《Dank Dungeon》


 On Raven’s Wings

    Liv, like most people, had spent some moderate amount of time pondering the possibilities of the afterlife; the Eddas offered a few options after all. There were the battlefields of F¨®lkvangr, and the barrack-like halls of Valh?ll for those who died in battle. For everyone else there was the quiet and welcoming realm of Hel. As a graphic designer in her 30s, she¡¯d always just assumed that after a long and quiet life, she would join her ancestors in the latter¡¯s peaceful halls.


    Her mental image of those halls was rather vague, the Eddas didn¡¯t give much to go on in that regard, but if this was Hel then the gods must have instituted some serious budget cuts. What she certainly had NOT anticipated was being at the foot of a gnarled oak tree on an otherwise dark and barren plane. The leafless thing¡¯s branches looked unnaturally sharp, lending it a menace she was not accustomed to associating with trees of all things. The feeling was only compounded as she laid eyes on the dangling noose. This wasn¡¯t just some tree, this was a gallows.


    ¡°Where¡­?¡± She muttered, turning in a swift circle. The air was frigid, prompting her to rub her arms to fend it off. She was distracted from her befuddled turning by the hollow, metallic caw of a raven. Snapping her head upward to look into the branches she saw a pair of the large corvids observing her. Then it all came together. The ravens, the tree, the noose¡­ ¨®einn.


    ¡°Greetings, honored dead.¡± Came the tinny croak of the one on the left.


    ¡°Honored¡­ Oh. Oh no! No no no!¡± Liv put her hands forward, shaking her head vehemently. ¡°There¡¯s been a mistake! Honored dead? I¡¯m an artist! I¡¯m no soldier!¡± Part of her realized that she was objecting to the wrong part of that title and she really should be more concerned with the fact that she was apparently DEAD than that some cosmic clerical error had somehow put her on the wrong train.


    The second raven leaned in, looking her over from their perch.


    ¡°You died in combat.¡± It explained. Liv shook her head in denial. She¡¯d been in more scrapes in her life than she cared to admit, but the fact that she knew how to fight didn¡¯t change her loathing of it.


    ¡°No I didn¡¯t! I¡­ I uhh¡­¡± Only now did it occur to her that she had no clue at all how she had ended up here. ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡±


    ¡°Head trauma.¡± The first raven said sagely with a bob of its head. ¡°Not unexpected. You might be a little fuzzy on details for a while.¡± Before Liv could even wrap her mind around that, he continued. ¡°Having your skull caved in with a tire iron will do that to you.¡±


    Liv felt sick. Could dead people GET sick? She sat down on the cold dirt and hugged her knees to her chest.


    ¡°Huginn, can you not see her distress?¡± The second raven scolded before soaring down to land nearby. ¡°You died in defense of another. You fought bravely in a battle you could not win. You saved a life.¡± The bird, who could only be Muninn, consoled. ¡°And now you are claimed for Valh?ll!¡± The black bird exclaimed happily. Liv curled her fingers into her hair as the gravity of what was happening started to sink in. Flying down, Huginn landed beside his brother.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°The choice is made. The coin was tossed, and ¨®einn will have his due.¡± Huginn said coolly. ¡°Ragnar?k comes.¡±


    Liv was shaking now, overwhelmed.


    Muninn looked her up and down before cocking his head toward his brother uncertainly. Huginn ruffled his feathers, dismissing the unspoken inquiry.


    ¡°Do not worry. The Allfather has a plan.¡±


    Muninn only twisted his head in silent curiosity.


    ¡°She¡¯ll make an excellent Dungeon.¡± Huginn expounded. Even in her state, that caught Liv by surprise.


    ¡°What?¡± She sniffed.


    ¡°Ah! Yes of course!¡± Muninn bobbed in agreement.


    ¡°A d- I don¡¯t understand.¡± She whispered.


    ¡°You will.¡± Huginn said in a tone that sent a shiver down her spine. The world around them was dimming, raven feathers tickling around the edges of her vision.


    ¡°Wait! What am I supposed to do?!¡± She pleaded.


    Muninn¡¯s words were distant echoes now.


    ¡°Defend your core!¡±


    Darkness closed and she found herself adrift. Afloat in a warm void where silence reigned, Liv felt her terror slowly ebb as she considered what she¡¯d been told. A dungeon? What the hell did that mean? Was she supposed to design some kind of complex, or a defensive structure? She was no architect! But they had to know that, right?


    She was a lifelong gamer, so when it came to the concepts behind such things, she was sure she could lay out something effective. But actually building it? That was a whole different ball game.


    She drifted in that empty place for what felt like ages. With no other object or even sensory input to distract her, her mind latched onto the only thing it had to keep away from the gnawing dread of mortality. She fixated on the role she¡¯d been given. She began racking her brain for old maps and layouts. For once she felt grateful that she¡¯d been cursed to forever be the DM of her friend group.


    ¡°Okay, think it through. How do you make a cave, or a mineshaft secure?¡± She mumbled to herself. Thinking of pinch points and high ground¡­ Gods she hoped this was what they meant. She was going to be useless if ¨®einn wanted a more historically accurate dungeon. If she had to draw up blueprints to some kind of torture basement she was going to fail at this SO HARD.


    Her musings were interrupted when she felt the sudden tug of gravity. Light bloomed beneath her as she tumbled into whatever strange afterlife this was shaping up to be, still utterly clueless as to what she was supposed to do.


    For the second time that day, the sight that greeted her was not at all what she anticipated. The light flared as thick, warm air flowed past. Then she landed in a brackish muck with a sickening squelch. Slowly, she lifted her face up out of the black mud. Her vision pierced the top of the skummy puddle, allowing her to take in the soggy, stinking swamp into which she¡¯d been unceremoniously dumped.


    ¡°WHAT THE FUCK?!¡±

 Skeeters…

    Liv tried to stand, but the motion felt off. It was too smooth, lacking the everpresent bobs and wobbles one normally tuned out instinctually. She staggered at the unnatural sensation, and eyed her feet to try and catch her balance. The first thing she noticed, as she prepared to try and shake off the muck, was that nothing of the swamp had stuck to her at all. It was also the first time since this nightmare began that she took note of what she was wearing.


    Stompy buckle boots, cargo pants, her favorite tank top depicting a skull and roses, and her studded leather jacket.


    ¡°Why am I in my party clothes?¡± She asked no one. Had she died in this? As far as things went it wasn¡¯t a bad choice but it made her wish all the more that she could remember just how she¡¯d ended up here. It was then that her eyes caught one of the few open patches of water near her feet, and she realized that she had no reflection whatsoever.


    Lacking a reflection, the mosh pit warrior reached up and ran her hands over her hair. She felt how smooth the sides of her head were, and her hair was tightly bound in elaborate braids. She even had her raven skull beads woven in on the right side. ¡°Shit. Who the hell was I trying to impress?¡± She wondered, aloud. No way she put this much effort into her look just for fun. The braids alone took HOURS¡­


    Lifting one boot, she was intrigued to see that nothing stuck to it. In fact¡­ the water didn¡¯t even ripple. On a hunch, she plunked her boot back down. Nothing. No sound, no movement, her foot just passed the surface of the brackish puddle like she was made of nothing more than light.


    Yet despite her seemingly incorporeal nature, she still stood on the muddy ground for reasons she couldn¡¯t fathom.


    ¡°Hang on, that doesn¡¯t add up.¡± She mumbled. Why was there no sound to her footsteps? There had DEFINITELY been a sound a second ago when she landed. She turned around, looking down at the disgusting muck for some clue. The pale punk even hopped about to try and get her oversized boots to replicate the squelch, only to have her attention snagged by a dim red glow below the skummy water. On instinct she reached down to grab at it, but accomplished nothing.


    ¡°Right.¡± She sighed. ¡°I¡¯m a¡­ ghost?¡± She thought about it for a moment but shook off the unanswerable question and refocused. Fighting off revulsion, she lowered herself into the tepid water and took a deep breath. Then she paused. Did she need to hold her breath? How did that work? She waited. And waited¡­ After what had to be a couple minutes without any sign that she was running out of oxygen she determined that she did not, but not breathing felt WEIRD. She dipped below the water and looked through the silt at a glowing red stone of some kind.


    Here, she realized, was the likely culprit of the earlier sound. Stuck in the mud under maybe two feet of water, it jutted up from the floor of the shallow pond, partially obscured by slowly drifting strands of a stringy weed. It almost looked like some kind of fluorescent jasper. Liv thought the color was rather pretty, even if the stone itself looked rough and jagged.


    ¡°Huh¡­ That seems important.¡± It took a moment before she realized she¡¯d just spoken aloud under water and without any audible change. This just kept getting weirder. Standing up again she began to inspect her surroundings. She could see perhaps a 20¡¯ by 20¡¯ area, most of which was dominated by this foul smelling puddle. Another oddity; she didn¡¯t need to breathe but she could still smell. In fact, she could smell regardless of whether she was even breathing at all. Wonderful¡­


    Surrounding the little area was a wall of gray fog that was all but impenetrable to her eyes. the increasingly annoyed woman stomped soundlessly through the mud, her distaste for this damned puddle growing by the second. Mosquitoes swarmed everywhere, making her bat at them uselessly. A chunk of rotten wood on the edge of the water was one of the only things to break the monotony of stagnant, smelly pond water.


    She bent down to take a look at it and discovered a nest of what had to be the biggest cockroaches she had ever seen. Her screech of horrified disgust felt muffled by the surrounding fog, and the water around that glowing rock rippled a bit. Liv took a moment to back away and get the full body shivers that the sight of insects always inspired, out of her system. Then she looked back at the soft red glow. Did she do that?


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The athletic looking spirit took a deep breath, felt stupid for doing so, then shrugged and carried on anyway. Opening wide, she mimed holding a microphone and gave her best death-metal scream. It was less visible than before, but there it was! A ripple! She did something!! She was going to investigate this phenomenon further, but just then the first thing she¡¯d seen thus far that she didn¡¯t hate emerged from the water. Seemingly disturbed by the ripples, a salamander slithered its way through the green pond scum and up onto the muddy shore. The thing was huge, nearly a foot long, and a mottled ruddy color.


    ¡°Woah!¡± She waded soundlessly over to it as it climbed out of the puddle. She knelt down to inspect it more closely and the critter slowly turned its blunt face to look at her with big dark eyes atop its flat head.


    ¡°Can you see me?¡± She asked, leaning left. The salamander¡¯s gaze followed her, even though when Liv looked at the water she still saw no reflection of herself there. The salamander blinked one eye and then the other, utterly unconcerned. Her black little heart melted instantly.


    ¡°Awww! You¡¯re frickin adorable. Imma call you Masque.¡± She cooed at the amphibian, who licked its nose in response. It was red-ish, after all, and she loved the idea of giving this adorable critter a name like Masque of the Red Death. ¡°Well buddy, how do we get-¡° Her question was cut short as the mosquitoes took notice of the poor creature. Swarming, the little jerks began to bite at her little buddy, who wriggled in response. It tried to eat the Mosquitoes, but without the added agility the water would grant it the poor beast was too slow to do so. Liv started flailing her hands, trying to fend them off.


    ¡°Hey!!¡± She growled, swatting. Snarling, she cursed. ¡°Damned Skeeters!¡± There was fizzling sound and a slight *pop*, as she swore a mosquito just¡­ happened¡­ right in front of her. ¡°Huh. Skeeter.¡± She said again. Nothing happened. She tried to focus on the feelings, imagining the annoying bug in her mind and said it again. ¡°Mosquito!¡± Another fizzle-pop, and a new mosquito entered the world right in front of her face. The baffled stranger looked at her hand, then the salamander that was now going back into the water, then back to the glowing rock. What in the name of the gods was going on here? ¡°Ant.¡± She tried. Nothing. ¡°Fly!¡± No dice. ¡°Mosquito!¡± *Pop!*Great. She had mosquito summoning powers. Awesome.


    Maybe if she tried another animal she¡¯d seen here? She was NOT about to summon a cockroach, so instead her eyes drifted back to the salamander just below the surface.¡°Salamander!¡± She said authoritatively. The water at her feet splashed as another salamander flopped into the muck from where it had materialized in front of her nose. Liv wheezed, suddenly feeling parched. She was a ghost, how was she thirsty?! She looked down at her feet, and even if she was dead she wasn¡¯t about to try sipping THAT water. Yuck.


    The yellow striped salamander had begun swimming around her legs while she tried to muddle through far too many questions at once. This was insane. Every part of this was insane. The implications of every little individual facet of this problem were so immense that she began to feel a familiar tightness in her chest. The panic she had managed to leave behind in the void threatened to return with a vengeance.


    ¡°Stop! Stop it! Get a hold of yourself, Liv!¡± She hissed at herself, flapping her hands as if she could shake the tension off of them. Closing her eyes, she took several centering breaths. She pushed her questions aside for a now, focusing only on the present moment. The buzzing of insects. The lapping of water from the swimming salamander. The rustle of tall grasses. She allowed the sounds to push aside her panic so she could try to think clearly. That was probably the only reason she noticed the new noise. A tiny croak.


    Out of the shroud of gray mist came a tiny plopping sound, drawing her attention to the edge of what she could see. There, at the edge of the muck, a small frog hopped into view. Before she could even investigate, the mosquitoes moved in. Quite a few were eaten, but plenty got their lunch off the little brown critter in the meantime. Liv blinked in surprise as her thirst seemed to ebb. She could almost feel something warm and quenching flowing off of the swarm.


    Stepping closer, she tried to understand what was happening when the water beside her exploded in a wake and a red blur charged. The frog tried to flee, but Masque was too quick. The larger salamander chomped down on the frog and made short work of the tiny thing. Liv felt a RUSH. This felt like pure sweet caffeine. Or maybe adderall. It was a TRIP either way. Masque swallowed, sticking its tongue out and squinting in what looked like contentment.


    ¡°I know what you mean, buddy!¡± Liv gasped. ¡°Definitely wouldn¡¯t mind another one of those!¡± With a fizzle and a pop, a small brown frog came into being at her feet, and her slight buzz faded. It croaked appreciatively at her before bounding off to chase mosquitoes.Liv looked around at her disgusting little pond. And it was. Somehow she knew that this was HERS. She didn¡¯t like it, she didn¡¯t want it, but some intrinsic part of her just understood that for better or worse, this was HER swamp.If someone started playing Smash Mouth she was gonna scream.

 SCIENCE!!

    ¡°Okay. What do we know?¡± The frenetic punk paced soundlessly as she talked to herself. Masque and an as-of-yet unnamed salamander with yellow stripes slowly tracked her meandering path. She told herself she wasn¡¯t talking to herself like a crazy person¡­ ghost¡­ thing. No, she had an audience!


    ¡°So I¡¯m stuck in a puddle. I can summon animals like some really crappy Druid.¡± She paused and looked at the Salamanders. ¡°No offense.¡± Yellow licked its eyeball. ¡°I think I got the ability to make frogs when Masque ate one. I felt REALLY GOOD when they did, too. I obviously got something out of that.¡± She held up a finger. ¡°And the mosquitoes too! Wait¡­ Am I some kind of soggy swamp vampire?!¡± Masque rolled onto its back, staring at her upside down.


    ¡°Okay, no, that was dumb. The ravens said I was going to be a Dungeon? But since when is THIS a dungeon?!¡± She shouted that last part at the sky, and the puddle rippled again. ¡°No cave! No walls! No rooms! Nothing!¡° Lifting a fist to the sky, she shook it and ranted. ¡°Just this STUPID. SMELLY. SWAMP!!¡±


    Then she remembered the other thing Muninn had told her. Protect her core¡­ She looked at the glow, willing to gamble that the radiant jasper was the object in question. Well, if she was going to pull that off, she needed to understand her surroundings better. What did she have to work with?


    She flopped onto the muddy ground beside her amphibious companions with a grunt, but no other audible impact. Okay, she had to think of this like a game. New DM, new setting, she had to figure out the rules and resources at her disposal. With a smirk, she looked at Masque and quoted one of her favorite movies.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to science the shit out of this.¡±


    ¡ª


    Liv lay panting on the squishy mulch ¡®beach¡¯ of her puddle.


    ¡°S-skeeter!¡± She panted, feeling like someone had put her in a dehydrator to be mummified. Nothing happened. ¡°Okay. That¡¯s uh.. that¡¯s¡­ 25.¡± She whispered to yellow. Poor guy needed a real name. Masque had slid back into the water a few minutes before.


    ¡°I can summon 25 mosquitoes before I¡¯m tapped.¡± That should give her a baseline to use. There was a familiar croaking noise, and Liv turned to look for her frog. The little brown hopper needed a name too.


    She was overjoyed to see a slightly fatter green frog instead! She¡¯d determined earlier that she got nothing from her Mosquitoes feeding off of her own critters, but outsiders seemed to bring her¡­ whatever it was she needed. The green amphibian ate a few of the bugs as she slowly started to feel refreshed. It wasn¡¯t much, but she could feel the trickle of energy coming from the swarm.


    Yellow spotted the intruder and scrambled ineffectually in the mud in their haste to go after the frog. Flailing wildly and sending mud everywhere, the critter spun out cartoonishly, scaring away its prey. Liv sighed in disappointment.


    ¡°Right, that answers that. You¡¯re Wile.¡± She chuckled as the newly named salamander flopped into the mud, defeated.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    It took most of an afternoon and a visit from some kind of crane-like bird, but eventually she had gotten enough energy back to feel like she could carry on with her experimentation. Summoning Wile had felt a lot harder than the mosquitoes, which made as much sense as anything here did, she supposed. She wanted to see if she could quantify that feeling somehow. She also wanted to see how much control she had.


    ¡°Salamander.¡± Another reddish amphibian appeared in front of her nose and then fell into the water. She could feel the hit to her¡­ energy? She needed a term for that. ¡°Salamander on that log!¡± She said, picturing one atop the roach nest. Roach coach? Yeah, she liked that better. Less creepy. Another hit to her energy and she felt a bit thirsty, but the Salamander arrived where she wanted. ¡°Okay, how about physical attributes? Orange Salamander!¡± Liv felt guilty as she forgot to think of a location and the poor orange striped amphibian flailed through the air until it hit the water at her feet. ¡°Sorry!¡± She cupped her hands before her.


    ¡°Uhh, female Salamander!¡± A muddy brown Salamander fizzled and popped into being in her cupped hands¡­ And then promptly fell through them into the water below.


    ¡±Damnit!¡±


    It was only then that the aspiring experimenter realized she had no way of figuring out if that one worked or not as she couldn¡¯t tell the difference. ¡°Crap.¡± She said in a slightly strained voice. Almost immediately she flinched, as she caught her slip. It was with an audible sigh of relief that she realized apparently ¡®crap¡¯ was not something she could summon into her hands with a word.


    ¡°Thank the gods¡­¡±


    Watching it (her?) swim off into the water, she sat down and tried to keep her eyes open as she kept going.


    ¡ª


    In the end, she¡¯d only gotten five. She¡¯d done the same with frogs and gotten the same result, despite the size difference. Whatever the determining factor was in what it cost her to make these animals appear, it wasn¡¯t mass. Complexity maybe? She was also pretty certain she¡¯d hit some kind of limitation on her population.


    She¡¯d made five frogs, but the final two had just hopped off into the fog, and the mosquito population had taken an obvious hit. She¡¯d been worried about the hit to her intake, but it turned out the frogs gave her a trickle of energy by eating passing dragonflies and something that looked like junebugs. Gods, she hated this swamp. It was an insectophobe¡¯s nightmare.


    She paced now at the head of her own private army of tiny amphibians.


    ¡°Right! So!¡± She started her bizarre Ted Talk. ¡°Using the mosquito as a basic unit of measurement, we can quantify this weird, crappy super power.¡± She explained. A salamander turned away and slid into the water. Everyone¡¯s a critic¡­


    ¡°So we¡¯ve got approximately twenty five skeeter-points, henceforth to be known as SP. Each of you costs about five SP. Other creepy crawlies seem to cost one, just like the skeeters.¡± It had been hard to force herself to summon up the bugs, even for the sake of science, but she¡¯d done so near her frogs just to make it as brief as possible. ¡°I don¡¯t know if there¡¯s a bug limit, but it looks like any more than ten of you guys and the others just run off¡­ Which means I have a cap on my SP generation, which is already susceptible to feast or famine as it is. I think I get some automatically, but it seems pretty slow. So if I¡¯m going to ¡®defend my core¡¯ I¡¯m probably going to need some more¡­ intimidating creatures.¡± Her amphibians stared at her, one frog breaking the silence with a tiny croak.


    ¡°Right you are!¡± Liv chirped, pointing at it. ¡°That means more complexity. More SP. I need to get access to more somehow, which means I need to find a way to raise that limit.¡± She stroked her chin, thinking.


    ¡°Maybe I need more space?¡± Liv examined the edges of the puddle she¡¯d been stuck in for the past¡­ Actually she wasn¡¯t super sure how long. A couple days? If she walked right up to the fog she could see a handful of feet through the mist. Mostly just silhouettes and outlines. She didn¡¯t know if she could ¡®grow¡¯, but if she was going to try then she wanted to pick the best direction. She also needed to make sure she knew the exact borders of her puddle in case the growth was tiny or slow enough to be difficult to track. She began carefully walking the boundaries while she waited for her SP to regenerate so she could begin Phase 2 ?.

 Growth

    It took a couple days to completely recuperate from her experiments. Liv had finally figured out time keeping while exploring her borders. She couldn¡¯t see the passage of the sun behind the gray shroud; however, the shadows around her puddle did, in fact, move. It felt good to have a sense of time. Honestly, it probably would have only taken one day, but for the sake of accuracy she wanted to be absolutely sure she had a full tank of gas before she did anything.


    Another observation; she hadn¡¯t made any more mosquitoes in a few days and she¡¯d seen plenty get eaten by frogs, yet if anything it seemed like there were MORE than before. We¡¯re they breeding? Could she get around the SP cost by letting things breed on their own? That was something she¡¯d have to investigate. But for now, EXPANSION!!


    Based on occasional muffled splashes, she was pretty sure there was another little pond a ways out past the Roach-Coach. She could even see the fuzzy shadow of what might be a tree!


    Her pale shoulders slumped a bit at that. Good gods, how dull was her life that she was this excited about seeing a TREE¡­ She shook it off, trying not to let that thought take root. Then gave a dry snort at her unspoken pun.


    ¡°Right! Let¡¯s do this!¡± She tried to crack her ephemeral knuckles, accomplishing nothing. Which was kind of where she was at with this border project. ¡°GROW!¡± She commanded. No change was forthcoming. ¡°EXPAND!¡± Still nothing. ¡°Uh¡­ Claim territory? Move!¡± She floundered. ¡°Go Go Gadget DUNGEON!¡± She cried, flinging out her hands. She wiggled her fingers after a moment, as if that would be the secret that made this work.


