Nimragul's Due, Demogan's Toll
“Is Rhea back yet?” Ward asked as he, Winstead, and Marweg waited in the Menagerie gift shop.
Marweg, who had been enthusiastically relating everything he had learned from Gorgoroth, including a magical means of limb possession, found himself suddenly lost in thought.*
“She just needed to find a sacrifice for Nightside Green I think?” Winstead twiddled her thumbs, legs splayed carelessly in her chair. Donkey rooted about in the grass twenty feet away, snapping occasionally at gods-knew-what buzzing around its head.
Better him here than you, M’Baka. Marweg looked back from the reserve’s horizon and replied, “She thought she could find something or someone back at Nimragul’s party.”
As he finished speaking, Rhea jogged up.‡
“Azerok’ll help me,” she said, slightly breathless. She held out a small insectoid creature that barely covered her hand. It stood up on black hind legs and turned its gold-speckled mandibles toward them.
“An opportunity!” it declared. “Gain great power! My future be big and bright in next life!”
Rhea gave them a bemused smile. “He’s excited. And I’m ready… sort of.” She looked around in realization. “Ummm…”
“What is it?” Winstead got to her feet. “Jules not coming?”
Rhea shuffled hers. “No, he’s not, but that’s not the problem.” She took a deep breath. “Kithri’s still not here. I hoped that I would have help to get us through, but we shouldn’t wait any longer. But that means I can’t take us all together.”
“Do we need to exit from anywhere in particular?” Marweg asked. “To get to Nightside Green, I mean.”
“Nightside Green?” Remy asked. “Isn’t the Pale the other direction?”
It took a moment for the others to remember that it was Remy asking and not Ward. Rhea, being most familiar with Ward’s skill set, answered, “Ward will be able to explain it as we go, don’t worry.”
I will, I promise, Ward assured him. It’s just a bit complicated.
“It’s called the Mirrored Abattoir,” Rhea said. “It’s a crossing point between Nightsides Blue and Green. We’ll make our pathwalk there, and then we only need to take one step. It means I won’t have to cycle back to Green, Indigo, and back here just to take the next group, ‘cause I can only take two of you at a time.” She glanced down at Azerok. “And he counts as one.”
“What about Donkey?” Marweg asked with consternation.
Rhea shook her head and smiled. “Marweg, it’ll be fine. There’s a sapience capacity that acts as the limitation. Donkey doesn’t count toward my crossing limit, so he’ll come along with you.”
“I’ll go with you and Azerok,” Winstead volunteered. “Then you can bring Ward and Marweg.”
Ward and Marweg nodded assent.
The thick, viscous air made the walk to their crossing point slow, but within the hour a shimmering kaleidoscope of reflected light came into view. What at a distance had appeared to be crystal soon showed itself to be a palace of mirrors, shards of light from all over the place bouncing off each surface. It should have been blinding but was merely disorienting. Guards stood outside the doors, and Rhea led everyone off to the side.
“That’s a very pretty building!” Marweg exclaimed.
“Very.” Rhea sounded noncommittal. “All right, Ward, Marweg, Donkey, you guys need to stay put until I come back, all right? Winstead, you’re with me.” She cinched her pack on a little tighter. “One last thing. I might need to take a little time to replenish my magic once I’ve crossed there and back, so when I come pick you up there might be a delay in crossing again.”
The two men said not to worry and got themselves settled to wait. Marweg was halfway into another detailed description before she, Winstead, and Azerok reached the doors.
The guards watched them approach. One called out, “What’s your business here?”
Rhea tried to appear nonchalant. “We’re looking to make a trip to Nightside Green. I was informed that this was an advised crossing point.”
The guards stood at ease, dressed in closed leather jackets, comfortable pants that allowed full range of movement, and face-covering helmets, with heavy batons held casually at the ready. One nodded and said, “Absolutely. I’ll get an escort immediately.”
The guard went inside and a minute later reappeared with two more. “Travelers, sir,” he said, returning to his post.
“Come with us.” The new guards beckoned them inside and led them through the halls.‡
In the short time they spent walking through the building, Rhea got a good glimpse of operations on the floor. Crews of humans working on pristinely kept floors arranged mirrors at precise angles or operated machinery akin to butchery equipment. All were overseen by towering, austere figures, some over nine feet tall, whose faces and forms were obscured, but whose attention focused keenly on the workforce.*
“What is this place?” Winstead asked quietly, awed by the sight.
