shouting about secret maps, although no one seemed to care. Billobi walked over to him and said hello.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" the man said with a toothless smile. "A CUSSCHDRMER! CAN I IMTRESTE YOO WITH A SCHEECREK MAB?"

"Absolutely", Billobi answered and started talking notes. "I just need your name first, kind Sir."

"NAME? NAME? YOO MAE CAA ME DE CATAGRAFEE!"

"The Cartographer? Is that because you make maps?"

The old man nodded with his eyes closed, and held up a bunch of papers.

"ONE FER HALF, FIVE FER TEN!"

"Excuse me?"

"ONE FER HALF, FIVE FER TEN! BAJ FIVE TO SCHAVE MONEY!"

"And what kind of maps are these? I heard you mentioning something about secret maps?"

"YESCH! THE MOST SCHERECECS MABS THER ISCH! GOLD! TESSURSCHS! DJAGONS! EH...WIMMEN! BAE-SCHESDED WIMMEN! PENTY OF WIMMEN!"

"So...it's maps to fortune?"

"YESCH! YESCH! ONE FER HALF!"

"LIES!" a voice cried out. "ALL LIES!" It came from an old woman, that approached them from behind. Besides having a full set of teeth and being female, they resembled each other quite a bit.

"SCHUT YOOR MOUSCH!" the old man responded. "TISCH MY CUSCHDERMER!"

"DO NOT LISTEN TO THIS MAN!" the woman continued. "HE IS NOTHING MORE THAN A DISGRACE TO THE REST OF US!"

"Us?" Billobi asked.

The woman grabbed Billobi with her right hand while slowly raising her left, revealing a bunch of papers.

"CARTOGRAPHERS!" she bellowed solemnly. "WE WHO CRAFT SECRET MAPS! WE WHO GUIDE PEOPLE THROUGH LOSTHOOD TO RICHNESS AND FOUNDHOOD."

"YOOR DE FRAAD! MY MABS AA AAWAYS RAJT! ONE FER FIVE!"

"I'm sorry, 'losthood'?" Billobi asked while writing frenetically. "Do you also draw maps that leads to treasures?"

"NOT ALSO - I AM THE ONLY ONE! HE IS THE FRAUD! A DISGRACE!"

"FRAAD!"

"So you also sell secret maps?" Billobi asked the old woman.

"YES, I DO. BUT MY MAPS ARE NOT FALSE, LIKE THE ONES THIS FRAUD CRAFTS!"

"HUSCH YOOR FRAAD! MINES SCHEEPER!""

"Why don't we compare your maps?"

The suggestion was met with blank stares and complete silence. A feeling struck him, not unlike the one that used to creep up on him when he was young and was caught doing something he shouldn't.

"I...eh...I mean, since I work for the Inquisitive...free advertisement, and so on..."

"DISCHCOUNT FER WEPORTERSH! ONE FER A QUARTER!"

"I URGE YOU TO BUY MY MAPS, DEAR REPORTER, LEST YOU NOT FOREVER WALK IN LOSTHOOD! AND THIS MAN IS A FRAUD, AFTER ALL."

"CWAZY HAG! HEE, I MAKE MAB FER YOO FER FEE!"

The old man pulled out a blank sheet of paper and drew something quickly on it. He then handed it to Billobi.

"SCHECREC MAB FER YOO WEPORTER! GOLD! WIMMEN! FEMAI DJAGONS!"

Billobi inspected the so called map - or rather, the lack of it. The paper he was given didn't contain much information for treasure hunting.

"It's just a line", Billobi said. "Two dots connected by a straight line. And this leads to great treasure?"

"ABSCHULOTLY! SCHTARK HEE" - the old man pointed at the first dot, and ran his finger along the line to the second - "END HEE."

Billobi turned around with map in front of him, while examining the surroundings. He turned around and gave the map back.

"Your map leads me to that bakery across the street."

"YESCH! YESCH! GEAT TESSCHORES! WIMMEN!"

"I doubt that. That's my father's bakery."

"HERE, DEAR REPORTER", the old woman said and handed Billobi a more detailed map. "FOUNDHOOD GUARANTEED."