    ¡°Gods damn it, just GO THAT WAY!!¡± She said with a silent stomp of her foot. The air buzzed as her massive swarm of mosquitoes flew right through her and into the fog where she pointed. As they left, she felt them fade from her awareness, the air oddly silent and still without them.


    ¡°Wait. Did I do that?!¡± A plopping sound came from near her feet as a frog slowly hopped the same direction. ¡°Wait Wait Wait!¡± She waved at it, and the frog paused. Liv gasped, grinning.


    ¡°You there!¡± She pointed at a salamander. ¡°Come here!¡± The slithering amphibian did as she commanded and she hopped with glee, clapping her hands. Not what she wanted, but still handy!


    Looking at the fog she cleared her throat and shouted.


    ¡°Okay mosquitos! Come back!¡±


    Nothing happened. She waited, calling out several more times, but it seemed they were beyond her reach.


    ¡°Balls¡­¡± Oh well, she¡¯ll just have to follow them.


    Stepping up to the border, she pushed her hands against it, feeling a soft, semi flexible barrier. Hunkering down, she planted her feet, focused her thoughts, and PUSHED.


    Her eyes opened wide as she felt it give. It moved! It was working! Taking a wide stance, she pushed forward as hard as she could, and felt her knees go weak as every ounce of her strength was sapped with the effort. Falling to the ground, she looked back, and saw she¡¯d gained at least a few feet.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Yeesh, a few feet?! That was it?!


    ¡°Hey Wile! Come here, buddy!¡± She rasped, flopping onto her back to catch the breath she didn¡¯t really need. The little guy was about a foot long, and she could use him to kind of measure her progress. It took some fenangling to get the excitable amphibian to cooperate, but eventually she lined him up and got him to move in a vaguely straight line one body length at a time.


    In total, tapping herself of everything she had netted her five square feet, the end of a log covered in fluffy moss, and a tiny little shrub¡­ At this rate it would take her WEEKS to reach that shadow of a tree. Especially without her mosquitoes¡­ Crap.


    It was then that movement from the periphery caught her attention. She looked upward, rolling onto her side, but just saw the log, the shrub, and Wile. She was staring, trying to figure out what she¡¯d seen, when the shrub shuffled over a few quick steps toward Wile while the lazy salamander wasn¡¯t looking.


    The BUSH¡­ moved¡­


    ¡°What in the actual f-¡° Dropping all pretenses of shrub-ness, the cat-sized creature launched itself at Wiley. It crackled and creaked like wood, but had an almost humanoid shape. Wile bucked and rolled as the tiny demon slashed at it with little wooden claws. Liv flailed.


    ¡°SHIT! GET IT GET IT GET IT!!¡± She waved towards the other salamanders. ¡°HELP WILE!!¡±


    The yellow striped salamander slithered towards the water, the evil doom shrub on its back. It didn¡¯t look too great for Wiley until Masque suddenly lunged up from the water and bit down on the shrub¡¯s arm. Then came another salamander, and another. Before long the little plant demon was flailing in panic as a maelstrom of enraged salamanders dragged it beneath the water.


    Tiny crackling sounds amidst the splashing signaled its demise at the hands of the amphibious defenders.


    ¡°Hell yeah!!¡± Liv pumped her fist, crawling over. ¡°Wile? Buddy? You okay?¡± The salamander was pretty cut up. It was then that the rush of heady energy flooded into her. It was almost too much! She felt a bit drunk. There was no time for that, though. Wile was hurt! There had to be something she could do about that, right?


    Laying her hands on Wile, even though she couldn¡¯t really touch him, she said a soft prayer to Idunn for healing, not knowing what else she could do. Then she felt a trickle of SP leave her, and Wile¡¯s eyes opened wide. The tears in their soft, thin skin began to knit back together as Liv stared down at the beast, stunned. Liv grinned like an idiot as Wile expressed their joy by peeling out on the mud and skidding into the water with their fellows.


    She turned to look down at the remaining bits of leafy wood floating in the skum. That was NOT natural. What in Hel was that thing?


    Trepidatiously, she held out her hand.


    ¡°Plant¡­ man?¡± She wasn¡¯t sure what to call the thing, but she pictured it clearly in her head. She fell to her knees as all that fresh SP flowed right back out again.


    The thing that fizzled into reality before her eyes looked like what would happen if Treebeard wandered onto the set of ¡®Honey I Shrunk the Kids¡¯ and got zapped. It was maybe a foot and a half tall, vaguely humanoid, and most definitely a PLANT. It blinked at her, before stretching its arms wide and giving a tiny yawn.


    ¡°Ho-ly shit¡­¡± Liv whispered.


    She definitely wasn¡¯t in Kansas anymore.

 Getting That Green

    With no sign of the swarm, Liv resigned herself to days of doing nothing but making more gods damned mosquitoes¡­ She hated the things, but they were one of her more consistent sources of SP. Though she had a hunch that Bushwhacker was also getting her some tiny amount as well. She couldn¡¯t prove that though. It wasn¡¯t doing anything visibly to explain it, but since she made it she seemed to recover just a tiny bit faster.


    She looked towards the log with a sigh. It was going to take WEEKS to expand in any meaningful way. How was she supposed to do this? Walking over to sit on the log and have a think, she paused as she looked at the thing. The sodden old log had a big patch of fluffy green moss on the end. In the past couple days, that moss had grown a ways. Her eyes narrowed as she took it in. Running her fingers along the green moss, her eyebrows shot upward as they passed several inches beyond where the border HAD been, to the edge of the fluffy green patch.


    ¡°No way¡­¡± She whispered. No, these few feet had cost her a fortune. Could expanding really be that simple?! Just let natural plant growth slowly expand her borders for free?


    Then another thought occurred to her. She had summoned Bushwhacker. Could she use her SP to make more plants? Normal plants? Would those work the same way?


    There was only one way to find out. Running her fingers into the moss, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the fuzzy growth.


    ¡°Come on¡­ come ooon!¡± The energy flowed out of her fingertips at her command. Opening her eyes she grinned like a mad scientist. The green fuzz had gone from a hand sized patch to covering the entire log!


    Taking stock of herself, she was pretty sure she could do that at least one more time before she hit a wall.


    ¡°Moment of truth.¡± She muttered, pushing forward. Her fingertips reached the old boundary¡­ and passed it.


    ¡°Yaaaaaasss!!¡± She cheered, scampering down the log. She could hardly believe it! She¡¯d gotten a further five square feet or so for HALF the cost!! What¡¯s more, she could feel a tiny trickle of that distinct, thirst quenching warmth flowing off of it. She got SP from plants?! Wait¡­ was moss a plant? Some half forgotten memory told her it might be a fungus. Oh WHO CARES, IT WORKED!!


    After some amount of celebrating, during which Liv desperately hoped that her various critters didn¡¯t judge her for her dancing skills (or lack thereof), she prepared to push foreword yet again. Only there was a problem. She was out of log.


    She pushed the moss again, but it didn¡¯t seem to want to grow beyond the log. How was she going to do this? Looking around, her eyes fell upon the yellow-green skum that lived atop the water of her puddle. Algae. That was similar, right? But how would she get it where she wanted?


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The punk-turned-dungeon took stock of her resources, thinking. She suddenly remembered watching some nature documentary on frogs. Specifically a scene in which one dug a channel from one pool to another to let its tadpoles swim to safety. Bingo.


    ¡ª


    Most of an afternoon had gone by, and the puddle was abuzz with activity. She had about given up on the whole thing when she realized the salamanders were far superior to the frogs for her goals. All seven of the slimy critters were happily wallowing in the muck. Each one would shove mud piles out to either side, and Bushwhacker would dash between them, his leaves rustling softly as he loped back and forth, shoveling the piles further afield to keep it from going back down into the shallow little ditch. She hoped this worked. If she could get pond scum to expand her borders, maybe she could quickly claim the next pool when she got there.


    Part of her wanted to summon up another Shrub-man, but she knew she should conserve her SP for growth and just try to be patient.


    Waiting around had never been her strong suit, though. Liv could see that she was making progress, but in between her experiments and directing her minions she was horribly bored. She couldn¡¯t even do any real testing right now. She wanted to save her SP for expansion, and most experiments worth her attention would require her to tap herself out to get more precise measurements. It was during this dull eternity that her earlier question of mosquito breeding came to mind.


    She had far fewer of the little blood suckers now. If she could get an accurate count, maybe she could track their population? Laying flat on her back, she began trying to count the invaluable little demons.


    ¡°One¡­ two¡­ th- Wait. Did I count that one already?¡± Huffing, she started over. On her third attempt she began to realize how hopeless it was. All the mosquitos looked the same, and they tended to move constantly in a loose swarm. She even tried singling one out and ordering it to a specific spot, but focusing on one long enough to make that happen proved equally problematic.


    ¡°Dang it!!¡± She kicked the water in frustration, then gave a wordless shout of impotent rage when her foot caused no visible effect whatsoever. Flopping onto her butt to glare at the bugs, she focused on one that had landed on the surface of the water by her foot. ¡°What I would give for some way to tag you or something.¡± She complained. She then smirked at the mental image of a mosquito with a dog collar and a little heart shaped name tag. So stupid. What would she name a damned bug anyway? Skeeter 1 of 357? She idly imagined trying to fit that on a tag.


    A dull glow distracted her from her musings. Her focus returned to the bug that was now taking off again. Above it, written in her own familiar scrawl, were dimly illuminated letters.


    *Skeeter 1 of 357*


    Liv¡¯s eyes went wide. Swiping her hand over the letters in her vision, she watched them smear and fade. Screwing up her face and squinting, she lifted her hand as if holding an invisible pencil and just wrote ¡°1¡± over the mosquito¡¯s head. Like before, the dimly glowing white numeral appeared.


    ¡°NO WAY!¡± She cackled. She supposed nothing should surprise her anymore. She wondered if it was visible to others, but a quick glance at her puddle showed no reflection of the little name tag. Liv jumped to her feet, grinning.


    ¡°This changes everything.¡±

 The Visitor

    Upon reflection, Liv concluded that she MAY have gone a bit overboard with her newfound power. Twenty seven little numerals buzzed all around her little puddle. She¡¯d made them as tiny as she could while still being able to read them to keep them from cluttering up the airspace. In her excitement, she had then moved on to amusing herself by attaching little glowing signs to EVERYTHING. Some were simple, like the dull brown (possibly female?) salamander who sported a plainly scrawled ¡®Sally¡¯ over their head. Others were more ornate. It was the first time since all of this began that she¡¯d achieved some sense of normalcy. Returning to her passion and doing some art had let her release a tension she hadn¡¯t even known she was holding onto.


    She¡¯d amused herself for an hour or so designing a decorative name plate for Masque as if he was an elite mob in an MMO. Or maybe just a rare encounter, since he didn¡¯t exactly look any bigger or more impressive than the others. Above the red salamander was a circular icon with a sketch of him dramatically bursting out of the water. The border looked like some kind of braided wire, and branched out to underline ¡®MASQUE¡¯ written in her fanciest looking calligraphy. Below that line in smaller, more plain script, was the title ¡®The Red Death¡¯. She¡¯d even superimposed a little ¡®1¡¯ in its own tiny circle on the upper right bit of the portrait frame to make it look like her little buddy had a level marker! Honestly, she was so glad to have something she could do to entertain herself, she was pretty sure she¡¯d eventually doodle up something similar for every critter in her puddle.


    She was feeling proud of herself as she watched her little minion squad continue to dutifully dig the low tech hydroponic canal. Ten little amphibians and a plant weren¡¯t exactly a force to be reckoned with, but it was a huge improvement over what she¡¯d had just a few days ago. She couldn¡¯t help but feel proud of them. Sure, they had no conscious idea what they were doing, but they were giving it their all anyway! She should probably name it, but couldn¡¯t come up with any amusing titles for the canal just yet.


    The gleeful artist was starting to work on a cute portrait for Wile when a sound like a bugle practically gave her a heart attack. After jumping several inches off the ground in surprise, she turned to look for the source and was surprised to see one of those huge gray, crane-like birds she¡¯d seen the other day. The first one hadn¡¯t made any noise, but this one trumpeted as it zeroed in on¡­ On her canal! She realized too late that her poor salamanders and frogs were sitting right out in the open. They were probably tempting morsels for a large bird. There wasn¡¯t time to move them. The only thing that could move fast enough to intercept it was Bushwhacker and it was too tiny to do anything about the massive hungry bird.


    She had to hide them! Protect them! Liv threw herself onto the ground over the top of her amphibious work crew, and instinctively covered the back of her head with her hands to try and protect herself. It was stupid, and pointless. She was an invisible, intangible entity, but she¡¯d acted in desperation. When the light around her dimmed, she assumed the bird was overhead and about to snag one of her little friends for lunch.


    But the flapping wings didn¡¯t stop. The sound seemed to pull back, and then circle. Peeking up again, Liv was surprised to see a heavy mist emanating from her puddle. Concentrating on it, she could feel the very slight drain on her SP it created. SHE had done this! Somehow. Time for that question later.


    ¡°Hide! Get in the water!!¡± She ordered, watching as her forces dashed for the puddle. Except for Bushwhacker, who just held perfectly still and looked like nothing more than a little shrub. There was a moment of fear as she noticed her name tags were clearly sticking out the top of the mist, but the bird seemed to take no notice of them.


    Liv looked away from the thing for a second, counting her salamanders to ensure they had all made it into the pseudo-safety of the water. The crane seemed to have the same idea, though, and landed near the edge to begin walking into her pond. Then came a powerful whistling sound and a rush of air. She whirled to see what ELSE was threatening her little corner of swamp, and was shocked to see the fletched end of an arrow sticking out of the crane¡¯s chest.


    The bird was dead before it even hit the water. It fell with a splash and she felt by far the largest rush of SP to date. She grabbed her belly, groaning at the incredibly sudden and unanticipated feeling of bloating. It was too much! It HURT! Gods, if ghosts could hurl she¡¯d be making a proper mess.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Hand over her mouth, she quickly dumped some SP into the first thing she could think of, pushing the border of her territory by the log out by about a foot. She breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure lessened. Her discomfort had been so intense that she¡¯d completely missed the approaching footsteps.


    The hunter had arrived.


    Liv was on all fours, staring at the hunter who had slain the massive crane. He was¡­ a kid? A YOUNG kid too, the little tyke couldn¡¯t be more than three feet tall! Liv¡¯s confusion only grew the longer she looked at him. He moved with none of the clumsy carelessness of a child, and he was wearing leather armor that was too well crafted to be intended for a child who would outgrow it within a few months. The boy took a careful step forward, crouching low and nocking an arrow to a wickedly dangerous looking bow. His features were off, too. Large eyes, but his face lacked the softness of youth and his ears¡­ His ears had the barest little points at the top.


    ¡°Oh. My. Gods.¡± Liv whispered, coming close to stare in awe at the little hunter who seemed entirely unaware of her. A Halfling! IT WAS A REAL HALFLING! HALFLINGS WERE REAL!?! Her mind was practically bursting with questions about what other magical wonders could be in this strange new world. Meanwhile the pint-sized hunter, *ranger* Liv subconsciously amended, smoothly moved forward and began to prod the mist and water, searching for his prize.


    ¡°Curses!¡± He hissed, casting nervous glances all around. He was definitely playing it safe. She wondered if there were more dangerous things in this swamp to have him so on edge. He put his bow over one shoulder to keep it dry and started searching in earnest. Before long he was batting away mosquitoes, grumbling at the biting bugs.


    ¡°Welcome to my life, my dude.¡± Liv said sympathetically. Soon he was soggy, frustrated, and itchy. Meanwhile, Liv was starting to feel overfull again. The amount of SP she was getting out of this Halfling was INSANE. She¡¯d thought the BIRD was a lot. Just the trickle from the skeeters was enough to practically overwhelm her. Frantically she waved the bugs away.


    ¡°STOP! NO MORE! PLEASE!!¡± She begged, and the swarm obeyed.


    Eventually the tiny hunter made a triumphant cry and grabbed the dead crane by the neck.


    ¡°There you are, you great buggering bird!¡± He grunted as he tugged a bird almost as big as he was towards the land.


    Liv smirked despite her discomfort, amused by the spicy little guy, until the Halfling¡¯s foot came down and she FELT the fabric of his pants gently brush the stone at the bottom of her puddle. The stone was obscured by nothing more than silt and mist, and the flutter of fabric against its surface made her blanch.


    ¡ª


    Logan allowed himself a moment of pride as he dragged the damnably heavy bird through the water. He¡¯d never been the type to take joy in the sport of hunting, beyond knowing he¡¯d provided another meal for his family. However, he might just make an exception for Bog Striders. These buggers were big, and had a notoriously bad attitude.


    His attention snapped back to the present as his leg brushed something under the water and the marshy pond fell deathly silent. The dusky skinned hunter froze, taking a moment to scan the mist for threats. His free hand slowly shifted to touch the handle of a knife hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. Slowly the pond came back to life, buzzing and chirping like normal. He sighed with relief, having half expected caiman slithering through the muck.


    ¡ª


    It didn¡¯t hurt. Nothing bad happened, and the Halfling didn¡¯t even seem to notice. Still, Liv felt like she¡¯d been somehow violated. Some very private part of her had been touched by a stranger, even if it had been an accident, and she did NOT like it. Muninn¡¯s words came back to her yet again as the hunter began to clean his kill.


    *¡¯Protect your core!¡¯*


    Shivering, Liv rubbed her arms and swore to find a way to make that happen asap.


    ¡°Marla is going to be thrilled with you.¡± The man whispered with a smile, talking to his prey. ¡°Roast Bog Strider is her favorite.¡± Aww. He has a lady to impress! Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as he heaved the carcass into a tiny backpack, and the ENTIRE BIRD disappeared into it.


    ¡°Holy Hella!¡± She exclaimed, clapping her hands over her mouth for a moment at the sound of her own voice before remembering that he couldn¡¯t see or hear her anyway.


    Then the hunter put the pack back on and grinned like he was on top of the world. ¡°Daddy keeps his promises.¡± He proclaimed joyfully. Not a lady then, a daughter! Liv put a hand over her heart as the warm scene of a devoted father banished the last of the fading disquiet from having had her core touched.


    Soon the little man had vanished back into the fog, and the mists she¡¯d summoned finally dissipated. She found herself staring after him for a long while. She hoped he¡¯d come back some time.

 Earthworks

    Liv gave a hearty cheer as the Soggy Log Canal? broke through the final bit of mud and water began to flow from the new puddle in what she hoped would become her new territory, mixing with her own waters in the middle. It had been long, slow, and nerve wracking. Once the diggers reached the edge of her boundaries, Liv had been forced to experiment with sending creatures beyond her reach. She could issue only simple commands, but luckily as long as she instructed them to return after completing some VERY basic task, they did so without issue. It was a risk, though. She couldn¡¯t see or help them out there. But the little guys had gotten it done!


    As she jumped for joy, Bushwhacker waved its arms over its head like some bizarre little cheerleader. Even the placid amphibians were seemingly dancing excitedly. As soon as the water settled down, the biker turned botanist poked her finger into the yellow-green pond scum and pushed. With barely any prodding, the algae surged down the canal and the fog parted like the Red Sea. Liv looked excitedly down the very narrow passage and could see a tiny pocket of water beyond, slowly being covered in the growing mat of green.


    ¡°WOOOOOOO!¡± Liv¡¯s victorious war cry reverberated from the submerged stone as she thrust her hands in the air and ran in circles. ¡°YES! IT WORKS!! IT WOOOORKS!!¡± she screamed.


    Kneeling down, Liv dumped everything she had into the glorious, snot colored goo that would be the architect of her expansion. She never thought she¡¯d love a disgusting bacterial colony so much.


    Near collapsing in exhaustion, she felt secure in the knowledge that she had given it the best start she could and that the fast growing algae would keep right on expanding on her behalf! She wanted to rest, but she knew she also needed to use this opportunity to learn more about her new condition. Being tapped of SP was a learning opportunity. She had noticed early on that she seemed to regenerate SP at a slow but steady rate. She had also noticed that larger patches of plant-life seemed to give off energy. Her running theory was that her base level of SP regen had to do with the plants in her domain. She wanted to try to quantify it.


    Lifting her hand with some effort of will, the exhausted woman demanded ¡°Skeeter¡±. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. She didn¡¯t have enough SP. Which meant she was either at zero or some fraction less than one. Slowly she began to count in her head¡­


    ¡ª


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    45 minutes. Ish. That''s how long it took her to regenerate 1 SP. Which tracked; it usually took her about a day to recover if nothing stopped by her puddle and provided a boost. With sure, steady motions, the former artist began to draw her thoughts onto the very air before her. Honestly, the ability to will her art into being like this almost made everything worth it. No pens, or paper, or eraser lines, she just visualized what she wanted and she could paint it anywhere she wanted.


    ¡°No bastard cops to get all pissed about it either.¡± she mumbled to herself, smirking as she worked out her notes.


    ¡ª


    [Current SP: 0]


    [Max SP: 25]


    [Regen: 1.25 per hour]


    [Time till full regen:¡ª]


    ¡ª


    Liv mumbled under her breath, eyes looking upward at nothing as she did the math in her head.


    ¡ª


    [Time till full regen: 20 hours]


    ¡ª


    ¡°Thirty two per day, base. Except I top out at 25 unless something big comes through.¡± Her eyes widened in realization. If she didn¡¯t spend at least seven a day, she was just wasting resources! Unless¡­ where did that energy go if she was ¡®full¡¯? Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t think up any way to test that idea. Her head was starting to hurt.


    She paused in her note taking as she felt a small rush. She hummed contentedly, it was like taking the first sip of coffee of the morning. A quick inspection of the area revealed only one region with any noteworthy activity. Sally was in the canal, wiggling happily. Liv strode over and knelt beside her.


    ¡°What you got there, girlfriend? Anything good?¡± Sally, of course, said nothing. Just that same blank, amphibian stare. Liv sighed, wishing she could at least pet her critters. When Sally¡¯s attention suddenly snapped back to the canal, she followed the salamander¡¯s gaze. It was a fish! A tiny silvery fish! Liv felt another rush as Sally snapped up that one too before deciding she was full and dragging herself out of the shallow canal and back towards the puddle.


    Standing, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called out across her puddle.


    ¡°CHIIILDREEEN! DINNER TIME!!¡±

 Here Be Monsters

    The new puddle has been being slowly but surely overtaken. The salamanders were all too happy to dig around in the muck some more to widen the canal when the little fish started swimming in. They loved the things! She supposed she should enjoy the extra energy while she could. Her theory was that once the new pond was fully claimed, they would become HER fish and then she wouldn¡¯t get anything back out of them.