“It’s a manufacturing plant for butchered reflections,” Rhea murmured back. “I’ve seen a few marketed as an emotion leaf alternative, but they’re hard to find in Satyrine; the Emotion Mills Consortium doesn’t want the competition. I thought it was a fringe thing, but the scale of this operation is astonishing.”
In every direction, mirrors showed images from other suns rather than reflecting the men and women working with them. Aisle and turn after aisle and turn, past images beyond counting, they followed their escort until, at last, they entered an antechamber and found Nimragul lounging on a chaise, staring at them.
“Hello again,” they drawled. Nimragul lifted a hand and beckoned Rhea. “Come forward.”
Winstead stood back against the wall as Rhea crossed the room to stand before him, Azerok in hand.
Nimragul’s full attention fell on Rhea. “Justify yourself. In what way have you indulged yourself in my realm?”‡
“My deepest longing is to learn the pathsof the suns,” Rhea said. “And I delighted in seeing the maze in the Serpentines… but perhaps that is not enough.” She looked back to make sure Winstead was not in earshot before continuing. “The night after that, walking Jules back to where he is staying, I confessed to him my regrets about abandoning him in Shadow. I asked him to pathwalk with me and was denied.”
Nimragul gave a deep nod. “Go forth, Pathwalker.” Rhea walked back to the wall, and they beckoned Winstead forward.
“Justify yourself,” they said again. “How have you succumbed to yourself?”‡
Winstead licked her lips. “You see, it’s a little tricky to answer that, because I don’t rightly remember. I seem to have done things, but I don’t recall doing them or even what they were. I know I went invisible at one point…” She broke off as Nimragul leaned forward to stare intently into her.
After that uncomfortable gaze, Nimragul leaned back, satisfied. “Fare well, and be mindful the tail does not wag the dog.”
Winstead inclined her head, confused, and both she and Rhea walked back to the entrance.
It didn’t open.
They looked back to Nimragul, who grinned and pointed at another door.
It led to a private waiting room filled with snacks, to which Rhea immediately helped herself. “These are delicious!” she exclaimed with her mouth full, filling her bag with them. Winstead tried one but left the rest on the plates.
Beyond the waiting room was a hallway, like those found backstage at a theater, and then a rear door. Before opening it, Rhea took Winstead’s hand.
“You ready?” she asked.
“Ready!” Azerok chirped.
Winstead nodded. “Memory is still weird, but yeah, I’m ready.” They stepped through‡and the room completely dematerialized, replaced by a sweltering, humid, fetid atmospheric blanket. The very light was green, filtered by the canopy, and all was darker than they expected. An eerie silence underlaid the ambient buzz of swamp insects.
They stood near a bog, their feet sunk half an inch in squelchy mud. A… path?... led off to one side, and by silent consensus they walked forward.
A short way ahead, a layer of fallen branches seemed to promise surer footing, but Winstead held out a hand and Rhea paused. The “branches” moved subtly, like fingers. The trio carefully stepped around and continued, trying to find a place where Winstead and Azerok could wait in relative safety.
After around twenty minutes of trudging, what path there was seemed to close off. They struggled through foliage and across a creek before giving up and attempting to reverse course. Directions felt even more arbitrary in the other direction, and their clothes clung to their sweaty bodies.
A noise ahead startled them into a crouch. Rhea and Winstead crept forward through the brush until they could see a creature trampling the underbrush ahead. The large mammal looked majestic, with two rows of curved horns adorning its skull. It walked up to the bog, snuffed twice, and bent to drink.
“Imagine if Marweg could see this,” Winstead whispered.
“He’d never shut up about it,” Rhea whispered back.
The bog burst into explosive motion. A gigantic reptilian head emerged from the water, clamped upon the throat of the beast, and gave a twist and a pull. Both disappeared beneath the water.
The water thrashed and fell back into silence.
The women sat quietly for a solid minute, hardly daring to move, before Winstead said, “Let’s find us a place awayfrom the bog to wait.”
Rhea agreed. They settled on a patch below a massive tree trunk, and Rhea promised to return as quickly as she was able.
“What about the toll?” Winstead asked. “Don’t you have to pay it?”
“Don’t worry.” Rhea gave a wry grin. “I bet Demogan will find me before I can leave.”
She stepped out and away and began casting her spell to pathwalk again. Before it could take effect, she saw movement in the bogweeds before her.
