Harriet sloshed through the rain, wasting not a small amount of mana trying to kill the fly that persisted in buzzing around the inside of her hood.
The shadowy figure patrolling the bridge was another, even larger and more terrifying, troll; carrying an axe that could have easily taken Harriet's head off if it hadn't been more rust than shine. It didn't stop her, or speak to her, or do anything more than grunt rythmically with its own shambling steps, rapidly turning away to patrol the other direction when she tried to approach.
But to hear her tell the story to Guffin later, beyond that, the first night in Slim Pickens was like a dream. A warm, well-lit dream, with beckoning hands and smiling faces, a clean space, and a dainty meal of fine vegetables. Not quite enough, really, but close enough. And the company! Music that sounded like music, rather than the uncanny howl of the Pumpkintown Opry, and conversation that was a true comfort, though basic enough to be forgotten by morning. Even a bed, though it was scarcely wider or more comfortable than a camping cot, but a wonder just the same after her travels. Such delights, even, that Harriet failed to even wonder if Guffin was going to follow her, never mind care about the fate of the goblin-beast.
But the Lady mage's nightmare began at dawn.
Before the sun was fully on the horizon, Harriet was roused awake, and pushed directly out into the morning mist in a crowd of those who had greeted her the night before. People who, by the faint light of rising day, seemed a little more eerie than they did the night before. Nearly indistinguishable, even, with similar names and similar faces blurring together in the mist.
"It is time for a jog," they urged. "We mustn't be fat like the others."
The street was wet, and the mist thick. Harriet would have quickly been left behind, if they waifs hadn't caught and forced her forward.
"You can do it," they crooned togther in a murmur of overlapping platitudes. "The first day is always the worst. Be glad you have found us before things get worse."
The crowd turned before crossing the bridge, returning to the beauty of Slim Pickens - a beauty that by daylight, made it seem almost as horrible as Fat Pickens. Rather than heaps of food and sleeping trolls, everything in Slim Pickens seemed... well, slim. But slim in a way of bits worn away, and raggedy, only patched to hold instead of to last.
Dawn rose, and Harriet began to miss her goblin "Chosen One". If nothing else, the creature knew the risks of the locals. But on the Fat Pickens side of the river, nothing moved at all.