    Today, for the first time, the canal was finally wide enough that Liv could squeeze her way through to the new area. Gods, it was the first time she had seen anything besides her 20¡¯x20¡¯ puddle in AGES! She didn¡¯t care if it was just as filthy and smelly as the other one. The simple thrill of something NEW was enough to have her diving into the new pond with glee.


    The first thing she noticed was that this body of water was significantly larger. Until she claimed all of it she had no way of knowing exactly how much larger it was, but she¡¯d already doubled her area. It was also a lot deeper. It had to be at least four feet deep, and she could see dozens of little fish flitting about in the murky water. A splash rumbled through the liquid over her head, and Liv looked up to see Wiley had apparently joined in her excitement and leaped into the new pool. She hadn¡¯t known they were capable of jumping like that, but if any salamander was going to manage it, it would be Wiley.


    Laughing at the goofball¡¯s antics, she saw Masque slip sinuously into the new waters along with some of the others. She was so used to seeing them slowly wiggle around on land, but in the water they were actually quite graceful. Grinning with wonder, she spun about to watch her little buddies playfully circle around her, snatching up fish as they went.


    It was in the act of twirling about that she noticed the first signs of something she was growing increasingly excited to add to her soggy little dungeon. There on the edge of her territory, poking through the foggy boundary that somehow existed even beneath the water, were the first few roots of the tree. Liv hopped up enthusiastically, jogging through the water without any resistance.


    ¡°Oh buddy, have I got plans for YOU!¡± she cooed. If moss and algae could get her some tiny trickle of SP, what would a full on tree do? Looking up at it, she could only see a hazy outline of most of it. Only a few roots were sticking through. The tree almost seemed to be standing on stilts in the water. She felt like she should know what kind of tree this was¡­ Mandrake? No, that was something else. Mandrel? MANGROVE! That was it! It looked like a mangrove tree!


    Her little critters would probably have a ball swimming around all the roots. Liv dropped down to sit on the pond floor and see how much was visible beneath the surface. Dense thickets of roots and stringy green weeds seemed to dance in the dappled light passing through the water. Multiple varieties of fish were weaving their way through them. Little silver ones flashed and darted, slender catfish nibbled the algae covered wood, and she could see still more shapes moving around in the shadows and behind the fog. It was oddly peaceful, and probably the prettiest thing she¡¯d seen since she arrived.


    She took a moment to just breathe, kind of enjoying that she could do so without fear of drowning. This investment has been worth every Skeeter¡­ Liv opened her eyes again, and promptly screamed in terror.


    Right in front of her, seemingly unphased by her presence, the massive, pale, mottled yellow and brown snout of a sleek and dangerous snake emerged from the shadows and passed right through her head.


    Flailing, she turned to run on pure instinct. Then she saw the others, playing in the water. Oh no¡­


    ¡°RUUN!¡±


    This wasn¡¯t a little cat sized bush, this snake was HUGE. How was she going to stop it?! Her salamanders turned to flee but the massive snake simply outclassed the primitive amphibians. With a single gulp, poor Sally was just gone. Swallowed whole. They weren¡¯t going to make it.


    ¡°HEY!! HEY YOU!! ASSHOLE!!¡±


    The desperate woman pulled off her leather jacket, leaving her in just a tank top, so she could whip the studded leather around. It was useless. It couldn¡¯t see her, or didn¡¯t care. Either way, she was powerless to stop it. ¡°No¡­¡± she whimpered.


    A red arrow pierced the silty gloom, slamming home in the side of the snakes head as it was reaching for another bite. Masque. The foot long salamander had just rammed a snake at least six times his own size, buying the others time to flee.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Her first companion in this insanity. The first thing in this hellish cesspool that she¡¯d come to love. That brave little idiot was going to die just like poor Sally.


    ¡°Like Hell!!¡± Liv raged, charging forward.


    ¡ª


    Masque was a simple creature. If he¡¯d had even a hint of a mental voice of his own, he could have spoken his every understanding of his world in just a few words.


    *Masque is Masque. Masque like frogs. Masque like fish. Masque like lady. Lady is friend. Friend is like Masque, both have red on top! This is good. Then there is predator. That is bad.*


    Masque¡¯s every instinct was screaming at him to flee. Let the others get eaten! But¡­ Some deep part of him felt the strange and alien pull of the red lady. The core. He didn¡¯t understand her most of the time, her thoughts were decidedly UNsimple. When he looked at that slithering monster, that absolute leviathan of a thing, he felt desperation for the first time in his life. The red lady was afraid. She was afraid and that was BAD. He¡¯d seen how she rushed to help Wiley when he was hurt. Now¡­ Now it was his turn.


    His nose throbbed from where he had impacted the monster¡¯s jaw. It had barely phased the beast, but it had given Orange Hector a chance to escape. The beast was turning, any second now that mouth would swallow him up like Sally. He could see the fleshy, undulating folds of the monsters maw closing in on him like death itself. He had to stay away from those jaws!


    He bit down on the beast¡¯s neck. His little serrations had no hope of harming the scaled abomination, but if he hung on he could keep the snake from being able to bite him back, if only for a little while. He clung for all he was worth, eyes clenched shut as the dread serpent tried to shake him off. He felt the titanic body coil around him.


    *Bad. This was bad. Predator was bad. Masque¡­ Masque was bad.*


    He heard the core¡¯s voice. She probably thought he was bad too, he could feel her¡­ what was that? A deep, burning feeling. Hot. Cold. So much. Too much!


    ¡°Like Hell!!¡±


    Masque didn¡¯t know the strange sounds, but the feelings! He opened his eyes one last time before the end, and saw lady reaching out to touch him. Then came a surging rush. A torrent so powerful Masque thought he would surely die. White hot! It was pain! It was pleasure! It was¡­ RAGE.


    This beast, this monstrosity was going to end him. It wanted to end all of them. It wanted to eat his fellows. It killed Sally! It wanted to undo what lady and they had worked so hard to do! The burning pain rose to a crescendo. The monster wanted to wreck it all and he was sitting here calling himself ¡®bad¡¯ and accepting his fate?!


    Like Hell!!


    He was MASQUE!


    He was THE RED DEATH!


    This pale worm would learn its place in this swamp!!


    ¡ª


    Liv practically crumpled to the ground, gasping as she overexerted herself. She hadn¡¯t known what to do, but she¡¯d known she could at least heal things. Masque hadn¡¯t been hurt yet, but she¡¯d charged over and slammed everything she could into the poor critter anyway. For a moment her hand had touched his tail, and she¡¯d actually felt him. All of him. In that briefest of seconds she had found herself with a complete understanding of what Masque was, inside and out. Without really meaning to or understanding what she was doing, she¡¯d pushed him. Just like she¡¯d pushed the plants to grow or the barriers to move. She reached inside the floppy little salamander and PUSHED.


    Now she sat, mouth agape, and saw what her powers had wrought. Masque had gone from a struggling little mouthful about to be squeezed in the coils of a snake, and surged into something new and terrifying. An eight foot long, crimson backed salamander shrugged off the snake¡¯s embrace. A head large enough to swallow a cat whole whipped around and bit back down on the serpent¡¯s neck, just behind the head, and she could see wispy tendrils of red seeping out into the water.


    The two beasts rolled and hissed and thrashed about in the shallows of the pond. Two apex predators vying for survival. Liv sat there, leather jacket hanging limply in her hand, as the dull and muffled *Crack* reverberated through the water. The giant snake went limp, floating somewhat, until it was suddenly pulled up and out of the water.


    She stood, wobbling a bit with the effort, and stared in awe at her not-so-little buddy. The exhausted woman watched, transfixed, as Masque proceeded to eat. The large constrictor slid down his throat, like it was nothing.


    Her trance was only broken when the massive monstrosity she¡¯d unwittingly created turned to look at her. It blinked first one eye, then the other, before flopping into the mud with it¡¯s tongue sticking out just a bit in a lazy expression of contentment.

 Revelation and Renovation

    ¡°Ho-ly shit.¡±


    Growing up with a rather colorful character of a mother, Liv had learned early on that truly momentous things were worthy of an extra syllable. Staring at the monstrosity that was Masque, she felt this had safely earned the DEFCON 5 drawl. DEFCON 1 was mostly theoretical, and involved adding an extra expletive in the middle and then deciding to turn all three words into a six syllable sign of the apocalypse. She¡¯d hold onto that one. Who knew, she might get a dragon or something wandering by some day. A girl had to be ready.


    Some vague memory of her grade school days told her that there had been a point in history where Salamanders the size of alligators had actually been a thing. She remembered being amused by the idea of the soft amphibians having been the apex predator of its day. Now, though, she could see it. Massive jaws, a powerful tail, sharp teeth; good gods she hadn¡¯t known salamanders even HAD teeth.


    ¡°Masque!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°You absolute BEAST! That was AMAZING!!¡± Liv crawled towards him, shaky and exhausted but grinning from ear to ear. She pushed herself upward onto her knees, kneeling in front of the massive creature. ¡°Who¡¯s a good boy?¡± the leather clad punk cooed in a voice usually reserved for babies and kittens. ¡°Who¡¯s my magnificent monstrosity?!¡± Masque opened his eyes and looked up at her, tongue still lolling happily like some kind of 200 lb puppy as his tail swished in the mud. ¡°That¡¯s right! YOU ARE!¡± Liv said with child-like glee. ¡°And good boys get upgrades!¡±


    With a tired chuckle, she needlessly licked a thumb and smudged out the little 1 on his portrait. She thought for a moment, considering how she¡¯d rate Masque if she was DMing a game. ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­ You must have grown at least three sizes. You also definitely got some natural weapons there.¡± Masque was looking up at his little floating sign in anticipation; then practically danced as his dungeon wrote a glowing four in its place.


    ¡ª


    Liv had been pleasantly surprised when, after the fight, she¡¯d discovered that the whole second pond had been ¡®claimed¡¯. Somehow it seemed as though defeating that snake had allowed her access to the remaining space, despite not having invested any further in the plant-life she¡¯d been using to expand. The logic of her new existence was truly bizarre.


    In the days that followed she had learned several things. First, whatever kind of population limit she¡¯d had, Masque now took up substantially more of it. She¡¯d been able to fill his spot in the first pond, but he seemed to take up a majority of the resources for her new, even bigger expansion. She was growing increasingly certain that those limits had to do with the ecological niches of the life in her territory. After all, she¡¯d been maxed out on amphibians before, but Bushwhacker hadn¡¯t been a problem.


    She¡¯d also discovered that her own capabilities had increased. Repeating the skeeter experiments had been annoying, but fruitful. After some basic math, she¡¯d just updated her ¡°stat chart¡±.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡ª


    [Current SP: 35]


    [Max SP: 40]


    [Regen: 1.5 per hour]


    [Time till full regen: 26h 40m]


    ¡ª


    Eyeing her numbers, the former graphic designer idly wondered if there was some way to animate her illusory displays. How cool would it be if she could make an actual timer? That was a back burner project though. Right now she had SCIENCE to do!


    An investment of SP had allowed her to physically alter an existing creature in spectacular ways. She needed to understand the limits and capabilities of such enhancements. Size was obviously a quality she could enhance, but could she do more? She didn¡¯t want to deal with multiple variables if she could help it, so she chose Wile as her next test subject.


    The excitable little guy was scampering around like a mad lad.


    ¡°Alright buddy. We already have one giant and he takes up a lot of space and resources. So, for you, I¡¯m thinking speed.¡± Liv sat cross legged and tried to concentrate on Wile. His shape, his personality, position, mood, she tried to mentally catalog every single detail about him and hold it in her mind. It took a few tries, but eventually she felt it. A sense of ¡®knowing¡¯. She smirked as she reached out towards Wile, mumbling under her breath. ¡°There is no spoon¡­¡±


    With Masque, it had felt like blowing up a balloon animal. Pumping in raw power and soaring growth. Here, she tried to be more delicate. Wile spun about in a tight circle and Liv could almost see the little flares in the threads of his being, traveling from his head, down his back, to his limbs. She focused her attention there. She had to be careful. Speed without control could lead to disaster. Speed without durability could likewise result in the body¡¯s breakdown. So rather than a frantic push, she began to apply her own inner power in a much more controlled and natural way.


    She imagined a brush in her hand, and with smooth, languid strokes she began to paint those delicate threads. Each coat built them up, making them more robust, and brighter with every pass. She stopped when the rest of the pattern began to shift, bending inward as if straining slightly to accommodate the heightened abilities. Opening her eyes she looked down at the bored creature.


    ¡°Let¡¯er¡¯rip!¡± she cheered. Then she nearly fell over backwards as the spunky little salamander dashed for the water. Wile himself didn¡¯t seem to comprehend his speed until he hit the pond¡­ and kept hitting it. His little feet slapped the water with such ferocity that the yellow striped Salamander literally skipped across the surface! The simple creature looked as though he couldn¡¯t quite grasp the realities of his newfound abilities. This was made apparent when he stopped running about half way across and tried to inspect the water below his feet, only to promptly sink into it with a loud *bloop*.


    ¡°WOO!!¡± she cheered, pumping her fist in the air before collapsing into a fit of cackling laughter.

 Baiting The Hook

    The small patch of swamp was eerily silent. Every living thing within those two small ponds sat motionless, watching as a spectral figure paced rapidly back and forth across the top of the water. Thick soled boots stomped soundlessly, buckles flashing in the dim afternoon light, as the denim and leather clad woman stalked her territory with a grim look of concentration. Random symbols, scribbled notes, and half formed thoughts flowed from her lips drifting upward and behind her in a trail like embers cast off by her crimson mohawk.


    ¡°RIGHT!¡± Liv barked suddenly, smacking her fist into her palm. The tiny ribbons and fragments of light snuffed out instantly. Whipping around, she took a strong stance. ¡°Form up!¡± she ordered. ¡°Staff meeting!¡±


    The various creatures of the pool all scrambled in a chaotic maelstrom. The amphibian¡¯s clambered onto the hulking Masque¡¯s back. A small school of fish circled attentively at her feet. Even the mosquitoes all perched quietly to listen. Bushwhacker surveyed all of this and then snapped a little salute to signal readiness.


    ¡°Okay critter crew! First of all, you¡¯ve all been doing a great job. We have been making great progress. More importantly, we¡¯ve learned a lot.¡± Her gaze stayed steady and forward facing but her hand snapped out and pointed ominously.


    ¡°Orange Hector, don¡¯t think I don¡¯t see you!¡± the fiery punk snapped. The small orange salamander stood frozen, having been caught in the middle of trying to sneak off. To his credit, the brightly colored amphibian at least had the grace to look sheepish. Liv carried on with a more serious tone than was her norm.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been gathering information, which is great. But so far we¡¯ve mostly been reacting, not preparing,¡± the ethereal projection of the dungeon¡¯s core explained to the entire uncomprehending crowd. ¡°If we¡¯re going to pull this off, we need to be proactive. We need a plan!¡±


    Her statement was punctuated by the croak of a lone frog atop Masques rump. Gods, what she would give for a PERSON she could talk to¡­


    ¡°Manual expansion and modification is prohibitively expensive. The best sources of SP seem to be people. So it stands to reason that we need to get more people to come out this way, and then we need a way to get what we need out of them. So far, it seems like we tend to get SP from blood. That might be correlation and not causation, but it¡¯s the best I¡¯ve got right now. So we need to get people into our territory, and then find a way to get a little blood.¡± Masque snapped his massive jaws with a loud clap in response.


    ¡°Now now! If we start killing people or chomping limbs, nobody is going to want to wander around out here. You¡¯re our rear guard, not our front line.¡± she admonished. ¡°No, we need something more like the skeeters. Annoying, but not life threatening. Wile!¡± she called out, causing the yellow striped salamander to perk up, pushing up with his arms to sit at attention.


    ¡°You¡¯re plan A. You¡¯re the fastest, and least likely to get hurt. I need you to go out into the fog and find me leeches.¡± Wile sat there, eyes slightly askew, clearly having no clue what to do with those instructions. ¡°Right. Simple...¡±


    The fiery projection tapped her foot, looking skyward for a moment before she tried again. Doing her best to remember what a leech even looked like, she doodled one into the air.


    ¡°Go find this. Bring it back home.¡±


    That seemed to do the trick because Wile jumped down and made a mad waddling dash out into the fog. Liv hoped that wasn¡¯t a horrible mistake¡­


    That left plan B.


    She¡¯d played around a bit with her ability to somewhat mold the life in her pools. Now it was time to try a new experiment. Walking over to a patch of tall grass on the eastern rim between the pools, she knelt down and tried to focus on the plants there. She had a vague memory of a story her mother used to tell her. Something called ¡®razor grass¡¯. Her mom had described it as stiff bladed grass with serrations in the edges. Not enough to really hurt anyone, but could definitely cut up bare skin.


    Concentrating on the grass, she tried to pour the slowest trickle of SP she could manage. She pushed and prodded, causing the grass to grow up, then out, then root more deeply, getting a feel She felt a sudden drain and the grass shot upwards, thickening into tall, sturdy blades. With a victorious grin, she looked to the serrated bone plate that served as teeth in the smaller salamanders. She could work with this¡­


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡ª


    The ground squelched loudly underfoot, punctuating the chirps of insects, the singing of frogs, and their own labored breathing. If their parents had ever found out they¡¯d gone this far out, boxed ears would have been the least of their worries. Not that that was a risk anymore¡­


    No, what mattered now was catching that rabbit!!


    Dagny trundled as fast as their stocky little legs would carry them, dragged down by their over-large trousers and hole riddled boots. Slowing to a stop, they looked around for a sign of their quarry.


    ¡°Here bunny bunny¡­¡± they said nervously. They scratched at their cheek, made itchy by the first signs of patchy, youthful stubble. A wet gurgling snarl nearly saw them jumping out of their own skin, jolting upright and whirling around to find the hidden predator. Then came another growl and Dagny realized it was their own stomach.


    ¡°Baldr¡¯s Balls¡­¡± They huffed, wiping at their face. They grinned then, filled with the rebellious glee of the young getting away with saying a naughty word. Then came a rustling from a nearby patch of greenery. Dagny lifted their slingshot, but the hazel blur of fluff exploded from beneath the thicket and was already flying like an arrow towards a patch of tall grass.


    ¡°OH NO YOU DON¡¯T!!¡± Dagny ordered impotently, slogging through the mud, huffing loudly in pursuit. Throwing themselves into the strands as tall as they were, the sodden and bedraggled pursuer was quickly filled with regret. The blades of this plant snagged at their clothes, catching on their burlap trousers and cutting right through their patched up linen tunic. Hissing and flailing, the stocky little ruffian pushed through the grass with the whispy sound of thick thighs overlapping the plodding of mis-sized boots.


    The light was waxing as the foul grass thinned, the edge of the cursed tangle beckoning. Dagny surged, spurred on by desperate hope, only to feel the world around them tilt unexpectedly when something hardier than grass roots snagged their ankle. Their cry of shock swiftly became a muffled burble as they landed face down into a thick muck. There was a brief panic as the suction of the mud tried to keep them from reuniting with the air, but a moment later they popped free and gasped with relief.


    Wiping black ooze from their eyes, Dagny cast about in search of their quarry. Luck, it seemed, was on their side. There, just a few scant cubits beyond their reach, was the rabbit. The beast was struggling in the clinging muck just as much as Dagny was, but lacked the sense to figure out a way to escape its grasp. Forgetting the dangers of being overheard, Dagny squinted against the onslaught of mosquitoes and fought with all they had to surge forward, hand grasping.


    Dagny¡¯s thick, squared fingers caught the beast by the nape, and the youth cried out in victorious elation.


    ¡°GOT YA¡¯ YOU SLIPPERY¡­ LITTLE¡­¡± Dagny¡¯s words trailed off as a shadow fell upon both hunter and prey. Hazel eyes went wide with worry beneath bushy arches of auburn, which peaked ever higher with each inch of upward tilt required to properly survey the newcomer.


    ¡°AAAAAH!!!¡± Dagny shrieked in the entirely undignified squeal of a frightened child as they came face to face with the biggest, fattest, angriest looking bird they¡¯d ever seen. Somehow keeping an iron grip on the rabbit, they scrambled back through the muck and brambles, howling at the top of their lungs.


    ¡°BOGTRODDER!!!!¡±


    ¡ª


    Liv cheered whilst her newest critter preened, clearly chuffed to bits over its performance. Liv had been expecting the Halfling to return, and had been rather shocked to see someone else entirely. He looked like a kid, all dumpy and round, except for the bristly, patchy looking stubble on his chin. She wondered if he could be a young dwarf, but honestly that was hardly her primary focus at the moment. Her plan had worked!! Flawlessly!


    The tall strands of razor grass had indeed netted her quite a bit of SP. As did her skeeters! She was practically vibrating with energy after the brief encounter. She clapped, grinning widely at the back of the retreating shape as he fled from the bird. She felt a little bad for the poor scamp, but consoled herself that he¡¯d at least gotten something out of it. It had taken a little SP to make the muck loose enough to snare the swift-footed animal, but she¡¯d gotten so much energy from the pair of them that she could afford to be kind to the hungry looking kid.


    ¡°Time for you to return the favor,¡± she said with a smirk. ¡°Go forth! And tell all your little friends about that big ol¡¯ bird you saw!¡± The crane-like creature tilted its head at that, sensing that it was the focus of the dungeon¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s you. Big ol¡¯ Bird,¡± Liv snickered then. Lifting her finger she began to trace a name plaque over the massive bird¡¯s head. The Halfling had called the things something else but she kind of liked the kid¡¯s name better, so she threw that in too.


    [Bob] [LvL 1]


    {The Bogtrodder}


    Bob trumpeted, fluffing its feathers as it stared up appreciatively at the new name. How does one know it was an appreciative look? Because this was HER soggy little cesspool and if she wanted to anthropomorphize her only companions who was going to stop her?


    The pond bubbled then, rippling as Masque¡¯s huge eyes parted the surface and looked around.


    ¡°You¡¯re good! He¡¯s gone,¡± Liv assured her most powerful monster.


    It had taken a couple days, but Masque had managed to dig a burrow in the muddy bottom of the second pool, allowing him to hide and avoid scarring off valuable resources. As he slithered free of his den, Liv could just barely see the dim red light of her core reflecting off of his belly. It wasn¡¯t exactly Fort Knox but it was a lot safer than it had been before. Hidden, ten feet under water, and guarded by her biggest and baddest buddy; it was the best she could do at the moment. To Liv it felt like the first real step in taking her new existence seriously. She was out of the tutorial stage now, time to get down to business.

 Meanwhile…

    ¡°Alright Marla. Now just like I showed you. Don¡¯t hold the draw too long. Pull back, sight down the arrow, and release. Smooth-like.¡± Logan¡¯s voice was low and steady, causing the raven curls about the girl¡¯s ears to flutter. He stood on his knees, helping keep his daughter¡¯s form in the proper position.