The leaves rustled and split to reveal two rams’ horns curled around the side of a monstrous face. Otherly eyes stared into Rhea’s and then rose into the air to twice her height as the nightmare faun revealed his scraggle-furred body. He lowered himself into a hunch to meet Rhea’s eyes, exhaled with the peaty stench of rotting leaves, and spoke with a voice like gravel and the creak of tree limbs in the wind.
“Mind your path,” Demogan rumbled, extending an expectant hand. “What have you for me?”
Rhea swallowed and answered a little tremulously, “This sacrifice.” She held up Azerok, who jumped up and down excitedly. “Take me, take me, TAKE ME!”
She placed Azerok in Demogan’s calloused, gnarled hand, and the faun took high, slow strides to the edge of the bog water. Grasping Azerok’s legs in one hand and head in the other, he crushed both and twisted the pieces apart. He then opened his hands over the water, and out of it rose two large eels, swaying in the air like snakes for a charmer. They snapped the morsels off his hands, then quietly slipped back into the bog and disappeared.
“Be on your way then.” Demogan spoke without turning around.
With a gesture and a word, Rhea vanished.
Winstead watched it all from twenty feet away, Demogan paying not the slightest attention to her. He seemed content to merely stare at the bog water. The path crossed just behind him, and nowhere else seemed worth exploring. The hell with it, she thought and emerged.
“Greetings to you,” she said bravely.
Demogan turned his large head and fixed his eyes on her. “Have you something to offer?”
“Umm,” Winstead rustled in her pack and pulled out the journal. “There’s this book I can’t read. I don’t think it would feed your eels, but it might be something.”
A look of incredulity crossed Demogan’s face. “Child, I am the guardian of the seed and the rot. A dry dead book is of no use to me. Show me the life, the essence, the soul that you offer.” He tilted his head to one side. “Or do you offer your own essence?”
“You don’t understand,” Winstead explained. “The way to my own mind is blocked. I’ve lost time recently, lots of it, I think, and I don’t know why. All I know is that it refers to this.” She held out the book again. “You’re likely to know more than me. Couldn’t you tell me what it is?”‡
A memory reformed in her mind. A bookshop in Shadow, a prison cell, a weeping and determined friend, a box in a garage. She scowled. “I don’t know what this thing is that’s been trying to take over me, but it’s tied to this book. I can’t read it, but I know the owner was dangerous.”
Demogan reluctantly took the book and peered inside. He straightened, his attention suddenly intent on the pages.
“This is not a book,” he growled hungrily, “it’s a soul.”
He reached down and tore out a page. Then another. And another. One by one, with delicate ruthlessness, he tore each page out of the book and let it fall to the ground. They dissolved upon contact with the wet marsh. Finally, he stood with an empty spine, which he dropped in disinterest. He turned away and strode with high steps back into the vegetation.
With the monstrous figure of Demogan now a vivid memory, all alone surrounded by a fierce and hungry world, Winstead nevertheless felt a joy and a relief she hadn’t known in longer than she could remember.
“...and that’s where I heard about soul carving. Look, I even won a large chunk of change for that one round…oh hey! You’re back!”
Ward’s words petered out as Rhea came back into view. Marweg got up to see to Donkey while Ward walked over to Rhea.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was to deal with him for an hour?” he murmured to her. “If I hadn’t broken into his soliloquy when he stopped to take a breath, he’d still be talking about the Dreamt Menagerie.”
“Don’t worry, he’s about to be rendered speechless,” Rhea said brusquely. “C’mon, we’re going back to Winstead as soon as we can. She’s there all on her own, and we really shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
“That’s unlikely,” Ward muttered under his breath, but he got his pack and got ready.
“You again.” The guards waved Rhea toward the door. “Go on, straight through.” They stepped aside for Donkey, returning to position once they’d passed.
Marweg whistled. “That was easy. So, where is Nimragul?”
Rhea glanced down a hallway, then forward again. “This way,” she said.
The mirrors no longer showed the images Rhea remembered. The passages didn’t look the same, either; there was no signage to indicate direction. Her face flushed—she had just walked through here! Rhea glanced back at Marweg and Ward with what she hoped was the look of a capable navigator. “This way,” she said, and pushed forward, hoping to catch a glimpse of anything that would trigger her memory.
Rhea took a guess at the first turn and felt her confidence return at the second. Turning into yet another hall of shifting mirrors, though, her heart sank. Nothing was as she remembered. By now Ward and Marweg were giving her odd looks. Worse, so were the workers.
