Myxyzptlk
In hoc, signo vinces
The ensemble of interesting locations had blurred past Maggot Corpse who had taken an affinity to reading the letters from the donated parchment out loud. An obnoxious and throaty practice of vowels and consonants would occur seemingly at all hours of the day. While Reed's enthusiasm for the bands learning served as a powerful tool of cultivation it could just as easily serve as a point of annoyance for the rest of the caravan. The dedication to the craft continued well into the night as the rucksacks and campfire were pitched in the open air. The only time at night Maggot Corpse seemed to respect the urge for silence was when Reed played his lute. Perhaps it was one musicians way of respecting another or alternatively, Maggot could have been struggling with whatever came between letters T and V.
"A- B- C- D- UHHH NO. A- B- C- D- E..."
So went on Maggot Corpse as he practiced both the letters of the alphabet and the words that were carved into dirt. The words that Reed had educated Maggot Corpse & Bloatfly Incubator on were elementary. Greetings of 'hello' and departures of 'goodbye' as well as many of the objects and things that surrounded the group of adventurers. By the time the lesson had concluded Maggot Corpse had committed a list to memory:
- Night
- Sky
- Stars
- Lute
- Fire
- Log
- Bed
- Moon
- Song
Among a few other random assortments of words. The nightmare of repetition only ceased once Maggot Corpse had finally passed out from his body's exhaustion. Maggot slept in a rather precarious position where he seemed to be almost bridging. The slumber remained until the morning, arising to Reed conversing with the caravan of armed guards. When Reed returned to the group to inform them that they would be accompanying the band of traders on an escort he became infatuated with the term 'protection'. Immediately, Maggot Corpse had dedicated himself to trying to spell protection. With a considerable amount of dedication he continuously misspelt the word by carving it into the wood of the wagon, most of the misspellings were as such:
- Protecshin
- Protekshin
- Protectchin
- Protetshun
- Proketchkin
- Pruticshn
- Prudochsun
Suffice to say they were wrong every single time. The closest Maggot Corpse got to actually spelling the word was when he spelled 'production' on complete accident before persisting forth and spelling out 'pretecshon.' This would go on until he was corrected or something would come up to the potential chagrin of the caravan and the company he was keeping outside of Bloatfly Incubator.