    ¡°Elbow up!¡± he reminded as she drew back.


    ¡°Elbooow uUuup¡­¡± Marla parroted tremulously.


    ¡°Don¡¯t hold it. Sight and release.¡± Logan repeated his earlier instruction. There was a twang, and from where he was with his face right next to hers, Logan saw how the sound made her flinch just a bit, but she kept her eyes open! In truth, that alone filled him with pride, regardless of where the arrow fell.


    ¡°I HIT IT!! I HIT IT!!!¡± Marla squealed, jumping up and down, thrusting her little fishing bow into the air. Logan glanced down range and saw that the arrow had indeed stuck itself to the lower right corner of the target some ten yards off.


    ¡°YOU DID IT!!¡± he cheered in a sing-song voice. He grabbed Marla by the middle and hefted her up into the air, spinning her about briefly. ¡°Oof! Bloody Hel, you¡¯re gettin¡¯ to be too big for that.¡± he wheezed with a chuckle. Marla gave a lopsided grin and curled up her wiry arms in a flexing pose, making a little growling sound. Then she broke into a giggle.


    ¡°Ma says I¡¯m big because I eat my greens!¡±


    ¡°True enough.¡± Logan nodded.


    ¡°But you said I won¡¯t get big ¡®less I eat my marrow. So is it greens or marrow?¡±


    ¡°Both! You need both.¡± Logan leaned in, like he was sharing a secret. ¡°But the marrow¡¯s more fun, ey?¡± he bumped her conspiratorially with his elbow and they both mimed holding something up to their mouths and making a sucking sound before laughing together. It was a father daughter treat they shared, since Emma couldn¡¯t stand the stuff.


    ¡°Now then! What¡¯s say we try again? See if you can¡¯t do it twice?¡± Logan offered warmly, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Marla nodded enthusiastically, tight curls bouncing about her face. She faced the baled hay at the back of their yard, just before the tree-line, and took a sidelong stance.


    ¡°MAARLAAA!!¡± came a husky alto call from the trees. Logan looked to see that Marla was already raising a knocked arrow, not yet registering the voice as she concentrated. He swiftly put his hand on her arm and pushed the bow back down. Barreling through the brush with all the silence and grace of a rutting bull, little Dagny trundled out into the yard. They looked quite excited.


    Logan bit back his disappointment at having his father-daughter time interrupted. Little Dagny didn¡¯t have much in their life, and the last thing he wanted was for them to feel unwelcome in one of their few safe places.


    ¡°LOOKIT! LOOKIT!¡± the bedraggled dwarf exclaimed. They held up a sizable rabbit, beaming. Marla dropped her bow, leaving it for Logan to scoop up with a sigh.


    ¡°WOAH! Did you catch it yourself?¡± she asked energetically, grinning at her best friend.


    ¡°Yeah! I tried to use my slingshot, but I only caught its leg. But then it ran slower and I caught it in some super sticky mud!¡±


    ¡°I can see that.¡± Logan interjected, looking at the dried muck that caked the child. ¡°Your clothes are a wreck. Did Mr. Marsh give you a second set?¡± Logan kept his tone carefully neutral as he spoke the name of Dagny¡¯s guardian, fairly certain he knew the answer. His suspicion was confirmed when Dagny shook their head.


    ¡°Right. Well it looks like you¡¯ll be needin¡¯ to clean that rabbit. Might as well do that first. Then it¡¯ll be off to Emma for a change and a bath.¡± Dagny looked surprised and elated, and that damned near broke his heart.


    ¡°Really?¡± They asked, hopefully.


    ¡°Can¡¯t have you dirtying up the table at supper.¡±


    The children looked at each other then and cheered, hugging one another tightly.


    ¡°Oy! Marla! Don-¡° he huffed as his daughter got herself coated in the same filth without thinking. ¡°Bugger all¡­¡±


    ¡°LANGUAGE!¡± cried Emma from the roof, where she was mending the thatch.


    ¡°YES LOVE¡­¡± Logan said in a mockingly begrudging tone. ¡°Right. You lot. Over to the shed, I¡¯ll show you how it¡¯s done.¡±


    ¡ª


    Marla had been a touch squeamish about it all, but Dagny had proved to be an attentive and quick study. They also had steady hands. Logan stopped himself there. Dagny wasn¡¯t his to take on, much as he¡¯d like to. He had to walk a fine line. He could offer them a safe place, a full belly, maybe try to pass on some knowledge, but too much and people would start to question why another family was tending to Old-Man-Marsh¡¯s charge. The cantankerous fisherman had more pride than love in him, and wouldn¡¯t take kindly to being made to lose face. He was also rich enough to make Logan¡¯s life a nightmare if he felt like it.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°I know that face.¡± Emma said softly, hugging him from behind and nuzzling his neck from over his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re imagining leaving that old feck


    dangling by his ankle somewhere in the bayou.¡±


    ¡°Too obvious. Besides, if you want to hurt that lump of coal, you need to aim for his pocket book. It¡¯s the only part of him what still feels.¡± Logan grumbled. ¡°Can¡¯t believe they won¡¯t do something.¡±


    ¡°Might be a miser, but he¡¯s too clever by half. He fulfills his civic duty.¡±


    ¡°Barely.¡± Logan scowled.


    ¡°Barely,¡± his wife agreed. ¡°All we can do is give them a spot of happiness.¡± She gave him a reassuring squeeze and he clasped his hands over hers, running his thumb over her strong, calloused fingers. ¡°Now then! The wee ones will be down any moment. Best wipe that scowl from your face, lest Dagny get the wrong idea.¡±


    Logan took a breath and turned to give her a peck on the lips, smiling.


    ¡°That¡¯s better.¡± Emma said warmly. ¡°Now fetch the shank!¡±


    Separating, the pair worked together to finish preparing supper. The meaty leg of the bog-strider left over from Marla¡¯s birthday was shining in the firelight as the children dashed down from the loft and slid onto the bench beside the table. Both wore shifts, though Dagny barely fit inside one of .


    Marla served herself, but Emma didn¡¯t allow Dagny the opportunity. She dropped a large helping of stewed green field peas, roasted purple tubers, and glistening poultry onto Dagny¡¯s plate before any objections could be raised.


    ¡°Heard you caught yourself a rabbit today.¡± She said brightly while Dagny looked at their plate in awe.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± they said distractedly, spearing a duck potato with a fork. ¡°Spotted it down by the fallows.¡±


    ¡°Tew uff da stowy!¡± Marla demanded around an over large mouthful of meat.


    ¡°Chew! Then speak!¡± Logan chided her, trying not to smile.


    ¡°I was out trying to spot Miss Coopers goats. Gretchen said some were missing and there¡¯s a reward! Well, I didn¡¯t spot no goats but I saw the rabbit. I tried to catch it there but it was too quick. It ran west. I was sure I was gonna loose it, but I remembered what you told me about finding game, Mr. Tanner!¡± Dagny was excitedly waving the tuber around as they recounted the tale. ¡°Chased the little bu-¡° the young dwarf froze as Emma gave them a warning look. ¡°B-beast¡­¡± they amended. ¡°All the way down to The Stilts! Then I-¡°


    ¡°Hang on, what?¡± Logan interrupted. ¡°The Stilts? Are you daft?!¡± Dagny blanched at the harsher tone, and Emma laid a hand on her husband¡¯s arm.


    ¡°Gently, love.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Logan started over. ¡°Dagny, what I meant to say was that The Stilts are dangerous. All sorts of things live around and under those mangroves. Gators, snakes, sickle claws, not to mention the lizardfolk. People go m-¡° Logan cut himself short. Dagny was well aware of how people went missing out there. Their own parents had disappeared last winter. They hardly needed that sad reminder. ¡°Even some of the plants out there can hurt you. I mean, just look at your clothes,¡± he pointed towards the fireplace where Dagny¡¯s patched and stitched clothes hung close enough to dry.


    ¡°Funny that.¡± Dagny said, bushy auburn brows furrowing. ¡°The grass did it. It was sharp. Snagged my clothes and cut at my skin like little knives.¡± That got Logan¡¯s interest. He¡¯d heard of such things but never seen it locally.


    ¡°Ooh! And then!¡± Dagny returned to their animated retelling. ¡°I saw a HUGE Bogtrodder!!¡± It was standing in this little green pool near the muck with the rabbit. It was taller even than you, Miss Tanner!¡± the excited kid pointed to the taller of the pair.


    ¡°Woah! Were you brave? Did you fight it off?!¡± Marla asked in awe.


    ¡°No way!¡± Dagny laughed. ¡°I screamed like a newborn kitten and ran away as fast as I could! Those things are MEAN!¡± Marla laughed at that, and mimed screaming with her arms above her head in a silly mimicry of running away, which Dagny joined in on.


    ¡°Wise choice.¡± Logan commended, loudly enough to be heard over the giggles and whisper screams. ¡°Though maybe try not to scream next time. It¡¯s lucky something else around didn¡¯t hear and come after you.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t help it.¡± Dagny panted, giggles fading enough to allow them to shovel in some food.


    ¡°Well, just promise me you¡¯ll hunt closer to home. The Stilts are no place for a young dwarf all alone. ESPECIALLY if no one knows you¡¯re out there.¡±


    ¡°I will. I promise.¡± Dagny assured respectfully.


    ¡°What about together?¡± Marla asked suddenly. ¡°What if we all went together? Maybe we could go get that GIANT bird! I could bring my new bow, and you could bring your slingshot, and papa can help us catch it!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that, Marla¡­¡± Emma said doubtfully. ¡°Like Papa said, it¡¯s dangerous out there.¡±


    ¡°¡±PLEASE?!¡±¡± Both kids pleaded in unison, drawing out the word for as long as their little lungs would allow. Finally Logan relented, putting up his hands on surrender.


    ¡°ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT!!¡± he silenced their begging. ¡°BUT! Only after I¡¯ve had a chance to scout out the area and make sure it¡¯s safe enough. And IF I think it¡¯s safe, you¡¯ll both need to do EXACTLY what I say. And Dagny, you¡¯ll need to get permission to go.¡±


    Dagny deflated at that.


    ¡°Awww¡­ But the head of house always says no¡­¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll arrange it for your free day. Once you¡¯ve got permission to go off and do as you like, we¡¯ll head out. IF I think it¡¯s safe!! That¡¯s a BIG IF!¡± Logan offered. That was apparently good enough for the kids, who cheered loudly.


    ¡°Okay you two, eat up before it gets cold.¡± Emma ordered. ¡°Once those clothes are dry, I¡¯ll have to run Dagny down to the dock on Gilly to get them back home before they¡¯re missed.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll bring down the rabbit tomorrow, once it¡¯s good and smoked.¡± Logan added with a smile. The sheer joy on Dagny¡¯s face about crushed him inside. He swore to Skaei that he¡¯d make sure that racist old miser would get his due some day.

 Strange Encounters

    For all the progress she¡¯d made since her arrival, Liv still couldn¡¯t help but look around at her soggy prison and despair. She had two overzealous puddles, a tree, and some damp prickly grass.


    ¡°This dungeon blows. My players would never have accepted something this puny,¡± she grumbled, chin propped on her palm in a thinking pose. She was doing her best, but it still didn¡¯t feel very ¡®dungeon-y¡¯. Still! Discoveries were being made every day! She stood and straightened her studded jacket before heading to the southern edge of her ¡®home¡¯.


    There, tucked into a patch of inch-high grass sprouts, was a cluster of Venus fly traps. At least, Liv was pretty sure that¡¯s what they were. She honestly couldn¡¯t be certain if Venus Fly Traps were some kind of genetic monolith or if there were variations that might indicate some kind of subspecies. Hell, even if she¡¯d been a botany nerd, she wasn¡¯t sure it would have helped much. Plenty of things seemed similar here to back home, but where there were giant salamanders and walking shrubs, who could really know?


    She¡¯d experimented a bit with one of the patches of carnivorous plants, investing some energy into growing the things into palm-sized mouths that would make Italian plumbers nervous. They didn¡¯t offer her as much SP regen as other shrubs of similar size but made up for it when they caught a snack. She¡¯d seen the thing snap up two mice and a small bird thus far. It was¡­ pretty horrific, really, but interesting to watch in a morbid sort of way.


    She turned back to look at the lone mangrove tree. She really wanted to play around with it a bit, but it was such a sizable chunk of her incoming SP that she was a bit too nervous to mess with it yet. It irked her, though. The tree felt like a feature she needed to figure out before she could use it to its fullest extent. Wandering around it on the surface of the water, she pondered for a while before her attention was drawn to a familiar shrub.


    Liv walked to the shore and knelt beside the dormant Bushwhacker. He was probably the most overtly magical thing here, and she¡¯d already looked him over a few times. It felt like there was more there, though. More mysteries to uncover.


    It had taken some doing, but she had eventually discovered that Bushwhacker produced more passive SP when he was dormant, as he was now, than when he was actively moving around. It was a shot in the dark, but her running hypothesis was that some portion of that energy coming from photosynthesis and the removal of nutrients from the soil was taken up by his own body when it came time to move, leaving less flowing into her.


    ¡°I wonder if I could redirect passive SP regen to achieve something similar,¡± she thought aloud. If she could figure it out, the possibilities were endless. She wished Skye was there. That cottage-core nerd would be able to tell her all about- SKYE!!


    Liv froze, grasping her head. Holy SHIT, Skye!! The name evoked an image of nut-brown skin, broad features, and a large mass of black curls over hazel eyes. Feelings of warmth.


    ¡°What the hell?!¡± Liv hissed in a whisper. How had she forgotten? Her head throbbed, causing her to grit her teeth. It was all still so fuzzy. Skye¡­ She was important. Skye was¡­ was¡­


    /A dazzling smile, from between potted succulents perched atop a cubicle wall./


    /A bright, full laugh at some sardonic one-liner Liv had spun out. The dark-skinned woman leaned heavily on the soda machine in her mirth./


    Friend? Coworker! Okay! Now she was getting somewhere. Why was a coworker so important?


    /The beating of a strong heart thrummed in her ear via the soft, warm skin pressed against her face. Skye¡¯s breath hitched as a slick heat coated Liv¡¯s fingers./


    ¡°Woah!¡± Liv blinked rapidly. ¡°Okay, yeah, definitely more than coworkers.¡± No memories of home, though. No shared closets, no nights spent in front of the TV¡­ Was it new? The feelings hit her like a freight train, but there was nothing there to suggest a long-standing relationship.


    /A heavy bass pounded through the floor, vibrating in her bones. The pulsating lights played tantalizingly over the shimmering sparkles and makeup Skye was wearing as she swayed to the music. The curvaceous woman grabbed Liv by her tank top, pulling her close./


    The tank top! Liv looked down. She wore the same clothes she had in that memory. That was the night. She¡¯d been with Skye on the night she¡¯d¡­ died¡­


    The crimson-haired punk slowly loosened her grip on her head, cracking her neck as she tried to take a breath and calm down. She¡¯d taken three slow, deep inhalations before the oddity of her surroundings struck her.


    The surrounding swamp went still and silent, causing the hair on the nape of her neck to stand on end. It wasn¡¯t just her own critters that had stilled. The echoes of birds and chirping of insects from beyond the foggy veil had stopped as well. Standing slowly, she turned to survey the area.


    She stifled a gasp on pure instinct, as a primal part of her psyche reacted to being so close to a large predator, the lizard brain heedless of her ethereal state. Before her, slithering silently into the first pool, was an absolutely massive gator. Masque was big, sure, but this thing was an armored, prehistoric killing machine.


    It took her far too long to get her wits back, and whisper fiercely to her critters.


    ¡°Nobody move! Stay. Still. Hide.¡±


    The ten-foot reptile slid into the shallow pool and paused. It began to look around, turning in place and actively scanning its surroundings in a way that Liv would not normally have associated with a tiny-brained lizard. There was intent in those eyes.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The specter of a woman staggered back, mouth agape, as the gator reared up out of the water. Scales rippled and flexed over muscles that flowed like water, the shape proving more mailable than base nature could possibly explain. Then, standing in tepid water up to its mid-calf, stood a scaled, frill-crested, roughly humanoid lizard.


    ¡°Ho-ly fu-king shit¡­¡± Liv breathed. Whelp, there went DEFCON 2. She might have jumped the gun on that one, but in this moment it felt justified. The lizard man cocked its head, tilting a tiny ear hole in her direction. Could it hear her?! No, it had to be something else. She was looking around to see what could have caught his eye when the lipless maw opened and spoke.


    Hissing, clicking, growling syllables shaped entirely alien sounds; but it was clearly language. She could hear the cadence of structured communication in there. Now if only she had any way of knowing what the heck it was saying.


    It held out a clawed hand, palm out, towards the misty barrier to Liv¡¯s tiny world, as if signaling something she could not perceive. She crept closer, striding across the top of the water till she could look it in the eye, safe in the certainty that she was already dead. What was it going to do? Double kill her?


    ¡°Yeesh. Somebody ate his lizard Wheaties.¡± She murmured, looking it up and down as the being tipped its nose upward and loudly sniffed at something in the air. ¡°I¡¯m, like, six one in these boots, and your shin-deep in the water. Dang.¡± She was trying to do the math in her head to see just how tall the lizard man was when it spoke again. It gurgled and growled out in a rhythmic pattern, pulling a tiny leather flask from its hip. A dipped claw in the dark green slurry traced a fine ring about each of its eyes. Was this a spell? Was she getting to see some honest to gods MAGIC?!


    The lizard¡¯s eyes blazed with a pale blue as the spell took hold. Then, as Liv was less than a foot away from the being, trying to better observe its actions, those burning blue eyes snapped right onto her face. Liv screamed, flailing, and the lizard man¡¯s head bobbed backwards on its lengthy neck, pulling away in a slightly more dignified indicator of surprise.


    ¡°HOLY HELLA!¡± Liv exclaimed, pressing her hand to her chest to still a heart that wasn¡¯t there. The scaled humanoid tilted its head, questioningly.


    ¡°You!! You can see me?!¡± she waved her hand towards its nose. The sight of somebody trying to back away from her outstretched hand had never filled her with such elation till now. Before she could say anything more, though, the lizard spoke again.


    Nonsense. Complete gibberish. But it was obviously speaking TO HER. It gestured toward itself, making sounds Liv had no way to remember or replicate. Then, in a movement that left her entirely stunned, the scaled shapeshifter BOWED. It hunched forward at the waist, dipping till the frill atop its head dipped below the level of her chin.


    ¡°Wha? Uhhh¡­ I don¡¯t- Am I supposed to-?¡± Live gave up and just returned the gesture. She had no way of knowing how the lipless being before her felt about that. It wasn¡¯t the most expressive of faces. The next sentence out of the scaly entity came with a distinctive upward lilt in the final syllable. The lizard man held a one palm out, with his head cocked at an odd angle.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± Liv slowly shook her head, then pointed at her ears. Hopefully he didn¡¯t interpret that as ¡®I¡¯m deaf¡¯ or something. Patiently, it tried again. Liv was pretty sure those were new sounds, and the almost iguana-like creature now emoted even more broadly. He cupped his taloned hands at the center of his chest, before pushing them outward towards her. Her knitted brows and small frown must have clued him in to her utter lack of comprehension, because he seems to give up on speaking for the moment.


    He strode past her, looking all around her home. Liv felt a chill spike in her chest as she considered that he may be looking for her little friends. She was about to protest when he spied the massive fly traps and knelt to inspect them.


    ¡°You¡­ want plants? I can grow plants,¡± she offered futilely, as this reptilian visitor seemed to come to a decision of some kind. Tilting his head upward, it gave several coughing caws that echoed faintly, and motioned towards the fog.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand. You want me to follow?¡± she pointed at herself. ¡°I¡¯m stuck here, bro. I got nothin¡¯.¡± From the mist came another scaled entity, carrying with it a pouch that looked like it had been made from the head of a deer. The first being took it, placing a clawed hand over it and bowing its head, whispering softly.


    ¡°Are you¡­ praying?¡± Liv wondered to herself, wishing more than anything that she had some way of communicating. The first thing she¡¯d ever encountered from the outside that was aware of her, and she ran into a damned language barrier!


    The sack bearer motioned, beckoning something outside to come closer. More scaled faces peeked through the gray wall. A whole group of them. Seeming to sense her confusion, the praying one, leader maybe(?), motioned broadly towards the group. Then it turned and uncurled one arm in an upwards brushing motion towards the opposite side of her tiny pond.


    When Liv didn¡¯t respond right away, it clicked and hissed, moving one arm languidly to indicate the group again. Then that same arm dropped down to skim the water, its talons making a walking motion that parted the pond scum, and then drawing up again to point at the other side.


    ¡°You¡­ you want to cross?¡±


    A tilted head was the reply, incomprehension was a two way street.


    ¡°You¡­¡± She stepped over towards the group and motioned with arms out wide.


    ¡°Want to walk¡­¡± She made an exaggerated March across the surface of the pool to the other side, then pointed out into the fog. ¡°To the other side?¡±


    The lizard leader bobbed it¡¯s head up and down enthusiastically. She really hoped that meant yes but how the devil could she know?


    ¡°Uh¡­ yeah. Sure! Go ahead I guess.¡±


    She made a dramatic bow, motioning with one hand outstretched to the opposite side of her domain. The leader coughed and spat in a loud call over its shoulder, then stepped up to her and laid the deer-head bag at her feet. It bowed to her once more, and then walked into the mist.


    ¡°Did I just become a toll booth?¡± she asked, looking down at what was clearly an offering or payment of some kind. When she looked up again she was shocked to see a mass of people making their way through. Hulking, scaled, sharp fanged lizard people. At least thirty of them. They wore loose mail made of bones and shells, and hefted thick, sturdy looking spears in their hands. Many of them bore wounds as well, in various states of repair. Some looked natural, like a gnarly scoop of a bite missing from one of their tails. Others were most certainly man made. The still bleeding slices of a whip marred one¡¯s back while another had an oddly rectangular patch of skin on their arm that was missing¡­  They all shared the same grim looks. One thing was for sure, these guys were ready for action.


    It dawned on her, finally, what she was looking at. A term from her American history books in grade school came to fill the gap in her lived experience. A war band. This was a war band.


    ¡°Gods be with whoever pissed you guys off. They¡¯re gonna need all the help they can get¡­¡±

 Foreboding

    It takes Bob an embarrassingly long time to get the furry leather bag open. Bushwhacker had lacked the strength, the salamanders lacked the dexterity, and Masque would have probably just eaten the thing by accident. She probably shouldn¡¯t judge. Bob had no thumbs and a brain the size of a walnut. Liv knew she should probably be happy she was able to coach him through opening the damned thing at all. Finally, the cord woven roughly through the lip of the bag was pulled free, and Bob stood over it like he¡¯d felled some beast of legend; wings akimbo as he gave an almighty squawk. Liv offered a polite, albeit silent, golf clap, but Bushwhacker, perhaps chagrined by his defeat at the hands of the bag, briskly pushed between Bob¡¯s legs and thrust a tiny hand inside to see what treasures there were. It emerged a moment later with a plump, reddish seed about the size of a grape.