In fact, these workers seemed shocked at their presence. Someone stepped back quickly while calling for help. An alarm sounded, a piercing klaxon that took Rhea, Marweg, and Ward painfully by surprise.
Two overseers approached. Their clothing was also reflective, and every image on the mirrors of the hallway pulsed weirdly across their clothes, distorting them and bending the light into monstrosities beyond imagining. Two unfamiliar guards followed and, without warning, lifted their weapons.
Rhea grabbed Ward and Marweg and ducked behind a huge mirror. She squeezed their hands compulsively. “Guys, look at me. Look at me!” she said quickly. She wove a sudden silence around them and whispered as she improvised another weaving, “We were never here.”††
The guards rounded the corner and stared blankly in their direction, then moved on, shouting to the overseers. Marweg waved a hand in front of their faces as they passed.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, turning to Rhea. “They don’t seem to see me here—”
“Marweg! We don’t have time for you to fool around!” Rhea hissed. “Quick, let’s get out of here before someone else finds us.”
Leaving confused murmurings and shouts behind, they hurried forward until finally Rhea recognized the path to the antechamber.
Nimragul awaited as before, but Rhea didn’t stop to look.
“Go talk to the big god and come find me when you’re done,” she called behind her as she headed straight back to the snacks.
Nimragul beckoned Marweg forward.
“How was your time on this sphere?” they asked languidly.
Marweg brightened up considerably. “Oh, it’s been so wonderful! I got to explore like I’ve never… have you been to the Dreamt Menagerie?”
Ward groaned under his breath as Marweg’s regaled the warden with the minutiae of his journey. Ward sat down against the wall, tried to find a comfortable position, and waited. And waited.
“What in the world took you so long?!” Rhea cried as Marweg and Ward walked into the waiting room. The look of bliss on Marweg’s face radiated through the room, contrasting the glum expression on Ward’s.
“It was a most wonderful conversation!” Marweg sighed. “I could have spoken for longer, but he sent me on my way as I was just getting started.”
“Getting started?” Ward snorted. “Good gods, how long can you talk about animals?”
“I’ve been waiting here for more than an hour! I couldn’t walk back in there, I was starting to panic, I, I…”
Marweg finally noticed the look on her face. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“The goal was not to leave Winstead alone in Nightside Green forever, you know.”
“She’s right.” Ward adjusted his pack and looked at pointedly at Marweg.
“Just get yourselves together,” Rhea said. She began to gather her magic again. “I’ve had time to refresh myself, so we should be good to go. Get ready…”
The room dematerialized and the humid jungle slapped a wet blanket across their faces.
Winstead stood alone under a nearby tree, eyebrow raised. “About time. You folks ready?”
“I’ve done my part, at least until we head back,” Rhea stated.
Marweg set down his pack and stroked Donkey’s scales. “We find the židek vine and rotfire, store it in Ward’s box, and go home.”
“Yeah. Simple.” Winstead looked around. “Where do we start?”
Marweg looked about, and his gaze fell on a shrub nearby. “A moment, please.”
He strolled up to it and bent down until his head was level with a visible flower.
“Good day to you,” he began. “I’m from a distant marsh. Do you think we’ll be due for rain soon?”
“Oh, hello cousin!” the plant cooed to him. “Welcome, welcome. But take from the soil elsewhere, or I will be angry with you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Marweg declared. “I wondered whether you could tell me if there was any židek or rotfire nearby that I should be worried about? I am picky about my neighbors, you see.”
“I know of no such things here,” the plant replied. “But you must stay away from the alkaline soils of the swamp. They are most inhospitable. I know this. It does not let one drink well.”
“Thank you so much.” Marweg straightened and looked at the others, who hadn’t heard a word of it.
“It says that alkaline soils are bad for it, which might mean good ground for židek. This isn’t it,” Marweg informed them. “And the soil alkaline levels indicate that we should probably head…” He strained his senses to pinpoint a direction, then pointed northeast. “That way, I think.”‡
“How long do you think we’ve got?” Winstead asked. “There’s too much canopy to get a sense of the time of day. Regardless, we should make camp before nightfall, so as not to lose all our light.”
“I agree that we should camp early.” said Rhea, “If it’s anything similar to Nightside Blue, we’ve got at least a few hours to travel until dusk, and we need someplace drier than this to spend the night.”
