NPC Diaries - Stagecoach

A piece from a world building project in no particular order - Stagecoach

Driver's Log – Procession VII

Wheels steady today, though the rear left spoke still shows the crack from last week's run. Damage came when I took the east bridge too fast — no choice. The town militia had caught my trail, their lanterns closing in. The sleepers were heavy in the caskets, and the horses strained, but we made the turn and left them choking on the dust. Logged the wheel for replacement in the next Manifest, but the quartermaster takes his time with these things. Best to swap it before it fails on the Black Road.

The horses are restless again. Not normal creatures, not anymore. Their eyes do not blink, and the whites have gone the color of wet ash. They do not tire like they should, nor do they foam at the bit. I've seen one take a spearhead to the flank and keep pulling as if it felt nothing. The stable boys whisper, but I know better than to ask questions.

Sedative broth is topped and flowing well. Valves checked twice before departure, seals holding. Four sleepers aboard; two long-hauls from the northern runs, two fresh from the city watch. All caskets secure.

Bell tested — clear tone.

The road dust clings to everything. I'll need to scrape it from the intake filters before the next leg. A broken filter means grit in the broth, and grit means coughing. And coughing means the bell rings.