    ¡°Ooh! I wonder what THAT is!¡± Liv said excitedly. ¡°Let¡¯s see what it does!¡± Running over to the far side of the puddle, she waved excitedly for Bushwhacker to follow. The vaguely humanoid shrub held the seed over its head and awkwardly bounded around the water¡¯s edge to a patch of young grass that had yet to fully grow into her serrated little defenses.


    ¡°Okay, stick it in the ground,¡± She said, cracking her knuckles. The motion provided neither auditory nor tactile satisfaction, so Liv just hissed out a faux crunching sound. Some day she¡¯d figure out why it was that she could talk but otherwise was incapable of making noise¡­ But not right now! Now it was time to see what this funky seed turned into.


    Bushwhacker skipped back several feet from the tiny mound he¡¯d just made, as Liv reached down and pushed her energy into it. She hadn¡¯t known how much it would take, and half expected it to be more than she could invest at once. So she was pleasantly surprised when a massive vining plant practically exploded out of the dirt. It covered a good ten square feet when it was all curled up, just a tangle of fleshy green tendrils about as thick as her wrist in most places.


    ¡°Wow. Shiny!¡± Liv remarked with a grin. Bushwhacker sidled in closer to inspect the new plant, poking at one of the vines inquisitively. ¡°Yeah I dunno, buddy. I¡¯m as in the dark as yoaaAAh!!¡± Her explanation spiked into a cry of alarm as the vine whipped around and grabbed Bushwhacker in an incongruously octopoid motion. Twisting around the shrub¡¯s waist, it began to constrict. Bushwhacker flipped from curiosity to frenzy in an instant. Sharp little wooden fingers began to claw deep gauges in the softer vines as the diminutive plant bellowed a high-pitched squeal of rage. Liv had half forgotten what little berserkers the shrubs could be.


    ¡°Hey! HEY!!¡± Liv shouted, being ignored by the warring plants. Frustrated by the lack of response from her normally obedient minions, she broke form and dropped her voice.


    ¡°ENOUGH!!!¡± she roared, stomping her thickly soled boot. Her outburst caused ripples to bubble out from the core of Masque¡¯s sunken den. The battle froze, mid-motion, with Bushwhacker about to take a bite out of one of the smaller vines. She hadn¡¯t even known he had an actual mouth¡­


    ¡°Drop it!¡± she demanded. The vines shifted slightly, and Bushwhacker looked as though he wasn¡¯t sure which one of them she was yelling at. ¡°Both of you! Stop it this instant.¡± she wagged her finger at them. Then she had the horrifying realization that she had, in that very moment, become her own mother. She couldn¡¯t have THAT, so she tacked on a little extra. ¡°No botanical hentai fuckery will be had in THIS swamp, understand?!¡± There. Much better.


    The pair slowly parted, leaving the vines curled up into a loose heap and Bushwhacker glaring at them with an impressive amount of vitriol for something only a foot or so tall. Now that the drama had passed, Liv could imagine the potential applications of this new plant. It could definitely make for a good defense, but she also didn¡¯t want it out in the open where it could hurt less troublesome intruders or scare away potential resources.


    ¡°Right¡­ How do we move you?¡± she pondered aloud. With a staticky sound of shifting earth, the oddly stunted roots of the new plant pulled free of the dirt, allowing the thing to kind of floppily roll. It reminded her of an oversized koosh ball.


    ¡°Fucking A! Alright, Bushwhacker, you stay. Koosh, let¡¯s roll.¡± Liv twirled her finger dramatically before pointing towards the opposite end of her domain from Bushwhacker¡¯s favorite sunning spot. She was searching for a good spot when her eyes fell upon the tree that stood over her secret little core room.


    ¡°Well¡­ ¡®Room¡¯ is a bit generous,¡± she muttered to herself as she thought.


    ¡°Yo Koosh! How do you feel about-¡° She trailed off as she turned to see the new plant hadn¡¯t followed her. ¡°Hey! Come here!¡± she invited. Bushwhacker peaked around the mass and pointed at himself.


    ¡°Not you! Koosh!¡± Right, this new addition might be a touch on the dense side. ¡°You!¡± she pointed at the ball of greenery. ¡°Go there!¡± she pointed to the tree. Koosh began to roll about, somewhat aimlessly, uncertain.


    ¡°Oh crap! No eyes!¡± she smacked her forehead in sudden comprehension. She was just about to try to figure out how to get this thing to understand her directions when Masque apparently decided he¡¯d had enough. Lunging out of the water like the primordial predator he was, he opened his jaw wider than Liv had realized was even possible and latched onto the large green tangle. With a thrash of his blunt snout, he sent the plant sailing through the air. It flailed, devoid of sensory input from a solid surface until it landed with a wet slap against the trunk of the tree.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°GOOOOOOAL!¡± Liv cheered, throwing her fists into the air at the impressive display. Koosh seemed to react almost instantly, latching onto the tree for dear life. Thin green vines began to explore the bark, and then slowly pulled Koosh upward into the branches. From there, dangling tendrils dropped down to dangle from the limbs, staying just above the surface of the water. She hoped that meant this was a species that could live like that. In all honesty, her knowledge of jungle vines was limited to how they always seemed to hang from trees in movies.


    ¡°You good?¡± she called across to the tree. There was no immediate response, but a few moments later a fish jumped out of the water to catch a mosquito, only to be snapped up by a vine and disappear into the canopy.


    ¡°Gonna take that as a yes!¡±


    Man, the plant life here was fascinating! All the kerfuffle ending brought her mind back to her previous train of thought. It seemed as though whatever mechanism allowed her plants to accumulate SP could be diverted in some cases to other kinds of functions. Locomotion. Thought. What if she could do growth?


    Liv¡¯s eyes widened. Wouldn¡¯t that lead to a loop? SP caused accelerated growth, and that growth then generates more SP, which further accelerates the growth, on and on and- No¡­ No way it was that easy. Right? It was like one of those perpetual motion machines, it broke physics! Then again, so did a LOT of things she¡¯d seen recently.


    Sitting down near the fly traps, she called over Bushwhacker again and began to look them both over. The latter knew this routine well and seemed to opt for a nap rather than stand around bored while Liv looked him over.


    ¡°There has to be a thread here. Some point of connection between whatever brings in energy and whatever allows you both to move.¡±


    The more she used it, the better her ¡°sight¡± seemed to get. She could see all the hair-thin filaments of energy that wove into and through each creature native to her domain. It took concentration to do, but she found it easier every day. She watched as Bushwhacker¡¯s leaves seemed to collect energy and distribute it to the rest of his body. The flytraps seemed to just generate a smaller amount of it via their soft green stalks. Liv sat there, staring, for what felt like hours. Trying to figure out what part of these two beings made them work. Finally, a breakthrough came when a mouse skittered through in a panic and got snapped up by the largest fly trap. There it was! Just a flash! A shimmer! One little thread led from the roots right up to the mouth, where it split off to countless points therein.


    Excitedly, she turned her focus once again to Bushwhacker.


    ¡°Hey, little buddy. Can you give me a wave?¡± she asked nicely. The tiny shrub shivered a bit before part of the foliage shifted away from the bulk of leaves, revealing a sleepy face as Bushwhacker waved a tiny wooden hand. Liv stared intently, focusing on the odd skill that was this ¡®second sight¡¯. A gentle pulsing light ran along an ethereal filament from his roots to a tangled knot in his middle and then out from there to his arm!


    This was it!


    Running to the mangrove tree she placed her palms as close to its bark as she could, imagining touching the surface and trying to feel the details of the rough outer skin of the thing. Being less familiar with the larger organism, it took a bit of time, but sure enough, once she zeroed in on it, she could see how each sturdy root had a thread that led to a tangled nexus. The tree didn¡¯t move, but if she focused hard enough she could just barely make out the glacial flow of energy moving in and out of those roots.


    ¡°This must be how the SP reaches me. You pull it in via the leaves, distribute what you need through yourself, and then the excess trickles down the roots for me to use¡­¡± her voice was an awed whisper. She felt an uncomfortable twinge deep in her chest as her mind once more wandered to Skye and how much better she would be at this. She shoved the feelings down, grasping instead at the puzzle before her.


    ¡°Can¡¯t afford to lose focus.¡±


    She went to the west side, where a patch of unmodified, and slightly trampled, grass was growing. Razor grass was all well and good, but the hardy stalks took a lot to grow compared to the simple wild grass. Liv lay on her belly, now eye level with the soggy greenery. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and imagined a brush in her hand. Doing her best not to tremble, she opened her eyes to the threads of the simple plant and painted in a new one. Just a single, shimmering line leading from the tap where the SP tricked down to her core, and led back up to the little bulb which she knew would cause the grass to spread if pushed. It was a tiny change, costing her barely anything at all, but the results were immediately visible.


    The slow, steady pulse of outgoing SP bifurcated. While half continued on towards the earth, the other half pulsed into that little bulb, which immediately began to grow minuscule little offshoots. It was WORKING.


    With a lopsided victorious smirk, Liv lifted her hand upward. Fingers splayed, she grasped at her own reserves and pushed them into that little bulb. The ground began to stir around her, soil churning as thousands of thin little blades of grass emerged to take in the afternoon sun. With each new sprout, the natural growth accelerated by the tiniest fraction. Free energy it was not. This grass would never give her as much energy now, but if she was right then this variant would be key to helping her expand her borders.


    She sat there lounging in the lush, soft grass, watching her handiwork slowly explore outward into the world with a growing sense of satisfaction until the sunlight dimmed. As the swamp she¡¯d so loathed fell beneath the blanket of night, she smiled down at all of the verdant life she¡¯d so carefully tended to. Hell, she didn¡¯t even mind the smell so much anymore! Her nose scrunched up then, ruining the peaceful expression.


    ¡°Scratch that¡­¡± she complained, dryly. A new stench was overwhelming her swamp. A sharp tang of carbon and sulfur. She looked around to find the source and noticed an anomaly. It was the shadows. The sun had set, yet everything was lit by a faint orange glow, and the shadows swayed and danced ever so slightly. Realization came like an ice-cold dagger to her gut.


    ¡°Oh no¡­¡±

 Spark

    ¡°EVERYBODY IN THE WATER!!!!¡±


    Liv wasn¡¯t any kind of expert on the subject, but she was sure any fire that big was a hazard. She couldn¡¯t feel the heat yet so it wasn¡¯t nearby- wait¡­ Would she even feel the heat?


    ¡°DAMN IT!!¡±


    Turning towards her critters, she thanked the gods that most of them were semi-aquatic aside for Bob, Bushwhacker, and Koosh. That trio all clung to the mangrove tree now, the former two shaking in terror as the firelight made the shadows around them squirm and writhe.


    Liv paced around, desperately trying to think of an answer but finding none. Nothing she had learned so far could possibly protect them all from a raging inferno. Eventually, she resigned herself to sitting with everyone else, amidst the roots of the lonely tree. Masque slid up beside her, floating on the surface of the scum-covered pond, and made a muffled whining sound Liv had never heard before.


    ¡°I know, buddy¡­ I¡¯m scared too.¡± All she could do was wait and pray.


    ¡ª


    By the wee hours, Liv had realized that the fire didn¡¯t seem to be getting any closer. And with the dawn, she had ascertained that the inferno seemed to have dwindled if the thinning smoke was any indication. With no way to investigate beyond her borders, she¡¯d been left to wonder just what had caused the terrifying event. In the following days, she¡¯d even sent Bob out with instructions to scout the area and return. Sadly, Bob was far from the brightest of creatures, and while he¡¯d done as asked no useful information was gathered.


    So with no closure for the mystery within her grasp, Liv had once again redoubled her renovation efforts. Thankfully her new grass patch was growing in the opposite direction as the fire, or she might have worried about providing a flammable pathway to her home. Normally this wouldn¡¯t be a concern, but the grass she¡¯d altered grew outward at an almost alarming rate. A grass patch expanding by perhaps an inch or so a day doesn¡¯t sound like much until you realize it can double the surface area coverage in about two weeks without any assistance from her at all.


    Of course, that could go a lot faster if she invested some time and energy into it. She stood now in the center of the oblong patch of quick-grass, and completed her daily routine of dumping about 25 SP into it. She smiled as she watched the patch surge westward, expanding by about 10 square feet. It wasn¡¯t long ago that 25 SP was literally everything she had. Her smile widened as she looked at her self-made status bar.


    ¡ª


    [Current SP: 100]


    [Max SP: 120]


    [Regen: 3.3 per hour]


    [Time till full regen: 36h 20m]


    ¡ª


    The grass wasn¡¯t a very efficient source of SP regeneration compared to other plants, but in just three days of assisted expansion, the patch had grown to cover about 180 square feet, revealing a flat, marshy expanse. Inefficiencies aside, that much growth had significantly increased her available resources.


    ¡°Congratulations Liv, you¡¯ve committed the war crime of bringing inter-dimensional Kudzu for fantasy land.¡± she joked as she stood up and went through the motions of dusting herself off. There was no point in doing so, but it was the little things that made her still feel human despite her strange new existence. Her brow furrowed then as the punk squinted into the mist at the farthest edge of her patch of swamp.


    Dashing across the green swath, she leered into the fog and a feral grin spread across her face. She could see the shadowed outline of a copse of mangrove trees just beyond her borders. It looked like a dense row of the things!


    ¡°Oh my gods, come to MAMA!¡± she cheered. She knelt down to plunge a little extra SP into her grass patch to close the distance, but then she paused. The last tree she¡¯d claimed had come with a pretty dangerous encounter. Granted, she had Masque now, but he was hardly invincible and nowhere near as agile or dangerous out of the water. She had no way of knowing what kind of dangers could be lying in wait within those trees. Going in blind was stupid.


    Scouting hadn¡¯t accomplished much thus far. Wile HAD eventually found a leech for her, so retrieval was possible, but she had no real way of gathering useful information. She supposed she could send Masque out to search for threats with instructions to run home if it was too scary, but then her home would be defenseless, and what if the threat just followed him back? He wasn¡¯t terribly fast. She needed something strong, quick, and adaptable to various terrains. It was time to make a new monster.


    An idea came to her then. Glancing at her available SP, she decided she had enough to spare. So she held out her hands and concentrated on a distinct mental image. This in itself was a bit of an experiment, as she wasn¡¯t sure if she had to speak aloud to call something into being or if she could simply will it into existence.


    In her mind, she pictured herself building an encounter for her old D&D game. Taking the large constrictor snake Masque had defeated, and adding on the same giant template she¡¯d used on her salamander that day. She imagined lovingly painting the miniature in mottled greens and yellows, with lambent orange eyes. She knew it had worked when the sudden drain on her SP hit her like a gut punch.


    Her eyes snapped open as she staggered. That had taken a HUGE amount of her energy; at least half! But her concern faded as she saw her newest addition to the family. Mottled shades of emerald and jade flecked the deep green scales of an absolute BEAST of a creature. She hadn¡¯t really known what to expect when she boosted the thing¡¯s size, but holy crap. Nearly twenty feet of jungle-themed snake lay around her in a circle. It was thicker than her arm and its wedge-shaped head was bigger than her hand.


    ¡°Woah! Nice!¡± Liv clapped her hands silently. With deft strokes of her practiced hands, she traced out the floating status bar above the serpent¡¯s head. It wasn¡¯t necessary and didn¡¯t really DO anything, but creating one for every one of her critters was one of her few joys these days. Before long, the snake had an elite marker similar to Masque¡¯s, announcing it as Nicki, a level five Anaconda.


    ¡°Okay, Nicki! I want you to slither out there into that fog and search for threats in the roots of those trees. If you can¡¯t eat it or scare it off, try to lure it back here so you and Masque can tag team it!¡± The hollow clapping sound of Masque snapping his broad jaws on empty air get like a note of displeasure.


    ¡°Oh come off it! It¡¯s not the same snake!¡± she chided her first guardian. ¡°Nicki is our new friend!¡± She motioned excitedly towards the massive serpent, who was already slithering off into the unknown. Masque snapped again, using the fact that she was now watching him to signal with his head towards the east. Liv followed his gaze looking for some sign of trouble when she noticed the sounds of distant voices.


    ¡°OH, GODS! VISITORS!! PLACES EVERYONE!!¡±


    ¡ª


    Emma sat atop Gilly, legs and back sore from a day of riding. It was late and they would need to make camp soon. Torches would give away their positions, so they had to travel with the light. She was silently lamenting the idea of sleeping in the muck when she caught a glimpse of an ideal spot from between the trees. A small grassy clearing on an island of sorts. Just a big marshy bar surrounded on all sides by the shallow, flowing waters of the delta. The grass would lend stability to the soil, and the row of mangroves on one side would lower their chances of being spotted by anything coming from the west.


    Turning around in her saddle, she cupped her hands about her face and gave four piercing, high-pitched whistles, followed by three lower warbles. The others weren¡¯t as well acquainted with the wilderness, but Logan would recognize the call of the water thrush and know to bring the others this way. She gave Gilly a gentle kick and spurred her into a run. An upwards whistle signaled her companion to jump, sailing over the six or so feet of running water to land in the grass on the other side.


    ¡°Good girl.¡± she cooed, hopping off and scratching the panting hound behind the ears. Gilly enjoyed the contact for a moment before flopping gracelessly onto her side to rest. ¡°Hey! My tent is down there!¡± Emma chided, laughing as she tried to convince the dog to roll over. Gilly nipped at her playfully before finally rolling up to lay on her belly and allow Emma access to her saddle bags.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    She¡¯d just poured clean water into a bowl for Gilly when she heard the splashing footsteps of the others crossing the stream.


    ¡°Bullocks!¡± Magne softly cursed as they waded. The dwarf had their robes pulled up about their stout waist, and their lengthy blonde beard tossed back over their shoulder. ¡°My boots will never dry at this rate!¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t wear them,¡± Liam replied. The lanky elvish man easily leaped across the water, his bare toes digging into the soft soil upon landing.


    ¡°Can¡¯t harden up those feet of yours if they¡¯re always covered.¡±


    ¡°After seeing your gnarled bunions? No thanks.¡± Logan tossed in his two cents with a smirk. The light-hearted exchange was somewhat dampened by their quiet voices and cautious eyes. Just because they hadn¡¯t run into any of the damned lizards yet didn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t out there.


    ¡ª


    ¡°Oh my gods! It¡¯s Mister Halfling!¡± Liv cheered when Logan materialized out of the fog. She looked over the others as they gathered together. A tall, muscular elvish man with wild unkempt hair wore hardy trousers and little else. A Fighter perhaps? Then came a dwarf that just screamed ¡®Friar Tuck¡¯ vibes, who her years of fantasy genre experience told her had to be some sort of caster. There was little mister ranger, of course, and that left the other halfling. Liv wasn¡¯t sure what box to fit her into yet.


    ¡°Awww! You got yourself an adventuring party! Look at you!¡± It had most definitely been too long since she¡¯d interacted with another person¡­


    She watched as the group moved with practiced precision, setting up a small camp on the driest ground they could find. The lady Halfling ranged out at one point, returning a short while later with her shirt bundled over her shoulder in a makeshift satchel, her leather vest leaving her arms bare. With a shift of her shockingly muscular shoulders, the tiny woman hauled the satchel around and dropped a broad, flat stone onto the dirt with a heavy thud.


    ¡°Goddamn, girl! You¡¯re a frickin UNIT.¡± Liv exclaimed to her audience of one.


    ¡°Will that do?¡± she asked the other Halfling.


    ¡°Perfect!¡± The ranger chirped. ¡°Thanks, love.¡± The tiny man punctuated his praise with a peck of a kiss on her lips.


    ¡°Wait. She¡¯s with you?! Is this-¡° Liv wracked her brain for a moment to recall the name. ¡°Marly?¡± She circled around to get a better look at the couple. ¡°Daaamn Halfling Lad, gettit!¡±


    Grinning from ear to ear, she sat invisibly beside them as they gathered around the stone on the soft grass. Friar Tuck spoke first, muttering in¡­ was that Old Norse? Liv leaned in just in time to hear something about ¡®Thunor¡¯ before the dwarf pulled out a small hammer and smacked it against the stone. The ethereal woman blanched instinctively, expecting shattered bits of stone to go flying, but instead, the stone only glowed with a dim red light and sizzled for a moment as the moisture clinging to it evaporated. She stared in wide-eyed awe at the stone which now radiated heat, gasping deeply as her excitement overwhelmed her and-


    ¡ª


    Emma glanced back over her shoulder at the small pond nearby. The water below the mangrove tree there rippled violently, as if something sizable had just breached the surface.


    ¡°Everything alright, Emma?¡± Liam asked as he spritzed the stone with oil and began laying out broad collard leaves to cook on its surface.


    ¡°Yeah. Could have sworn I heard something. Probably just a fish.¡± Emma turned back towards the group. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re about to enter The Stilts,¡± Logan replied. ¡°On most maps, this delta marks the boundary. So from here on in, no more fires, and keep within shouting distance when you scout ahead. Magne?¡± Logan shifted his attention to the dwarf.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Magne grumbled in reply as they wrestled their boot off of their foot and dumped out a fair bit of water.


    ¡°According to the last census, how many more homesteads are out this way?¡±


    ¡°Hard to say,¡± They said unhelpfully as they worked on the other boot. ¡°There are records of a few, but they¡¯re old. There¡¯s the Akens stead, but no one has heard from them since the Cholera outbreak of twenty-nine. The Marsh¡¯s used to boat supplies up the river, and folk used to say they staked a claim to sommat out here. Then there¡¯s the Frasers, but the only ones who ever had dealings with that cantankerous old bear of a man were the Nichols, gods give them rest.¡±


    Liam scooped up the steaming greens with his knife, spritzing more oil and adding leeks and mushrooms onto the steaming surface.


    ¡°Scaly fuckers,¡± he snarled, eyes glued firmly to the food. ¡°The Nichols were good folk. Always had a warm bed for travelers.¡± The hard-looking man sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his wrist. ¡°They¡¯d like as not have given those lizards room and a meal if they¡¯d been asked.¡±


    Emma stood, walking around till she could look the elf in the eye. She said nothing, but her sad smile and gentle touch on his shoulder radiated a warm, motherly comfort. Liam touched her hand briefly in acknowledgment but remained otherwise fixated upon the evening meal.


    ¡°I know you¡¯d rather be tracking the raiders, but¡­¡± Logan was cut off by the gruff elf.