By common assent, they set off northeast. Marweg tried to describe the plant they sought as they squelched, clambered, and trudged their way across the landscape.
“It’s a vine plant, climbs on anything really. It grows so fast that if you don’t have rotfire nearby, it will take over the entire area. There can’t be any missing it. You can hear it grow if you wait nearby …”
The buzz of the landscape subtly altered the farther they traveled. Swarms of midges and flies tried to eat them, and melodies flew over their heads, with and without avifauna.
A small portal opened in front of Ward, and a weasel peeked out and nipped his ankle.
“Ow!” he cried, and tried to stomp at his assailant. His foot made glancing contact as the creature disappeared into a second portal.
“An illusine! How marvelous, I’ve read about these.” Marweg was delighted.
Ward grimaced. “That hurt!” He looked down at his bloody sock with regret.
“Here, let me have a look.” Rhea bandaged his foot, and they continued on.
A little further on they found a clearing that seemed comparatively dry—a good possibility for that evening’s camp.
“Just a moment, I want to check something first.” said Marweg.
“What are you doing?” Ward asked.
“I just want to make sure this isn’t a nesting place, hunting spot, or heavy traffic area for anything large enough to eat us,” Marweg replied. He approached the nearest tree and laid a hand against it. “Pardon me, I have a question for you.”
The others began setting up gear, occasionally glancing at Marweg standing stock still with his hand on the tree, but it wasn’t long before they grew restless.
“What’s taking so long?” Rhea muttered after half an hour had gone by without response.
“Doesn’t he do this to anything?” Ward asked. “I mean, he talked to the Tower in the Parade, right? But it’s not always the same kind of voice. Maybe he’s having trouble understanding this one.”
Finally, Marweg turned around.
“Is it safe, then?” Winstead asked before he could open his mouth.
Marweg considered his response. “I’m afraid I don’t know yet, but I’ve made introductions. Trees don’t quite have the same understanding of time passing as we do and taking only forty-five minutes to introduce ourselves is fast by their standards. I was about to ask about the safety of the clearing, and now that we’ve gotten past this stage it shouldn’t take much longer.”
The other three groaned, and Marweg turned back to the tree. It was another fifteen minutes before he turned again.
“It’s all right,” he announced. “We should be safe here.” He turned back the tree and thanked it, making a quick gesture and effort of will. A swarm of bees appeared from his hands and clung to the tree, immediately beginning to make a hive.††
“What was that?” Rhea asked.
Marweg turned back with surprise. “I just conjured something the tree would like to thank it for its help… I didn’t think it would be a beehive.” He spread his hands apologetically to the others. “Don’t worry, I’m sure there’s plenty of room without disturbing them tonight.”
“There had better be,” Winstead said darkly.
They set up camp. Winstead cast a wall of water around the tents in a fifteen-foot diameter.†† “It’ll keep most minor and medium threats out while we sleep,” she said.
“But there’s no ceiling,” Marweg objected. “Isn’t that a problem?”
“Do you have anything better?” Winstead asked, exasperated. “At least we can see through it a bit in case anything tries to come through.”
“Hey,” Rhea interrupted, “I’ve brought snacks!” She pulled out the confections and treats she’d hoarded from Nimragul’s waiting room. She stuffed one in her mouth without waiting for a response. “They’re really good,” she said indistinctly.
As they ate, they settled on watches. Rhea brought out her lantern for first watch, Ward claimed second, and Marweg said he’d take third. Winstead gratefully accepted no responsibility and turned in for the night.
“I think I’ll do that too,” Marweg said with a yawn. Soon Rhea was left alone.
The buzz remained constant throughout the evening. Strange animals croaked, cawed, shrieked, and hooted in the distance, but nothing was visible beyond the aqueous barrier. Rhea made multiple rounds within their circle, eyes and ears sharply attuned to anything out of the ordinary, but there was no threat, no call, no surprise. Her watch ended, and she woke up Ward.
His eyes went wide, and a strange look covered his face as he stared in utter incomprehension at her. “Who are you? What’s going on?”
“Huh?” asked Rhea in surprise.
Ward’s face reset. “I’m up, I’m up,” he said, slowly rising to his feet. “Sorry, Remy woke first. He wasn’t sure what was happening.”
Rhea nodded. “It’s been quiet, and I’m exhausted, so here’s the lantern. I’ve got some cards over there if you want to play something to pass the time; I’m going to bed.”