"Great, let's follow it."

They left the old man under heavy, teethless cursing, and walked further down the street. The map contained a lot of swirls, and while it lacked any street names it was fairly accurate in terms of conjunctions and intersections.

After walking for a while, they finally arrived at their destination: Clarke's Candy.

"Great treasures, eh?" Billobi said with a sceptic voice.

"AS A TRUE CARTOGRAPHER I AM ALWAYS RIGHT."

The door to the boutique opened up, and a round man with a colourful apron peeked out.

"Yes?" he said with a smile. "We're closing early today, but do come back tomorrow! Oh, is it you, Bill?"

"Hello Mr. Clarke. I was just following this so called treasure map, and it lead me here."

"IT IS INDEED A TREASURE MAP!" the old woman bellowed.

"Well, yes... Sorry for bothering you, I'll leave now."

"No worry, Bill. Tell your father about our sale next week!" he said and laughed.

"I will! Come on now."

"BUT THERE IS GREAT TREASURE IN THERE! GOLD IN THE BASEMENT, PER MY SECRET MAP'S DIRECTIONS!"

"Yes, yes..." Billobi said and started the long walk back, with the old woman close behind,

Mr. Clarke waited until they had disappeared completely, and then locked up the front door. He flipped the "OPEN"-sign to "CLOSE", pulled the curtains and headed quickly downstairs, where the small, golden statuette pulsated in the darkness. A slow whisper, almost like breathing, dragged him to his knees, where he promised it his soul in exchange for fame and fortune. He could've sworn it smiled at him.

People who sell maps that allegedly leads to great treasure, are said to have caught cartographer's disease. They will manufacture maps of all kind of sizes, if the price is right.

They loathe others who do the same.

Persistence may pay off in the end, as 1% of the maps produced by those that are truly affected by this disease will lead to a great treasure.

It is not contagious, only slightly annoying.

The Society of Me (people)

Far up in the north lies Ogrenose, one of the three Ogreprovinces, famous for having the Talltops running through it. It was often said that Ogrenose got its name from the mountain range, that supposedly formed the silhouette of a nose. But other sources told stories of a proud people living up there, strutting about with their noses high up in the air - hence the name.

Being the experienced traveller that he were, Billobi didn't really pay much attention to these rumours since they most often were told in the two other Ogreprovinces; it was like asking your enemy to say some nice words about you.

One particular evening, after hours on a horseback, Billobi finally got to sit down at one of the many local pubs in Ogresole. It was fairly crowded, but a group of people in the middle of the room seemed to be the centre of attention. Billobi asked the women sitting next to him what it was all about.

"Them me-ers", she told him and shook her head.

"Excuse me?"

"Me-ers! Them, all of them! Tiring to listen to. More wisdom from a cat, you get. Pfft!"

"What does that mean? 'Me-ers'?"

"Me!" she shouted. "Me-ers. Them. Interested in one thing, those. Therefore: me-ers. Me, me, me. Pfft! Should just roll in them laughing stones here instead!"

Billobi turned his attention to the group in the middle instead. It was hard to tell them apart; neither clothes nor physical features revealed anything about them. Everyone moved and talked in the same manner, with their arms waving and eyes rolling.

"...and obviously, YOU have never been there - by the look on your so called face!" one in the group responded, but it was unclear to whom.

"Clearly, after counting your poor followers on my ONE hand, you're not in ANY condition to..." another voice bellowed.

"What ECHO from the bottom of the well reaches my delicate ear? Why, isn't that the petty squabbling from lesser beings who actually COUNT supporters? I stand above that, thank you."

"Surely, if you stood above that you wouldn't even need to acknowledge the faint BREEZE that is..."

"Most definitely, that's you farting, my wee servant!"

"How refreshingly for you, to stand in both my shadow AND my history! But you're used to that, aren't you, mmm? Let me refresh that for you!"

After listening to the meaningless dispute for a couple of minutes, Billobi finished his Horsehead's Stout quickly and sat off in the night to find another inn.