    ¡°I know,¡± he snapped. ¡°The living come before the dead.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t be long now. These outer homesteads are likely long gone. Soon as we check them and ensure none are left in harm''s way, we¡¯ll be off to see what drove the Skethna eastward.¡± Magne assured.


    ¡°Why do you call them that?¡± Liam asked, turning the steaming vegetables.


    ¡°What? The Skethna? The pole they left outside the burned barn identified their tribe-¡°


    ¡°Beasts like that don¡¯t deserve a name,¡± Liam growled. The group fell silent at that, tension thickening.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t too long ago that people said the same of mine,¡± Logan said grimly. Liam realized his mistake and looked instantly remorseful.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, Logan. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Dividing the collard greens equally, he placed them on four pairs of hardtack biscuits and served them. The party ate in awkward silence as the last light of the day faded.


    ¡ª


    Liv sat there in stunned silence for a long while. The camp was still and quiet as the party set their watches and took to their tents, leaving her alone with her thoughts.


    ¡°The fire¡­¡± she whispered inaudibly. ¡°It was the lizard people?¡± But why? They had been so polite. So respectful. She shook her head.


    ¡°That¡¯s a load of shit, Liv. They were obviously ready for a fight. And you let them wander through, and a fight was fucking had,¡± she scolded herself. ¡°Own up to your end of this, girl.¡±


    So much for her whimsical new existence, fantasy land was just as screwed up as home.


    She hugged her arms around herself, mulling it all over long into the night.


    It was shortly before dawn when Logan emerged from his tent. Emma had been keeping watch, and smiled warmly when his arms encircled her from behind.


    ¡°Morning, love,¡± he said quietly, kissing her cheek.


    ¡°You¡¯re up early.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep.¡± Logan released his wife, stepping around to take a seat beside her. ¡°Too many thoughts, all circling like buzzards.¡±


    ¡°Did you wish to share them? Or simply banish them with my company?¡± Emma asked, putting an arm about his shoulders.


    ¡°I was thinking about Dagny and Marla. How they wanted to come out this way. It could easily have been us who were the first victims. Or Hel, Dagny could have run into them ALONE when they went after that rabbit. We got lucky.¡±


    Emma huffed.


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have had to chase after game if that old miser fed them properly.¡± Liv perked up, listening more closely. Rabbit? We¡¯re they talking about that dwarf kid?


    ¡°He gets away with it because they ¡®can¡¯t work his trade¡¯,¡± Logan bracketed the latter part with air quotes.


    ¡°How is that fecking fair? It¡¯s not their fault they can¡¯t swim. Besides, how many of those the old man has on his boats could say the same?¡±


    ¡°At least half.¡± Logan supplied.


    ¡°At LEAST half!¡± Emma echoed. ¡°And it¡¯s not like he couldn¡¯t find them a job on land. There¡¯s books and ledgers to be kept. Inventory to move. But NO! The old miser just uses the same old line over and over.¡±


    ¡°¡±Got no use for folk what sink like stones,¡±¡± they both muttered in grim unison.


    ¡°Racist bastard.¡± Logan spat. Liv was torn between the heartwarming wholesomeness of this couple and the fiery burning rage at this mysterious old man.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking¡­¡± Emma said carefully, proverbially tiptoeing around something.


    ¡°Here it comes,¡± Logan whispered.


    ¡°We should contest for guardianship.¡±


    ¡°Emma, you know full well how that would go.¡±


    ¡°Money isn¡¯t everything!¡± She protested. ¡°If we got a more traditional arbitrator, we could make a case for a better familial bond.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And where do you propose to find an arbitrator that¡¯s not in Marsh¡¯s pocket?¡±


    ¡°Lagarheim!¡±


    ¡°And why would an arbitrator make the three-week journey down here from Lagarheim just to take on a case outside of their jurisdiction over a single orphan they¡¯ve never met and have no connection to?¡± Logan pushed. ¡°Emma, I understand the desire, but it¡¯s a fool¡¯s errand. More likely it would make Dagny¡¯s life harder in the end.¡± Emma deflated at that, and Logan held her close.


    Liv was already plotting the ways in which she would torment this racist old fart if she ever saw him. She waited to learn more, but the portly dwarf wandered out and yawned.


    ¡°You two done canoodling?¡± They teased. ¡°Sun¡¯ll be up soon. We should get a move on.¡±


    ¡°Feck off with that bushy-tailed nonsense!¡± came Liam¡¯s muffled voice from inside a tent.


    ¡°Get that scrawny arse moving, Liam!¡±


    ¡°So said yer parent into their pillow!¡± the crass retort cut through the morning haze.


    ¡°Liam!¡± Emma scolded, only to be cut off by her husband''s raucous laughter. ¡°LOGAN!! Don¡¯t encourage him!!¡±


    Liv herself couldn¡¯t help but snicker. Yo momma jokes were a universal constant it would seem. Gods but she wished they would stay¡­ The sounds of laughter only drove home just how lonely she was out here. She followed them around the clearing like a lost pup, basking in their lively banter. So much so, in fact, that it wasn¡¯t until they were loaded up and making their exit that she realized she had never given her critters the signal to start their carefully rehearsed plan.


    ¡°BALLS!!¡±

 Ignition

    Gilly panted heavily in the damp heat. Emma knew she¡¯d have to call a stop soon to let her cool off and drink. She could see the light of a clearing just ahead, the sparser trees allowing more sunlight to reach the ground. Spurring the hound on just a touch further, she cautiously passed golden shafts of light, diffused by buzzing gnats and lazily drifting pollens into radiant jacob¡¯s ladders.


    Motion between the scattered trees brought her heightened awareness to bear on the singular source. There, in the clearing ahead, was a distant barn and a partially obscured house. The tiny shapes of people wandered between them. People! There WERE settlers out here! They weren¡¯t too late! Turning back, she urged Gilly into a full run toward the rest of the party to inform them of her discovery.


    ¡ª


    The team of four emerged into the unfiltered light of the late afternoon sun, breaking from the tree line in a tight formation around Gilly. They kept their pace measured, not wanting to risk being confused for raiders themselves by the settlers below. Logan could see them wandering back and forth between the various structures of the farm, clearly hard at work, though with what he had no notion.


    The fields surrounding the stead were barren of any crop. The oddly checkered expanses seemed to contain naught but shallow square depressions overgrown with weeds.


    ¡°They¡¯ve spotted us,¡± Emma commented, drawing his attention away from the fields. Indeed, a few of the figures down by the barn were pointing in their direction, and several individuals were beginning to congregate near the front gate to the property.


    ¡°Think they¡¯re happy to see us? They can¡¯t get many travelers out here,¡± Liam asked.


    ¡°Who can say? Could just as easily be why they¡¯re out so far in the first place.¡± Logan replied noncommittally.


    ¡°With that many people? They have to be trading with someone. This place isn¡¯t big enough to sustain itself without outside contact.¡± Emma added her lot to the topic. Magne remained oddly stoic, paying more mind to the curious fields around them than the subject at hand. When they finally came within a hundred yards of the gate, Magne stepped forward.


    ¡°Ho the stead!!¡± they called in a booming voice, no doubt touched by a hint of their divine magics. Liam rolled his eyes at that.


    ¡°They¡¯re farmers, not poets, Magne.¡± the elf mumbled in a barbed jest.


    ¡°Shut it, mountain man, tradition exists for a reason.¡± Magne shot back softly, then resumed their much louder projection. ¡°We come with news from Nj?rvenn!¡±


    The men and women near the gate conversed amongst themselves for only a moment, before opening the rickety wooden gate and sending out a representative. The man walked with strength and purpose that contrasted sharply with his silver hair and grim, leathery face. He kept a small crossbow at his side, cocked but unloaded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get many travelers out here. Fewer still with neighborly intent. I''ve had no dealings with Nj?rvenn in ages. What news would you have that I''d care about?¡± the old human had a voice like tree bark and a scowl to match.


    ¡°We bring a warning. Something has driven the Skethna-¡± Magne was cut off by the aged local.


    ¡°The what, now?¡±


    ¡°The lizardfolk.¡± they clarified. ¡°Something has driven them to desperation. Two homesteads have already been lost. One family was slain, but the other we evacuated first.¡±


    ¡°That all?¡±


    The party stared at the old farmer in shock as he asked the simple question with nary a hint of concern or emotion.


    ¡°Sir, perhaps we didn''t lend this the proper sense of scale.¡± Logan expounded, stepping forward. ¡°This is a massive war band, and if the scholars prove to be correct, there¡¯s likely an even larger one on its heels. Being this far west puts you right in the path of whatever tribe is hounding the Skethna.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve fended off the lizards before,¡± the old man said flatly.


    ¡°Small raiding parties, I imagine. Groups of perhaps five or six?¡± Liam spoke up for the first time. ¡°Am I close to the mark?¡± The old man looked reluctant to admit to Liam¡¯s accuracy, choosing instead to spit onto the dirt path. He wasn¡¯t moving, though. Liam had his attention. ¡°The Warband that killed the Nichols was near 40 strong. So tell me. Do you want to see those fine folk there behind you try to fend off a force large enough to send that one running with their tails between their legs? With naught but a few crossbows and farm tools?¡± The old man¡¯s wrinkled face drew taut with anger as Liam spoke.


    ¡°And what would you have us do? Huh?¡± the man snapped. ¡°This place is our livelihood! There¡¯s no way we could run our cattle all the way to Nj?rvenn and outrun a Warband! Those trees out there are THEIR home. We''d be sitting ducks!¡±


    ¡°Are your lives not worth the cattle?¡± Magne plied, trying to plead for reason.


    ¡°They¡¯re one and the same!¡± the old man argued. ¡°I leave them behind, and I might as well kill us myself. Better than watching my family stave.¡±


    ¡°What cattle?¡± Emma interjected. The scout had taken in the land around them while they all spoke, and she saw no signs of livestock. The old man hooked his thumb back over his shoulder.


    ¡°When we realized something was off, we started penning them all up in the barn to keep them safe. One building is easier to guard than a bunch of open fields.¡± The party exchanged silent looks of consternation at this. Magne, being the most diplomatic, gave voice to what they were all clearly thinking.


    ¡°Then you''ve taken that which the lizardfolk are most likely to want, gathered it into a single place, and put your kin between them and their prize.¡± the dwarf explained in the most politic way they could. The old man chose then to close the distance between them, stepping close enough to speak without shouting.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°What else can we do?!¡± he hissed. ¡°Answer me that, before you go scaring my kin. What. Else. Can. We. Do?¡± The travelers looked amongst one another, uncertain of what to do about this unforeseen refusal.


    ¡°I have a proposal.¡± Logan offered, slowly. The old man¡¯s baleful glare snapped down to him, in no forgiving mood but listening nonetheless. ¡°Take what few you need to survive. Even if it¡¯s by the skin of your teeth, survival is better than not.¡± The dusky Halfling held his hand aloft to forestall a reply. ¡°The sun will be setting soon. How¡¯s this? Grant us a night¡¯s hospitality. Just a room with a roof, nothing more. If the lizards should come in the night, you¡¯ll have four more hands to help defend the stead. If not, then you take the night to think it over. In the morning we¡¯ll leave for Nj?rvenn, and if you so choose we will help you run what cattle you need.¡±


    The old man frowned, deep lines furrowed into creased leather skin.


    ¡°You come on my land and ask me to grant you the rites of hospitality and then leave it in the same breath?¡± his raspy voice sanded away all tone until only an unreadable neutrality was left.


    ¡°Please. We came to help.¡± was Logan¡¯s earnest reply. The old farmer stared for a long and silent moment.


    ¡°You¡¯re not to go near the cattle,¡± he growled, all smoke and frost. ¡°You¡¯ll have beds and a roof. I¡¯ll send my son with supper for you as well. But I don¡¯t know you, and I have no one to vouch for your character. So you¡¯ll be staying in the guest house till dawn.¡± With that, the old man turned and headed back for the gate at a brisk walk.


    Magne broke from the other three as they all turned inward to discuss the brusk nature of the arrangement.


    ¡°Sir!¡± They called out as the party all followed inward, stroking their beard uncertainly. ¡°We never got your name. What stead is this?¡±


    ¡°Erik. Welcome to the Marsh Freehold.¡± the gruff man called back over his shoulder, passing a long disused windmill.


    ¡°Seems bein¡¯ a right cunt is a family trait,¡± Liam grumbled under his breath, before grunting from Emma¡¯s elbow to the gut.


    ¡ª


    Hospitality, within the Marsh estate, seemed to include a single unfurnished room, a thick lukewarm stew of potatoes and horse meat, a privy pot, and little else. The meal had been dropped off by a squat, somewhat wall-eyed boy, and beyond that, not another soul had come to see them.


    ¡°Will you STOP PACING?¡± Magne demanded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Liam explained, never breaking stride. ¡°Why does it feel more like we¡¯re prisoners than guests? Something isn¡¯t right here.¡±


    ¡°Other than yet another Marsh being a paranoid old Miser? Come off it.¡±


    ¡°No, Magne, he¡¯s right,¡± Emma said thoughtfully as she stared out the window. The sun had long since set, but she could still see the glowing lanterns of the people patrolling the barn.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± Logan asked quietly. His wife had a knack for noticing detail that he¡¯d come to trust.


    ¡°Not see, hear. Erik said the family shuttled all their cattle into that barn.¡± Emma pointed towards the window with her chin. ¡°Ever been around livestock that¡¯s crowded into a small space? They tend not to appreciate it, and kick up a ruckus.¡± That got Liam to stop in his tracks, and the other two to pay close attention.


    ¡°I grew up around plenty of ranches. Cows take up large swatches of flat grassland. Not like this. Too muddy. Too soft. And those weird holes in the fields. I¡¯ve seen cows break legs in less.¡± Liam explained, stroking his chin. Magne snapped their fingers then.


    ¡°Cane holes,¡± they supplied.


    ¡°Beg pardon?¡± Logan chuffed.


    ¡°The weird squares in the field. Cane holes. Explains the old windmill too. I think this place used to be a sugar plantation. Probably used to ship it right down the river, hence the lack of roads,¡± the well-read dwarf deduced.


    ¡°And what use would a sugar plantation have of a barn that size?¡± Emma brought the room back around to the topic at hand. There was a stretch of silence as Logan scooped the last of his stew from the bowl, only to look up and find the rest of the party staring at him.


    ¡°What? Something on my face?¡± he deflected.


    ¡°Cheeky bastard. You know you¡¯re the sneakiest.¡± Liam chuckled. ¡°I mean, I¡¯d go but I don¡¯t think busting down the front door is the way we want to go just now. But if that¡¯s what you REALLY WANT!¡± Liam said exaggeratedly, raising his voice as he marched for the door.


    ¡°I¡¯m goin¡¯, I¡¯m goin¡¯!¡± Logan sighed, grabbing his things and making for the window.


    ¡ª


    A pair of overzealous farmhands and a barn did not a barrack make. Logan smirked as he dashed between the circles of lantern light.


    ¡°Just like old times, ey Lightfoot?¡± He whispered to himself. Thinking back on his youth, Logan found nothing worth missing. He had a warm home, a loving wife, and a clever daughter. No, he certainly didn¡¯t miss his former life. But sometimes it was nice to know he still had it in him.


    He eyed the aged padlock, knowing it would be child¡¯s play to pick it, even without his old tools, but even if he could do so quietly enough to avoid detection on a still night there was simply no way he could roll that barn door open without alerting the entire stead. His dark eyes roamed over his mark, searching for a plan b. It came in the form of an unlatched loft window.


    A smug look curled playfully at the tiny man¡¯s features as he took two steps back before whispering a phrase like the name of an old friend.


    ¡°Alley Cat.¡±


    Instantly, he felt the tingle of the old enchantment buzzing against the balls of his feet. He wasted no time, knowing it would not take long for the guards to circle back around again. He felt the magic in his stride and he bounded a few paces and leaped into the air. His toes caught the eve of the door and allowed him that final bound upwards to grasp the sil of the loft. He could hear heavy boots coming closer to the corner of the building, the light carving a swath of noon along the ground. He scrambled upward as fast as he could manage and rolled onto the wooden loft floor. He panted into his shirt to muffle the sound, listening for a moment to see if anything had been noticed by those below.


    *Still got it!* Logan mouthed the victory cry silently to himself with a broad grin. His smile melted away though when he rolled to his feet and took his first real breath of the air. It was PUTRID in here. He tucked his tunic back over his nose but it accomplished little. He walked with care, rolling his feet along slowly to avoid creaking boards giving him away.


    What he saw upon reaching the edge of the loft had him briefly baffled into inaction. The razor-thin lines of shifting light from the circling lanterns outside illuminated vague outlines of hanging meat on hooks.


    ¡°A slaughterhouse?¡± he whispered. He wasn¡¯t sure if he was more surprised by the fact that there really had been cattle, or that ranchers would be so daft as to slaughter their entire herd and store the meat in a warm barn. For that matter, how the devil had they not smelled this place from a mile off?! This barn trip was made of more questions than answers.


    Logan slid down a ladder and decided to risk a little light. Pulling a coin from his purse, he kept it firmly hidden in his fist, allowing him to shift his fingers slightly to better control the light that emanated from the simple copper piece. Directly before him was what looked to be a huge metal vat or distiller of some kind. If Magne was right, then perhaps it had something to do with the previous use of the land. He turned slowly, keeping both light and eyes turned downward. If this was meant to be some kind of trap for the lizards, he didn¡¯t want to stumble into it himself.


    He took slow, sweeping steps, brushing hay and detritus out of his path in careful arks, but saw nothing but dirt. He turned his gaze upward, trying to suss out the catch.


    ¡°What kind of daft¡­ shite¡­ oh.¡± Logan trailed off, feeling any warmth and levity contained within his person drain right out through his feet. There before him, dangling from a hook through its jaw, was the limbless, scaly torso of one of the lizardfolk. Caution forgotten, he cast the light all around in a frantic bid for comprehension.


    Another lizardfolk, devoid of entrails. A dwarf, bloated and rotten, hanging by a hook through the ankles. A rack of muscular tails, gray with decomposition. Logan staggered, shoving the back of his fist into his mouth to stifle a cry of shock as the bloodless, upside-down face of a Halfling woman stared blindly into his soul.


    ¡°Gods below!¡± he hissed, gagging. This was beyond desperation, or depravity. This was madness. His own thundering heart and lurching stomach drowned his senses briefly, but instinct drew him back into the moment when he heard shouting outside. He whirled searching for the ladder, certain he¡¯d been found out.


    Then he heard the unmistakable snarling of Liam. It was too distant to make out words, but he knew the rage in that voice all too well. His worst fears were confirmed when the clatter of metal on metal rang through the night like a bell.


    ¡°DAMN!¡±


    Logan grabbed the ladder, scrambling as fast as he could to try and reach his friends. The bone-rattling clamor not unlike some unholy gong nearly lost him his footing. He fumbled for his coin, but sweat and panic buttered his fingers and sent the shining piece clattering to the floor. A skull-splitting encore set his ears ringing, and shook the floorboards hard enough that the ladder nearly tipped. Below, the metal walls of the vat cast strange shadows around the barn as something bent them violently outwards. Logan stared in horror as the failing metal container thinned enough that he could hear the countless voices crying frantically from behind the strained iron.

 Loss

    An island. She was on a fucking island. Liv walked the oblong borders of her domain, deep in thought. Truth be told, ¡®island¡¯ was rather generous. She currently resided on a loamy sand bar in a shallow, slow-moving river delta. If her measurements (taken by walking heel to toe) were accurate, then her proverbial kingdom was about forty feet across and just shy of five times as long.


    As things went, it was a mixed bag. The slow current meant a constant influx of various fish, which kept Nicki and Masque well-fed, and brought regular bursts of SP. It also seemed to be an ideal environment for these mangrove trees, which flourished all along one side of her swampy abode. The problem was that Liv had yet to discover how she could expand into moving water aside from the expensive brute force method she preferred to avoid. So those trees who weren¡¯t primarily on land were eluding her grasp.


    Liv eyed her little personal display. In a fit of boredom, she¡¯d written a header for it, dubbing it ¡®Character Sheet¡¯. She¡¯d thought it was funny at the time, but then the realization that nobody else would ever see it sucked the humor right out.


    ¡ª


    [Current SP: 180]


    [Max SP:180]


    [Regen: 5.75 per hour]


    [Time till full regen: 31h 28m]


    ¡ª


    Her recent efforts with the grass had provided enough data to give her a clear picture of how regen worked. Try as she might, though, she just could not seem to figure out the math surrounding her max SP. Something just wasn¡¯t adding up. She was pretty sure it was directly tied to the total area she ¡®occupied¡¯. But back when she¡¯d only covered about 400 square feet, her max had been 40. But if her math and measurements were right then she was at about 6000 square feet now, and only had 180 max SP.


    ¡°Is there a modifier I¡¯m missing? Is it some convoluted logarithmic function?¡± Liv glared balefully at the mysterious number. She hoped it wasn¡¯t something that complex. She didn¡¯t suck at math, but she was no human calculator either. The sooner she figured this out, the sooner she could stop having to repeat the skeeter experiment every week or so.


    ¡°Stupid ravens,¡± She grumbled, arms crossed. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have left me a FUCKMOTHERING MANUAL?!¡± her gripe pitched up into a roar at the end, her vented frustrations causing the water near her core to ripple and bubble. A gasp of surprise caught her attention then, and the raging punk spun on her heel to spot one of those lizard people. The sudden appearance of a scaly green humanoid right behind her made her jump and the pool quiver.


    ¡°Holy Hella! You scared the shit out of me!¡± she exclaimed, hand over her heart. The lizard ignored her, seeming to fixate on the pool instead. Liv waved, but this one seemed oblivious to her presence. ¡°Oh¡­ Well, that¡¯s no fun¡­¡±


    Reaching into a pouch strapped to one thigh, the being removed a bobble of some kind. It bowed low, towards the pool where her first tree stood guard, and made almost submissive gestures as it moved slowly closer to the shore. Standing some kind of figurine up in the mud, it quickly backed away making plaintive sounds. Unable to suppress her curiosity, Liv lay down on the muddy ground to get to eye level with the odd thing.


    It was a lizard person if a strange one. Painted with streaks of red ochre, it had an oddly flat face and pointed chin. The proportions looked wrong, but it was clearly supposed to be a lizard. A LADY lizard by the looks of the chest. She hadn¡¯t seen any lizards with boobs when they went through before. She¡¯d assumed they wouldn¡¯t have any. Wait why would they-? Liv shook her head, dismissing the rabbit hole her brain wanted to tumble down. The lizard had a huge crest atop her head, and seemed to be wearing some kind of spiky armor¡­


    ¡°Hooold up!¡±


    Liv scooched forward to look at her backside. No tail.