Ward took the lantern and made a slow lap of the space, then settled himself to play cards. Every few games he made another lap, until on the fourth time round his feet squished where they hadn’t before.
He looked down. An entire carpet of strange fungi bled into their enclosure under the wall of water. A quick investigation revealed it was spreading from only one direction, but a minute’s hard look showed them visibly sporing and growing before his very eyes. He walked backward toward the sleeping area.
“Marweg, ummm, hey, wake up. I think there’s a fungal section over there that shouldn’t be.”
“Just mow it,” Marweg mumbled sleepily and turned over.
A hard shove brought him to actual consciousness, and Ward explained what he’d found. Marweg got up, observed the intruder with interest, and then said, “Let me try something.”
He found a chunk of raw meat in the supplies kept for Donkey and tossed it onto the fungal pile. The fungus latched on, spreading over it and disintegrating it as though the decomposition cycle were on fast-forward, and the pile crept ahead noticeably farther.
“I think that’s the wrong idea,” Ward said nervously.
Marweg agreed. “Ward, can you dig a firebreak? I’m going to get the lantern oil.” He paused. “We should cover our mouths too. I’ll get some rags.”
Ward inclined his head slightly and grabbed a shovel. “Maybe get a bucket for water as well, just in case.”
A few minutes later, Ward had the firebreak dug and stood by with a bucket of water. Marweg doused the mushrooms in lantern oil and then dropped a stick from the campfire on them.
They ignited with a whoosh as the oil caught. The firebreak worked, Ward noted, as the blaze did not cross the broken ground. The mushrooms burned back to the water wall with an acrid, pungent smell that the rags over their nostrils held at bay. They nodded to each other in approval at a job well done.
Donkey, however, woke up with a strange hiccupping scream and started prancing along the water walls. It knocked over all the tents, tried to trample Winstead, and knocked Rhea’s tent over into the fire, where it quickly scorched and blazed.
Ward and Marweg hurriedly dumped their bucket of water over the small fire but didn’t quite manage to put it out. An outraged Rhea scrambled out the other side and stared daggers at both of them.
“What the hell is going on with you two?!”
“It’s fine,” Ward said, gesticulating wildly, “it’s all under control, don’t worry. You can go back to bed.”
“My tent is on fire, it’s not under control!” Rhea shouted back.
“I had the bucket of water ready, you don’t need to worry…” Ward frantically held the bucket in front of him, between himself and Rhea.
“IIIIII’m going to go calm Donkey down,” Marweg said, sidestepping them.
Winstead, who’d sensibly kept her distance, started pulling water from the wall. Gathering it into snakelike tendrils, she directed it toward the burning ground, tents, and supplies until they once again stood in lantern light alone. She dropped the water with a sigh, then approached the two guilty-looking men.††
“Ward?” she asked sweetly. “Why was the tent on fire?”
He shuffled his feet and mumbled something under his breath.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you,” Winstead said brightly, her big smile not touching her eyes.
“Fungal incursion,” Ward said louder, eyes to the ground.
“Is it dealt with?”
Marweg came to Ward’s rescue. “It had grown in under the wall, quite rapidly. We burned it back to the edges, but then Donkey panicked and, well, caused a bit of a fuss…” He looked at the mess on the ground. “Sorry about this,” he added meekly. “I talked him down, though. He’s resting over there.” Marweg pointed to the edge furthest from the blackened ground.
Donkey had curled its six limbs up tight and drawn its head close like a panicked tortoise, or a dead spider.
“It seems simple enough what you need to watch for now,” Rhea declared. “Keep an eye on the fungus for recurrence and get ahead of it next time. Maybe you can kill them with the shovel.” She glanced around. “In the meantime, we need to wring out our belongings and get some more sleep. We’ll patch my tent later.” She ran a hand over the scorched fabric and shook her head.
Everyone was damp when they were done. Ward told Marweg he’d watch a bit longer and wake him soon, not to worry. Marweg agreed, collapsed on his mat, and soon snored loud enough to be heard over the incessant bugs.
Ward checked the fungus and found it had grown back in already. About a fifth of the lantern oil had been used, so he grabbed the shovel instead and broke the invaders to pieces, taking care not to touch them. He then sat back down with his cards to relax, satisfied with his work. He’d wake Marweg in a couple hours.‡
Rhea? Rhea, are you awake?