The Society of Bow and Tea (people)

The forest of Ogrebelly held many strange things and beings, not necessarily evil or monstrous, but just - not so ordinary. After years and years of travelling through those woods, Billobi concluded that the only thing that was even remotely normal was the mushrooms, and picking them was something he very much enjoyed (at least the ones that didn't bite him).

Getting familiar with both the environment and the people living there helped a lot, especially when travelling long distances (or just picking loads of mushrooms). Mr. Bickleigh lived alone with his fat cat in the middle of the Ogrebelly forest, and was one of those peculiar but friendly faces in the otherwise hostile environment. Billobi often stayed for a night or two, in exchange for some freshly picked mushrooms, of course.

One cool, late summer morning, Billobi awoke to something other than the usual face licking from the cat (one of the drawbacks of sleeping on the floor). It was an intensive rumble, growing in strength for every second. He got up on his feet and looked out the window, but couldn't spot anything.

"Sit down, Mr. Rustfoot, have some tea", said Mr. Bickleigh calmly. He sat by the table, still dressed in his striped pyjamas. "It will be over soon."

"What will?" Billobi asked.

"What do you mean, the rumbling of course! It's nothing to worry about. Do as Mr. Bigglesworth and have some breakfast. Unlike him, it's good for you."

The fat cat sat on his own chair, rebuild and raised by Mr. Bickleigh so that the cat would reach the table. It even had its own plate, from which it ate. Billobi sat down next to the cat and took a slice of bread. The rumbling continued, almost unbearable.

"Won't be long now", said Mr. Bickleigh, and a second later, all was quiet.

"Mr. Bickleigh, will you now please explain to me what that was?"

"Of course!" said the old man and got up. "Follow me. And you, Mr. Bigglesworth, that's your last egg! You hear me? Don't need you any fatter..."

Billobi followed the old man outside, and was completely taken by surprise with what he saw. Outside the small brick house, as far as his eyes could see, riders dressed in red clothes filled up the forest. While some of them carried small flags or golden horns, most of them wielded bows. All of them wore finely crafted clothes, that probably costed more than the old man's house.

Suddenly, one of them spoke: "Mr. Bickleigh, a very good morning to you, old chap! Seen any foxes, have we?"

"Yes, it WAS a good morning..." Mr. Bickleigh answered. "And no, I haven't seen any. Not that I would tell you about it, anyway."

"Ah, shoot!" said the man. "My scouts could've sworn they'd spotted several red hounds in this area. Ah, well, what to do? Why, good day to you, good sir!"

Billobi nodded dumbly, unable to speak from the chock.

"Ah, a mute! You would be perfect as a scout! If you're ever in Ogrebelly..."

"Master!" one of the younger boys in the troop suddenly shouted. "Master! I've spotted a red hound!"

"Men! Nock an arrow and follow me! Mr. Bickleigh, I bid you and your mute a fare well! Men! We ride!"

Several of the riders pulled a strange looking arrow from their quivers; the arrowhead was replaced with a round, stuffed ball of leather. The sound of the hoard riding into the forest was almost deafening. A moment later, they were all gone.

Mr. Bickleigh shook his head twice and went inside. The door didn't even close before his booming voice could be heard: "OH LOOK, MY PLATE IS EMPTY WHEN IT WAS FULL JUST A MOMENT AGO. THAT IS REALLY STRANGE! DON'T YOU THINK, MR. BIGGLESWORTH?"

The Society of Bow and Tea is a gathering of upper-class, riding hunters, formed in Ogrebelly. Their coat of arms consists of a bow, two crossed arrows, and a teapot, all lined up in a single row.

The arrows used by the society have their heads replaced by a leather ball, stuffed with the finest goose down, to guarantee that no one gets hurt.

There hasn't been a single successful hunt in the society's entire history, much due to their choice of arrows but also the unclear objectives of the actual hunt, as stated in the decree written down by the founder: "The purpose is to hunt. In the woods. Sometimes, we will see foxes. In the woods. And we shall drink tea. In the woods. Among foxes."
This has made it unclear if the purpose really is to hunt foxes, or to just have tea in their vicinity.

The society's motto is: "To ride, to hunt, to drink tea".