    ¡°Oh my gods! It¡¯s ME!!¡±


    The thing wasn¡¯t a great likeness, but if the Druid lizard had told another of their friends what she¡¯d looked like, and that guy had carved a statue based solely on that description, she could see where something like this might result.


    ¡°Thank-¡° Liv turned about, wondering where the lizard person had gone. ¡°You?¡±


    She spotted him then, just barely outside the borders of her little world, shrouded in mist. He was taking a slender spear and jabbing at the shallow river water. When he¡¯d arrived, she worried she¡¯d have to make a call on whether to try and stop another Warband, but apparently, he just wanted to fish.


    ¡°Alright Kermit, do your thing,¡± she said by way of permission, trying out a nickname for her new fishing buddy. Looking over the little statue, she grinned and booped its non-existent nose. To her surprise, the thing wobbled slightly and felt warm to the touch. Blinking in shock, she inspected it now with that strange new sense of ¡®knowing¡¯ she was quickly coming to value almost as much as her eyes or ears. As the threads of energy all around her resolved into focus, she was gobsmacked to see the statue practically thrumming with power!


    ¡°Woah¡­.¡±


    ¡ª


    Liv sat near a small campfire, enjoying the smell of cooking fish while she pondered the statue in the flickering light that staved off the night. She¡¯d been whistling the partial bar of ¡®It¡¯s Not Easy, Being Green¡¯ when her attention was drawn back to the visitor. The lizard man¡¯s head had snapped up, reacting to something Liv couldn¡¯t sense.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Sup, Kermit?¡± she asked, trying to follow his gaze. It was pointless with the misty barrier but she still tried. Kermit gave a deep, angry hiss. As the sound of distant footsteps became audible to her, the lizard dashed for the water and slipped almost soundlessly into it. Liv could see the shifting silhouette of Masque, preparing to attack the thing that was too close to her core for comfort, but she waved him off.


    ¡°Not yet! If he tries for the core, take him out,¡± she commanded, breathing a sigh of relief as Masque withdrew back into the den. The steps turned to frantic splashing, then into the hollow clopping of very shallow water.


    Emma staggered out of the veil, half tumbling into her tiny glade. Liv was on her feet in an instant. She couldn¡¯t let these two see each other! They would murder each other! The rest of the party wouldn¡¯t be far behind Emma and Liv wasn¡¯t about to let that slaughter happen in her own home. She was about to call for Masque to get between them when Emma dashed towards the fire like a bat out of hell. In the firelight, Liv could see how filthy and battered the tiny woman looked. The muscular Halfling¡¯s eyes were bulging with terror, and she spun about frantically.


    ¡°HELLO?!¡± Emma called, hoarse and cracking. ¡°HELLLOOOOO?!¡± Liv knelt to inspect the woman who she knew couldn¡¯t see her. The Halfling was practically hyperventilating now. She took a deep breath and shouted as loudly as she could ¡°HEEEEEELP!!¡±


    ¡°Masque. Nicki. Bob,¡± Liv listed off her biggest and baddest companions, in a voice made of steel. ¡°Get ready.¡±


    ¡°ANYBODY!!!!¡± Emma shouted again, clearly looking for whoever made the fire. In the distance to the west, a myriad of voices began to faintly echo.


    ¡°Holy Hella, gurl, how many people did you piss off?!¡± Liv voicelessly asked no one. Emma¡¯s breathing sped up even further, and Liv could see how shaky she was. She wondered just how long this little woman had been hoofing it. The voices grew closer still, and while Liv could make out the cadences and pitches of what sounded like dozens of people, she couldn¡¯t make out any words.


    ¡°OH GOOOODS!¡± came Emma¡¯s strangled plea to the divine, tears leaving slightly cleaner tracks down her filthy cheeks. She grabbed a branch from the fire and held the blazing end westward.


    ¡°Pleeeease¡­¡± she whimpered. When last Liv had seen this woman, she¡¯d been strong and proud. What in the hell was chasing her?


    The voices were getting louder now, though, over Emma¡¯s choked sobs, Liv could only make out occasional words. ¡®Breathe¡¯ ¡®eaten¡¯ ¡®please¡¯ the jumbled voices spoke over each other, atop a chorus of moans and groans and wailing. Suddenly Liv¡¯s fear vanished. She knew what this was! It might be creepy, but there was no way her crew couldn¡¯t handle a little horde of zombies!


    Emma clapped her hands over her ears, holding the butt of the torch to the side of her head as she fell to her knees.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve got you,¡± Liv said confidently, placing herself between the Halfling and the sounds of the horde. Emma had her eyes clenched shut, keening and rocking slightly. She didn¡¯t even notice as the various beasts of Liv¡¯s domain emerged from hiding and stood abreast.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to hope Kermit is smart enough not to try and start a fight while the zombies are around. They¡¯re slow and stupid. They don¡¯t breathe, so Nicki, don¡¯t bother constricting their chest. I want strafing runs. Target the limbs. Once they¡¯re immobilized, Masque you grab the head and barrel roll.¡±


    Liv took a wide, low stance. Her eyes were blazing with adrenaline and her crooked grin was all pluck and bravado.


    ¡°Alright crew!¡± she called, teeth bared. They were almost here, she could hear the water splashing as they passed the outer mangroves she couldn¡¯t reach yet. ¡°LET¡¯S DO THIS!¡± Liv roared, charging towards the western veil in a low run. The hissing and spitting of her land-bound companions were drowned out by the trumpet of the huge, taloned Bogtrodder. Bob swooped low, about to land the first blow on whatever emerged from that mist.


    ¡°Hurts-¡°


    ¡°I ¡°Help¡­ me¡­¡± ¡°S¡¯thalessa.¡±


    ¡°Eating me¡­¡± CAN¡¯T ¡°Momma¡± ¡°Inside me!!!¡±


    ¡°Run, Emma!¡± BREATHE!¡± ¡°PLeeEaSe¡­¡±


    Whispers and groans became a howling torrent. From the mists of the unknown beyond a gelatinous pseudopod erupted, like the tongue of a most fetid and fecund toad. It looked wrong. The motions of the thing were somehow off, in a way that was hard to focus the eyes upon. It was over so fast. One moment, Bob was swooping in, talons out and ready. Then the fleshy tendril touched him. A mouth full of tobacco-stained teeth bit down on the great bird¡¯s foot, and yanked, twisting in ways that hurt the eyes. What landed near Liv¡¯s feet was a writhing pulp. She stared down at it in uncomprehending shock. Then the fleshy mass gave a muffled and agonized trumpet.


    Liv felt a shaft of ice run through her as she watched the mass struggle before the world went mercifully silent. Silent like the void those ravens had sent her though. Silent like the grave. Silent like her¡­


    Flecks of water fell slowly all around her. The lizard man was emerging from the pool, spear held aloft like it was a lightning bolt from Zeus rather than a flimsy sharpened stick. The water¡­ The water was frothing, the green scum of it dancing like a living thing. She wondered why it was doing that.


    Turning back toward the west, she tracked the motion of the thin spear as it sailed through the air and struck the slick skin of a thing that had no right to exist. It oozed and contorted like some unfathomable amoeba, a visceral mass of pleading eyes and hungry mouths. Bare gums and fleshy lips flapped wetly as they gibbered and screamed.


    The tide of offal surged forward, and her mighty guardians rose up to meet it. The soft density of the quivering mass didn¡¯t roll or stretch. Instead the agonized faces unfolded into being. It didn¡¯t move, it emerged. A distant memory brought her the image of a shifting cat scan, phasing through a skull in wriggling cross-sectional lines. Nicki was in its grasp now, held by reptilian teeth and being impossibly folded inward towards the thing¡¯s center. Her mind refused to allow sound to pass through her perceptions, but she felt the vibrations of snapping and crunching of bones as it rolled over Masque.


    The reptilian visitor had moved, taking the torch from Emma¡¯s hand and shoving her eastward, away from the depravity made flesh that was invading her world. The battered Halfling ran, and Liv could see the lizardfolk¡¯s craw ululating in a battle cry. The cold-blooded confidence was short-lived, though, as a ropey mass of tissue pierced through his torch-wielding arm. The scales bulged, then sunk inward, as the monster began to pull at the bones within.


    With the determination born of an unfettered need for survival, the scaled warrior drew a flint knife and plunged it into the crux of his own elbow. Liv returned to the world as the wet snaps of cold-blooded veins pulled taut and gave as the warrior sacrificed a limb for the sake of life and charged northward, into the mists. The amalgamated mass chewed on the morsel, babbling madness before it began to ooze inward. Tortured mouths ate ruts into the grassy turf and blindly begged as they were rolled into the pond to drown.


    Liv could practically feel its gelatinous bulk as it passed within mere feet of her core before it continued eastward in pursuit of the bedraggled Halfling. Even as it left her realm of influence, the mad screaming remained in its wake.


    It wasn¡¯t real. Couldn¡¯t be real. It was a game. A stupid, stupid game. Liv folded in on herself, clutching her head as new sounds joined the mix. This was nothing more than a nightmare. In a moment she would wake and turn on her lights and snuggle her cat and laugh. Laugh at how ridiculous this was. Laugh at how she thought such a thing could ever be. She told herself that the cries she heard were a product of her own imagination. A distant feminine voice wailed in a wordless plea for death. The moaning sob of one whose fingers lay on the doorstep of blind and indifferent gods. Nobody could REALLY make such sounds.


    Liv curled into a fetal ball beside the roiling pond and the scar of desolation. Above her head, half-formed thoughts drifted like embers from a flame. They took shape, forming scribbled words in jagged lines.


    NOT REAL


    NOT REAL


    NOT REAL


    NOT REAL


    NOT REAL

 Unwilling Dreamers

    ¡°How do we even know we¡¯re going the right way?¡± Dagny asked tiredly.


    ¡°If Gilly says this is the way, then it is,¡± Marla tried to assure her friend, though the young dwarf in the saddle behind her looked thoroughly unconvinced.


    ¡°Marla? Gilly is a DOG.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a trained riding hound who knows how to track things by scent. That¡¯s how she made it back home.¡±


    Dagny fell silent, knowing they would not be able to sway their friend on this. The tiny pair rode in silence for a time, moving in fits and starts as Gilly sniffed her way around.


    ¡°What do we do if they come looking for us?¡± Dagny broke the silence in little more than a whisper.


    ¡°If you¡¯re too scared, then go home!¡± Marla snapped angrily. ¡°Tell them I made you do it.¡±


    ¡°No! Marla, it¡¯s not that. I¡¯m not scared, but we should have a plan. It won¡¯t take them long to realize we escaped the lockdown. If they catch up to us they¡¯ll never let us keep looking for your mom and dad!¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Marla trailed off, thinking. ¡°Gilly is fast!¡±


    ¡°Faster than a horse?¡± Dagny asked flatly.


    ¡°N-no. But she¡¯s smaller! And Papa said horses have trouble in the bayou! We¡¯ll just go where there are lots of trees.¡± Marla nodded as if affirming the validity of her own plan. Dagny thought about it, scratching at the stubble on their chin, and then nodded. They weren¡¯t sure about how that would work, but Marla probably knew more about this kind of stuff.


    Emerging from a copse of trees, a sudden stop sent Dagny tipping forward into their friend¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Ow.¡±


    ¡°Shh!¡± Marla pointed ahead, whispering fiercely. ¡°Look!¡± Dagny leaned a bit to one side to see around their companion. Before them stood a hoff. The sod roof was hosting a beautiful array of blooming plants. All around the stead had been cleared and tilled and was mostly covered in thick green sweet potato vines. All except for a barren streak running from the west to the front of the house.


    ¡°What do we do? There are no more trees to hide behind. They¡¯ll see us.¡±


    ¡°Unless they left for town?¡± Marla asked hopefully.


    ¡°There¡¯s no smoke from the chimney. Nobody in the fields. Maybe they did,¡± Dagny cautiously observed. Marla nodded, spurring Gilly onward.


    ¡°If they¡¯re gone, maybe we could grab some bread? I¡¯m hungry,¡± the young dwarf added. As they drew closer, they could see the door was wide open. Dagny was staring at the torn-up line through the fields when Marla directed Gilly closer to the entrance.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s empty,¡± Marla whispered. She began to scoot to one side, preparing to dismount, when the murmur of voices inside froze her in her tracks. It sounded like a whole group of people were chatting away somewhere deep inside the house. Strange voices, all talking over one another, slithered into her ears from the shadows behind the doorway. Gilly dropped her head, her hackles bristling against the saddle as the hound''s lips pulled back in a snarl. Dagny grabbed Marla¡¯s belt and pulled her back to center on the saddle.


    ¡°BANDITS!¡± they whispered urgently. A loud clatter, as of a table or chair being pushed roughly along a wooden floor, echoed through the dark doorway. ¡°RUUUUUN!!¡± Dagny screamed, Marla joining in as the pair dashed westward atop Emma¡¯s trusty steed.


    It was late afternoon when the tired trio found their first clue. A crude fire pit, full of ashes and blackened charcoal. It was between two patches of tall, thick grass that Dagny knew all too well.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let Gilly walk through that. It hurts.¡± They warned. Marla only nodded silently, exhausted and upset that they had yet to find her parents. Trotting around and crossing a narrow, slow stream, they walked up to the long-dead campfire. Gilly gave a loud huff and laid down. The panting hound rolled partially to one side, causing the kids to tumble off her back and into a heap on the soft grass.


    ¡°GILLY! BAD DOG!!¡± Marla scolded, strained from the weight of her denser companion laying on top of her. Dagny rolled to their feet, dusting off their pants, but Marla stayed on her belly. ¡°Look¡­¡± She said softly.


    ¡°What?¡± Dagny turned to see that Marla had pulled a thin spear out of the grass before her. Dagny went pale. ¡°Do you think they got attacked by the lizardfolk?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But they¡¯re a super strong adventuring party! They¡¯ll be fine for sure!¡±


    Dagny looked around, wondering if any more clues could be found. When movement caught their eye, they looked up towards the tiny pond with a mangrove tree growing in it. The water there was churning, bubbling up with enough ferocity to push the green scum of algae away from that one spot by about a meter in any direction.


    ¡°What¡¯s THAT?¡± Dagny asked, pointing. Marla tore her eyes away from the spear to take a look.


    ¡°Oh! I¡¯ve heard about something like this! It¡¯s a¡­ a¡­ Spring! A hot spring!¡±


    ¡°Is it magic?¡± Dagny asked, a bit awestruck.


    ¡°Sometimes. I hear some special springs can help heal wounds or clean things.¡±


    ¡°Marla. All water cleans things.¡±


    ¡°Not like that! Like¡­ special things. Temple things.¡±


    ¡°Oooh¡­ I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    ¡°Me either but that¡¯s what Mama told me.¡± Marla reached into a saddle bag on Gilly¡¯s side and pulled out two apples. ¡°Here.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Dagny looked disappointed.


    ¡°We were in a hurry! Three apples is all I got!¡± Marla said defensively. Dagny sighed, then tightened their belt.


    ¡°Right. Do this,¡± they instructed.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Why?¡± Marla asked, doing as instructed but looking confused about it.


    ¡°It helps. Also, drink LOTS of water. It will fill you up a bit.¡±


    ¡°I will later. I wanna try and start a fire first.¡±


    Dagny nodded, looking towards the mangrove trees on the other side of the tiny island. The water there was a little deeper and moved more. It was probably better for drinking.


    ¡°Okay. I¡¯m gonna go get a drink. Hold my apple.¡±


    Dagny tossed the little green fruit to their friend and walked over to the trees.


    ¡°Watch out for gators!¡± Marla called around a mouthful of apple. There were several moments of quiet, broken only by the soft crunches of Marla¡¯s apple and the grinding of wood as the young halfling tried to use the scraps of wood left near the pit to get a spark. She was already nibbling at the core for everything she could get when Dagny screamed in a panic.


    ¡°MARLA!!!!¡±


    Apple forgotten, the Halfling girl dashed toward their voice, forgetting Dagny¡¯s warning about the grass. She pushed through, emerging from the other side covered head to toe in tiny cuts and scrapes. Running into the knee-deep water, she pulled up her little bow and reached back for an arrow¡­ Which wasn¡¯t there. She cursed herself for being so stupid and leaving the arrows on Gilly¡¯s saddle. She found Dagny then, kneeling in the water and pulling on some soaked lump of greens and browns. The thing was draped limply over a root.


    ¡°I FOUND HIM!!¡± Dagny yelled, before turning to see that Marla had closed the gap. They shifted to one side, revealing her Papa¡¯s face.


    ¡°Get Gilly! We need to get him out of the water!!¡±


    Dagny returned to trying to pull the comparatively larger man out from between the roots. When no sound of movement followed they looked back to see Marla hadn¡¯t moved an inch. ¡°Marla! Get the dog!¡± The Halfling girl stood as firmly fastened to the ground as any of the trees, eyes wide with shock and horror. ¡°MARLA!!¡± Dagny looked back and forth from Logan to Marla a few times before making a call. They stood up and grabbed Marla by the arm, yanking her over. ¡°Hold him tight. I¡¯ll get the dog.¡±


    ¡ª


    Below the water, at the bottom of a narrow tunnel, the world was dark, soft, and warm. Moreover, the sounds of the outside world were muted by the stagnant water and earthen walls. Liv thought it was almost perfect. Now if only that crazy chick would stop SCREAMING!


    /A wall of gelatinous flesh, unfolding in eldritch fractals. Damned and wailing souls driven to madness, cut into cross-sectional ribbons as they writhed on a surface whose true shape defied perception./


    NOT REAL


    NOT REAL


    NOT REAL


    /Guttural moans of anguish form a discordant hymn, a siren song to summon the reaper. The reaper who never comes¡­/


    Dear gods, not this again. Does she ever SHUT UP?! What¡¯s a gal gotta do to get some peace and quiet around here? She doesn¡¯t even have to stop to breathe between screams, the babbling bitch is like the energizer fucking bunny of screamo!


    /Scrambling along the asphalt, her hand closed around the familiar handle of her pocket knife. It had landed mere inches away from her tooth. Lungs screaming, she spun, blade at the ready, just in time to see the business end of a tire iron coming down right between her eyes and¡­/


    The memory was interrupted by a splash and the feeling of displaced water. Liv blazed red, snapping back into the present moment as fear crackled along her jagged jasper surface. A moment of blinding terror seized her. It was back. It was back and it was going to kill her. Eat her. It would turn her inside out like it had Bob and leave her screaming at the back of her own head.


    Something warm and fleshy touched her core, and Liv cowered away from the unwanted touch. The voices! The voices were back! She could hear them now, distorted by the water.


    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡±


    ¡°What choice is there?¡±


    ¡°What if it isn¡¯t magic?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s GLOWING, Marla! It¡¯s magic!¡±


    These weren¡¯t the myriad voices of those maddened by torture. There was thought and purpose to them. Liv lay alone at the bottom of the den, and when she opened her eyes for the first time in what felt like eons, she could see the foot that had bumped her core further down the short tunnel. A perfectly normal foot.


    Yes, PLEASE, go make some fucking friends and scream at THEM for a while, will you?!


    ¡°It¡¯s not working!¡±


    ¡°Give it a minute!¡±


    ¡°What if it¡¯s not a healing spring?¡±


    ¡°Probably we just need the right magic words. The priests always say prayers when they heal.¡±


    Healing? Liv reached out with her senses, but the foot didn¡¯t belong to one of her creations. She could neither see the threads of its existence nor directly impact them in any way. She couldn¡¯t heal him. Well¡­ not DIRECTLY. Crawling up out of the hole, she saw none other than Mr. Halfling, battered and bruised within an inch of his life, with Dwarf kid and the tiniest little person she¡¯d ever seen holding him up in the water.


    Her eyes drifted towards the western edge but then clenched shut. She had to focus. She wanted no more innocent deaths happening here. Logan had open wounds all over, and the stagnant water here was loaded with bacteria. She began to focus on the glittering flecks of microscopic life, driving them away from his wounds and cleaning them with swirls of fresh water. For the first time in nearly three days, Liv stopped screaming.


    ¡ª


    The children¡¯s prayers, half-remembered appellations to Eir, died on their lips as the reddish glow faded and the lukewarm waters went still. There was a brief, oppressive silence before Marla whispered.


    ¡°Did it work?¡±


    Dagny looked ready to say they had no idea when a pop and crackle preceded the orange blaze of Marla¡¯s failed fire springing inexplicably to life. The pair sat in a slack-jawed stupor, staring at it.


    ¡°Did that just-¡° Marla started.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Dagny confirmed the unspoken question. They stared for a moment more before Marla snapped back to reality.


    ¡°Quick! Pull him over there! That fire won¡¯t last long unless we get more wood!!¡±


    Dagny had to move slowly along the roots till they reached shallower waters, but as soon as Marla confirmed she could reach the bottom, Dagny hopped down and sped things up.


    ¡°I wish we had bone broth. Mama always said bone broth cures all ills.¡± Marla lamented as they laid him down. Dagny raced off to find any bits of wood they could reach while Marla tended to her father. He looked much cleaner now, and his cuts, while not mended, no longer seemed so puffy and red. She looked back towards where the magic spring had been, about to offer thanks to Eir, when something odd caught her eye now that the fire cast a light over it. Half buried in the mud was a crudely carved wooden idol. A red lady with funny hair, wearing some cool armor. The spring had been red too¡­


    ¡°Thank you, red lady.¡± She said quietly, carefully setting the tiny statue to stand once more on the damp ground. ¡°Thank you for listening to my prayer.¡±


    ¡ª


    Liv sat at Logan¡¯s feet, keeping the fire going long after it should have gone out. The kids were asleep now, curled up together under a blanket. She wished she had some way to just heal the little ranger. Expensive as it was, it was way easier than this. Trying to keep every pinprick of a parasite out of his open wounds took a lot of work. The kids meant well but they hadn¡¯t even thought to bandage the poor guy. So when he stirred for the first time and opened his eyes, Liv threw her hands up and cheered.


    She heard a slight creak in response and instinctively flinched, looking over her shoulder for the source. There, peeking from between his branches, was Bushwhacker. He seemed just as shocked to see her as she was to see him.


    ¡°YOU¡¯RE ALIVE?!?¡± she squealed. The shrub nodded, but when Logan groaned he snapped back into hiding. Right! Time to celebrate later. Logan looked confused and disoriented, then worried.


    ¡°Emma?¡± he croaked, making Liv blanch.


    Marla made a sleepy little whine. The kind of noise that required no translation, being universally understood as a desire to not be woken. Logan¡¯s good eye went wide, the other being swollen shut, and he struggled to roll over.


    ¡°M-Marla?!¡± He wheezed, panic in his voice. That was enough to rouse the kids. Marla blinked sleepily for a moment before scrambling onto her feet.


    ¡°Papa!!¡± she shouted, dashing towards him.