Rhea’s eyes flickered, and she quickly raised herself up. Ward wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Don’t freak out.Ward’s voice said from somewhere. Crap, that’s a bad opening, now you’re going to freak out. Okay, just, hang on. His voice stopped for long enough that Rhea got up and started to leave her tent. I think I might have made things worse.
No one else was up, but the ground was lit with morning light. Marweg’s snores could still be heard from his mat, and Ward sat in his place, unmoving.
She took a few steps closer. His entire body was covered with fungi, large red-and-white caps standing stark above a bed of wide bracket. Tall, clustered bunches emerged from his mouth and both eye sockets.
Don’t touch me. It’s probably a bad idea. Ward’s voice said in her head.
“What can I do to help?” Rhea asked, curious and concerned.
Nothing really. This is just how it is now.
“But why is Marweg still asleep? He was supposed to be on watch.”
I never got around to waking him up. Seems he can’t hear me.
Rhea marched over to Marweg. For the second time that morning, Marweg woke to vigorous shaking.
“Hmph? What? Is it my watch now?” he asked blearily, rubbing grit from his eyes.
“You’ve missed your chance,” Rhea said, her face grim. “It’s morning.”
“Coffee first,” Marweg slurred, struggling to remember how to stand.
“No, not coffee. You need pants and a mask of some kind. Ward’s having issues with the fungus again.”
Marweg stared with incomprehension for a moment, then a light dawned in his eyes. “Right, right, that one. I’ll grab my helmet.”
“Your helmet?”
“The one with the mesh screen,” he replied, voice muffled as he dug through his large bag of supplies. “Ah, here we go!” he said. He put it on. “Now then, let’s have a look at the situation, shall we?”
Rhea led him to the fungal shell that covered Ward.
“Oh my!” Marweg leaned forward with concern and shouted, “Hello, Ward, are you all right?”
The fungus made no answer.
Rhea’s eyes unfocused. “He says he’s okay. Well, okay is the wrong word,” she corrected, “but Ward says we’ll figure it out. He thinks he’ll be fine.”
Marweg frowned. “Is he alive, then?”
“He’s talking to me,” she replied simply. “Can’t you hear him?”
“No, not at all.” Marweg walked all around Ward, examining him from each angle.
“Can you walk?” Rhea asked.
Oh god, no.
“So, you’re stuck?” she said.
My body is, at any rate.
A horrible thought struck Rhea. “You’re not… in my head like those ghosts you host, are you?” she asked.
I… don’t think so, but I don’t really know. I mean, I’m talking to you, plain as plain, but I don’t think I’m inside you.
Marweg had found an unburned piece of stick and poked at the fungal caps.
“No no no!” Rhea cried. She tried to wrench the stick from Marweg’s hands, but he didn’t immediately let go. “Leave Ward’s body alone!”
Marweg relinquished the stick, staring at Ward again. “Are you sure he’s alive?” he asked doubtfully. “I don’t see any breathing.”
I’m not.
“He’s not,” Rhea translated. “Oh, Ward.”
“...okay then,” Marweg said. “I’m at a bit of a loss, to be honest.” He looked back to Winstead, still sleeping. “What are we going to do?”
Rhea just stared at Ward’s body.
Ward, what just happened? Remy asked. He seemed shaken. What happens to me now?
Oh hey, forgot you were here, Ward said, surprised. I suppose I assumed you’d be gone once I was dead. He thought for a little, then continued, Fucked if I know. I’ve never been a ghost before. Then his voice brightened. But hey, Rhea! I think I’ve covered Demogan’s toll now!
* Learns Limb Possession, learns about nightmare entities.
‡ Invisible Sun, Crowded Tomb
‡ Silver Sun, Weeping Priest. Betrayal, weakness, loss.
* Mirrored Abattoir, The Nightside, pg. 144, mirror shards are the meth to the emotion leaves’ marijuana.
‡ Green Sun, Lucky Coin
‡ Blue Sun, Doctor
‡ Indigo Sun, Lost Star. Great distance, great luck.
‡ Grey Sun, Untrustworthy Mirror
†† I Was Never Here
Red
Level 3 (+1 die)
You are able to leave a scene discreetly.
+1 Sorcery per additional target
Qualities: Invisible (Wind), Escape (Freedom)
‡ Red Sun, Imperator
†† Exiguous Appeasement
†† Forte: Is Adored by the Sea, Wall of Water
†† Forte: Is Adored by the Sea, Arms of the Sea
‡ Gold Sun, Forbidden Game