    ¡°SHHH!!¡± Logan pleaded, eye roaming all around. ¡°Marla! No! You can¡¯t be here!¡± he hissed.


    ¡°We came to look for you all when Gilly came home alone,¡± Dagny explained, innocent and unaware. Liv winced, hugging herself, as she saw the comprehension and then despair play out on Logan¡¯s bruised and lopsided features.


    He did his best to hide his face from his daughter, but Marla latched onto it with the single-minded determination of youth.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Mama?¡± the trembling child asked fearfully. Logan clenched his eyes shut, but the dancing firelight glittered across his tears. Marla began to breathe faster, her voice rising.


    ¡°Papa, where is Mama?!¡± When her father struggled to speak, the child became more frantic. ¡°WHERE¡¯S MAMA?!! WHY ISN¡¯T SHE WITH YOU?! PAPA?!?¡±


    As Marla wound up, growing louder and louder with each moment that her grieving father struggled to find his voice, it was Dagny that came to the rescue. The stocky little dwarf yanked Marla into a hug.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know, Marla,¡± they said softly. ¡°We have Gilly. Once your da¡¯ is safe, we¡¯ll come back. It¡¯s okay. He just doesn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Logan croaked. ¡°No, you two get on Gilly right this instant. You ride hard till you reach town and you stay there!¡± The potency of his demands was lessened somewhat by his reedy, wheezing voice.


    ¡°NO!¡± Marla shouted.


    ¡°Marla, it¡¯s not safe! I¡¯ll look for-¡°


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you!¡±


    Logan was gesturing weakly, shaking as he tried and failed to convince his daughter to keep her voice down.


    ¡°Please. Sweetheart. I need you to listen to me.¡±


    Marla was sobbing now, eyes clenched tight and shaking her head vehemently while Dagny tried to console her.


    ¡°Gilly can¡¯t carry all of us. Your Mama would want you two to -¡° Logan¡¯s voice trailed off as distant echoes of baying hounds murmured their way between the western trees. ¡°Gods, no¡­¡± Logan gritted his teeth, forcing his way onto all fours despite obvious pain.


    ¡°GO!¡± He hissed. ¡°RUN!¡±


    ¡°Mr. Tanner?¡± Dagny whispered, looking more frightened now. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± The hounds were getting nearer now. Logan gave a sharp whistle that had Gilly up and ready in a flash. Then came a noise that made Liv want to throw up. A discordant murmuring from the east had the usually brash woman clutching herself in terror as she slowly backed toward the safety of the hole beneath the pond. Not again. She couldn¡¯t watch this happen again.

 Treed

    Logan looked around, desperation dulling his pains. Cupping his hands he plunged them into the tepid pond and began flinging water onto the meager campfire. When it fizzled out with a hiss and darkness flooded into the camp, Marla whimpered.


    ¡°Dagny, can you see?¡± Logan whispered.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You help Marla. Cover yourselves in as much mud as you can. Quickly!¡± Logan staggered over to the razor grass. He wrapped his tunic around his hand, grasped a handful of grass stalks, and used a hunting knife to cut them short. The kids wallowed, returning for more when Logan told them to get even dirtier. As the hounds closed in and voices could be heard shouting directions, Logan shakily placed each child into the chopped patch in the middle of the razor grass. He then ¡®planted¡¯ the hardy stalks in clumps along their backs.


    Putting a finger to his lips, he began to look for a place to hide himself in what little time he had left. There was no way he could manage the same disguise, he¡¯d never make it and might draw their eyes to the kids. Patting Gilly on the rump to get her attention, he gave the hand signal for ¡®home¡¯ and was pleased to see the riding dog obey.


    A final, rushed assessment convinced him that the mangrove was his best chance. Sliding into the water, grimacing at the thought of how the stagnant pond would surely do his wounds ill, he swam beneath the stilted roots, submerged from the nose down. The mud would hopefully mask the scent of the kids, he had to hope the water would do him the same favor.


    What followed were some of the longest and most tense minutes of his life. His pursuers were closing in on one side, and that¡­ that THING, was penning them in from the other. Only his barren stomach prevented the thought of that sludge of offal from pulling a meal from him. What it did to Liam and Magne before his eyes would haunt him for as long as he lived.


    His thoughts were thankfully derailed when a light poured out like liquid summer, casting impossibly long shadows off of the western trees.


    A slobbering bloodhound bounded forward, shaking off the water from its ruddy coat as a lone man with a lantern trailed behind.


    ¡°OOOOY!¡± the man bellowed as his lamp revealed the still steaming fire. ¡°OVER HERE!¡± Logan¡¯s belly was twisting into more knots than he knew were possible. He risked a glance at the children, pleased to note that they were barely visible, even to his eyes. He turned his attention back to the hunter and discovered that he recognized the man, if only vaguely. He¡¯d never learned the lad''s name, but he¡¯d seen him at the gate when they first arrived at that accursed stead.


    Logan¡¯s hands clenched and unclenched beneath the water as more people closed in. He had no idea how widespread they had become in their attempts to find himself and Emma. He could only hope that there was enough distance between the hunters that only a few of them would be within range. Two more figures waded onto the little isle, a second hound joining the first in sniffing around near the fire.


    ¡°What¡¯d you find?¡± came Erik¡¯s gruff, smoke-hardened voice. Logan¡¯s mouth filled with the slightly salty, green taste of the stagnant pool as he grit his teeth in a hidden snarl. If there was any justice in this world he would choke the life out of that thrice-damned Erik Marsh with his own bare hands¡­


    ¡°Found that fire Hod noticed earlier. Still fresh. Bjarke is pointing at that wet spot. I think the sneak was here,¡± the first man reported dutifully. Logan inspected each in turn, noting that the old man was unencumbered, and the wall-eyed boy that had brought their evening meal carried nothing but a lantern. That left the man with the crossbows and two hounds. In his condition, he didn¡¯t care for those odds, but it wasn¡¯t entirely beyond hope.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Fan out. See if the hounds can figure out a direction,¡± Erik commanded as yet another body, a hardy-looking woman with another crossbow, arrived on the scene and drove Logan¡¯s hopes even deeper into delusion. He¡¯d never be able to run fast enough to lead them away or fight hard enough to take on so many. It was hide or die. Then the bottom fell out of him as he saw the second hound sniffing its way closer and closer to the grass where the children were hiding. Mud or no, too close and that hunting hound would figure them out.


    ¡°I hope you''re not expecting hospitality, Marsh,¡± Logan called from behind a root. ¡°You¡¯re in my house now.¡± Taking a deep breath, he dove below the water, swimming away from where the hunters stood. He emerged moments later, in the Mangrove¡¯s shadow, to hear the latter half of Erik¡¯s retort.


    ¡°- easy on you. Arrows aren¡¯t the worst way to die,¡± the bark-like voice ground out. Logan took a gamble, emerging from the water and diving across the barren length of earth between its shores and the nearest tree. A bolt whistled past him as he hid behind another mangrove.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll be doing you a mercy!¡± His threat was empty. He¡¯d lost his bow. He only hoped they didn¡¯t know that.


    ¡°You¡¯re fooling no one, boy.¡± Erik¡¯s voice was level and cold, not quite masking the sound of approaching footsteps and the taut stretch of a crossbow being reloaded. He could try to keep them at odd angles, but he¡¯d already used what little strength he had left. Gods, he wished he could have gotten somewhere where the children wouldn¡¯t have to see this. Stepping out from the trees on the opposite side of the pond from where the young ones lay, he held his hands overhead. He leveled his most damning glare at the old human.


    ¡°Folk will find out what you¡¯ve done,¡± Logan warned. ¡°Consorting with dark powers? Dabbling in necromancy? You¡¯ve cursed yourself before man and gods alike.¡± The doomed ranger was taken aback when the old man had the nerve to look offended. Erik spat on the ground, face twisting into a snarl.


    ¡°Necromancy? Base, crude fools.¡± He spoke with a bile and venom that honestly baffled Logan. ¡°They make dolls out of bones and think themselves kings of their shallow little world.¡± Erik held a hand out, palm forward, signaling his fellows to hold their fire. ¡°The Black Goat is a goddess of LIFE!¡± He hissed, eyes bulging with rage.


    ¡°¡®?a, Shub-Nighurath¡­¡¯¡± the others murmured flatly, in near unison. They sounded to Logan almost like golems, forced to respond to a keyword.


    ¡°Necromancy¡­¡± Erik hissed in repetition, stepping now between Logan and the tree, facing away from the children. Logan prayed silently, begging any god who would listen that they would return to their stead and leave his daughter be, once they killed him. ¡°The gall of you. First, you claim the seat of the Lord of the Woods as your home, then insult her progeny, and invoke the presence of the petty children you call gods in the presence of their elder?¡± Erik¡¯s eyes were bloodshot, and his skinny neck throbbed in time with his aged heart. Logan realized he was looking at a raving zealot. ¡°Arrows are too good for you. Rejoice, boy! You¡¯re about to learn the truth behind the lies!¡±


    The leathery man pulled an oblong bauble from his pocket. Logan wondered if that madman was about to light a pipe, but when Erik brought it to his lips the lantern light revealed a clay face with a small spout out the back. The morbid bauble was twisted into an agonized expression, and when he blew into it, the sound that emerged was akin to a piercing scream of anguish.


    The cacophony that answered from the darkness to the east was enough to strip Logan of his false bravado and bring his hands down to cover his ears. His every instinct begged for him to shut his eyes. It was better to meet his end in ignorance than see that thing one more time. Through an act of will, he forced his eyes to lock on Erik. Perhaps if he charged now, they would shoot him first? Better that than what was coming.


    How were these people smiling? How did the wails and babbling not pick away at them? Logan grit his teeth and lowered his hands from his ears, bracing himself for one last act of defiance. Maybe he could take this bastard down with him¡­


    Something changed; a silent shift that took a moment to place. The small strip of land on which they stood went from being illuminated by the various yellow lantern lights which engraved features onto the faces of his pursuers, to slowly being overtaken by a deep crimson glow. A curiously misplaced dawn was shattering the night, birthed from beneath the mangrove tree, growing until it turned the band of cultists into little more than blank silhouettes from Logan¡¯s perspective.


    It was a mystery Logan knew he would never solve, as the roiling brew of tormented flesh crossed the shallows from the east. Then all thought of his own end disappeared as a horrid reality threatened to shatter his very being. The children¡­ It was going to pass right over the children. He fought against the very air itself, unable to will his broken vessel to move as he watched the horror emerging from the void of night beyond the isle.


    Then the shapeless mound inexplicably diverted. A boom of thunder drowned out its ravings for a blessed instant as a branch as thick as Logan slammed into the quivering blob.

 Riposte

    A crack of thunder so loud it actually drowned out the mouther¡¯s cries boomed from behind them. Ears ringing, they watched as a crimson light seemingly set the trees before them ablaze. Erik spun to see what new destruction The Lord of the Woods had wrought. The specter that awaited him would have harrowed a lesser soul.


    An ethereal being of swirling jasper light stood atop a pool where he was certain a tree had been moments before. The features were difficult to discern, but she was tall, powerfully built, and had a strange crest of hair that blazed like the fires of Muspelheim itself. The spirit pointed damningly down at them, eyes alight with fury. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream that made the entire pool of water at her feet vibrate and dance.


    Its mute warning delivered, the crimson warrior dismissively turned her back on them. She set the inferno of her gaze upon the mouther, illuminating the many faces of the Black Goat¡¯s spawn¡­ and the titan that stood before it.


    Erik¡¯s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in recognition. So the god-children had come prepared. Somehow they¡¯d known to set down one of their accursed ¡®dungeons¡¯ in advance. This had not been accounted for.


    ¡ª


    The statue in Liv¡¯s hand crumbled to ash as she pulled on the threads that had made up its existence, unraveling it. The burst of energy it released threatened to overwhelm her, making every nerve in her body burn. War drums pounded in her ears, and strange hissing chants echoed in her bones.


    ¡®Iejartiss! Iejartiss! Iejartiss!¡¯


    She felt like she was on a pyre, set alight for her sins. Her nerves were overloaded circuits, slowly burning through her skin to the tune of the strange drums. Liv staggered, reaching out blindly towards the tree as the strange word took on a meaning that her pain fogged mind struggled to comprehend.


    She had to act fast, that thing, that NIGHTMARE was coming! Slamming her hand into the trunk of the mangrove, she shunted the fire from her veins and twisted the threads of the tree into something new. It took nearly everything she had, statue and all, but she knew she¡¯d succeeded when the gnarled knots near the flared base of the trunk shaped themselves into something of a face, two dark pits flashing to life with an animus all their own.


    A sanity-rending howl washed over the island like an incoming tide as the slimy quilt work of faces pierced once more through the misty veil of her dungeon. Screaming in equal parts terror and rage, Liv clenched her eyes shut and instinctively thrust out a warding hand. The boom of thunder that followed nearly knocked her on her backside. The mangrove mimicked her motion, smashing into the gelatinous glutton with enough force to send it rolling obscenely to one side.


    She blinked, briefly stunned, before a flare of hope broke through her haze. Wheeling around, she saw the cultists turning to see what the hell had just happened. Liv pointed down at the old man who seemed to run the show.


    ¡°Your ugly Cthulhu-worshiping ass is next, mother fucker!!¡± she roared, trying just as much to psych herself up as psych him out, before balling up her fist and pivoting back towards the greater of the two evils with a furious punch.


    ¡ª


    Logan didn¡¯t have time to be dumbfounded by the wonders happening before his eyes, he wasn¡¯t going to waste a miracle. The crimson light sent collosal shadows across the marshes to the east, as the strangely spider-like tree slashed and flailed away at the abomination. Lunging to the side he thrust his shoulder into the woman¡¯s groin. He¡¯d been lucky, he was the perfect height. It wouldn¡¯t put her down as long, but Logan only needed a moment. As she doubled over he grabbed the crossbow and aimed it at the other armed man.


    Her reflexive pull of the trigger put a bolt through his chest. Logan abandoned the now spent weapon in her hands, diving to catch the still-loaded one that the pierced farmer dropped in his shock. He rolled in the dirt, trying to aim for Erik, but the squat young man at his side kicked the weapon and sent the bolt flying afield.


    Erik, it seemed, was not a gambling man. Backpedaling westward, he grabbed his son and once again gave a shrill call on that ghastly whistle, pointing at Logan.


    ¡ª


    ¡°What is that thing?¡±


    ¡°Not that! NOT THAT!¡± ¡°IT¡¯S ¡°PLeeEaSe¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still here!¡± EATING ¡°Get it out!!!¡±


    ¡°-help me¡­¡± ME!¡± ¡°Ski¡¯natok!¡±


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Liv felt like her head was about to split in two. Every errant glimpse, each perceived utterance of that demonic nightmare made her want nothing more than to return to her safe little hole at the bottom of the pond. But the Mangrove needed her. It had awoken into a horrifying reality mere seconds ago. It knew nothing. Without her guidance, it wouldn¡¯t even know how to fight at all. But directing her guardian meant observing¡­ IT. If the Mangrove suffered from a similar problem, however, it gave no outward sign of it that Liv could identify.


    The squalid amalgam gushed back and forth in a foul approximation of eukaryotic motility. Howling pseudopods erupted at impossible angles, plowing tortured victims downward to grasp the earth in their wailing maws. More singular of mind than body, it attempted to seethe around the Mangrove at any opportunity. Liv heard footsteps and risked a glance over her shoulder to see Logan limping as fast as he could toward the children.


    She tore her eyes away and back towards the perversion of space, and gasped as the viscus entity baited the Mangrove into a powerful swing and used the opening the slide past it. Now it surged toward Logan, who was unknowingly parroting Liv¡¯s attempts to avoid unnecessarily seeing or hearing the thing.


    ¡°Stop it!!¡± she commanded, and to its credit, the spider-like roots of the Mangrove performed admirably, giving it a shocking amount of agility for a plant. Still, the two titans were neck and neck, and Logan was about to be collateral damage. Flailing in a moment of panic, Liv defaulted to what she knew.


    ¡ª


    Logan was staggering as fast as his wounded leg and bruised ribs would allow, desperate to reach the children. That battle was happening far too close to their hiding spot. He had to get them out of here. He took in the fight mostly via his peripheral vision, struggling to comprehend what he was even looking at. Their savior looked like something akin to a treant, but like none he¡¯d ever heard of before. Low-slung and sprawling, it lacked the vaguely humanoid shape he¡¯d have expected.


    With a wooden groan, it swung a mighty limb in an arc, only to whistle through naught but air as the patchwork ooze slipped by. Logan risked turning to look at the thing head-on, a visceral terror seizing him as certain death barreled in his direction. Then the scuttling tree plowed into the horror¡¯s side.


    Behind the creatures, he could see the crimson spirit seemingly dancing on the water. Her stance was wide and low, as she swung her shoulders up and to the side, finally turning fully away from him. To his amazement, the pseudo-treant followed suit! Sweeping its trunk down and around it slammed its bulk into the gelatinous being in the closest thing to a shoulder check he could envision for such a thing as a tree.


    The red woman slid across the rippling surface, slamming her foot down at a shallow angle toward the feet of an unseen opponent. In that same moment, the mangrove tree used its effective body block to kick half a dozen tapered roots into the ground, THROUGH the flesh of the horror. He couldn¡¯t waste time gawking, who knew how long that would hold?


    ¡°RUUUN!! DARLA!! DAGNY!! RUUUN!!¡±


    ¡ª


    Once a derby girl, always a derby girl. Flat track had never been her schtick, but that J-block had been a thing of beauty.


    ¡°Time to test a theory,¡± she muttered under her breath.


    This thing moved in ways that shouldn¡¯t be possible, but she was pretty sure it still had a finite mass, else why would it bother moving around to reach things? It also looked like it needed to stay in one piece, otherwise, it could have split up to get around the Mangrove.


    ¡°Pin it down and clobber the fucker!!!¡±


    ¡ª


    The children were huddled together, screaming in terror, and Logan shuddered to think what it would take to help them move past this night. If they survived that is. Angling his head for a peripheral glance, he saw that the mangrove had turned the gibbering madness into something resembling a pin cushion. Countless roots plunged through blood and viscera, and heavy branches were pummeling down upon the writhing conglomerate in a frenzy. He grabbed the kids, dragging them out of the way, and towards the line of trees on the western shore. He didn¡¯t know if those trees could move too, but he wanted any chance he could get.


    The crimson glow illuminated every blow and grapple exchanged in the melee. Kneeling in the crux of another mangrove, he hugged the children to his chest and leaned against the bark to catch his breath. He was about to try to snap the children out of their terrified stupor and get them on their feet when a new sound joined the fracas. A rolling, metallic cackle. Glancing up into the branches of the tree, he spied two great corvids perched above. One leered at the bloody battleground with an interest beyond that of a normal carrion feeder. The other, to his shock, was laughing.


    ¡±Excellent indeed, brother! Excellent indeed!¡±


    ¡ª


    The bestial intellect behind the countless heterogeneous eyes seemed to finally conclude that the interloper had to be dealt with if the desired prey was to be caught. Like a whip at the apex of its arc, the adipose pool changed tactics. A churning, gut-twisting sound bubbled from within. Then one youthful eye clenched in pain as the mouth right in front of the knotted head of the tree stretched obscenely wide. The yellow, viscous bile that it vomited forth caused the Mangrove¡¯s bark to sizzle and blacken.


    The Mangrove twisted on its stilted roots, turning the damaged side away from the still-open maw. Whimpering like a sickened child, the mouth began to fold inward. It began to shift through the strange angles of the beyond to re-emerge elsewhere. Scum coated waters flared, waves beating at the shores in warning as the crimson woman silently pointed. The planted roots were slowing the Mangrove down too much to react. The tide looked to be turning in favor of the enemy.


    Salvation came in the form of dozens of green tentacles. Vines as thick as a grown man¡¯s arm whipped down from the canopy of the defender, snaring the gaping upper jaw as Koosh took advantage of the element of surprise. The Mangrove rolled, its hefty trunk yanking to one side like the mast of a ship in a storm. Wood bowed. Vines creaked. Three beings waited to see who would falter.


    The moist ripping of living skin accompanied a brackish eruption of a fluid interior before it was drowned out by the pained squealing of countless mouths. Dangling vines whipped their prize around overhead, reveling voicelessly in a barbarically primal victory. The mangrove twisted, spinning to plant the rest of its roots into the enemy in a predatory display of dominance.


    The crimson specter¡¯s teeth were bared in a furious cry as she made a rending motion with her hands. The Mangrove seemingly needed no further prompting. Countless branching limbs drove wooden stakes into the leathery dermis, shredding the ragged wound ever wider. The wrinkled extensions flailed in a cephalopidic bid for survival, only to be batted away by the frenzied symbiotic vines.


    ¡ª


    Logan stared mutely, as whatever spirit it was that haunted this place fell to her knees. The black night seeped back into the area as her body dimmed. In the fading glow, the tree half-heartedly inspected a few errant scraps of offal before tossing them languidly aside. Scarred and broken in many places, it slowly lumbered back into the pool from whence it had come. The settling of its weight into the soft mud sounded almost like a sigh of contentment.


    The warm bundle in his arms shifted, and he noticed that the children¡¯s screams had faded at some point into quiet tears. Marla turned to look back over her shoulder towards the dormant pond.


    ¡°T-thank you, red lady.¡±

 The Manglegrove

    The giant crouched, looking over the top of the canopy with a sour expression. It scratched loudly at the dark bristles growing from its ruddy cheek, and the bulge below its bottom lip shifted disturbingly beneath the skin. The massive pockmarked face pulled inward before the flabby monster spat a brown chaw bullet into the damp soil.


    ¡°How will we know it¡¯s the only one?¡± it boomed. ¡°Could¡¯ve made more since it took down the mouther.¡± The flabby creature shifted in its coarse brown tunic to look back at its companions. The other two sat a little ways off, with the broad, square-shaped one using a branch to draw in the dirt while the smallest of the three stirred an enormous cauldron.


    ¡°Once the fire topples that mangrove, you send Bjarke in and see if anything bites,¡± the square slab ordered.


    ¡°What?! You ent¡¯ tossin'' Bjarke to the wolves!¡± the smallest cried out, causing the larger two giants to round on it with a sound like earthquakes shaking underfoot.


    ¡°Shut it!!¡± the spitter hissed, holding a finger to their lips.


    ¡°Less you want it to be us!¡± the slab added in a hushed warning.


    That seemed to shut the smaller titan up for a time, the broad expanses of their splotchy face looking chagrined. They silently dipped a wooden shaft topped with a soft-looking ball into the cauldron. It emerged coated in a dense black ooze.


    ¡°How long till it¡¯s ready?¡± Spitter asked Small.


    ¡°Mornin''.¡±


    ¡°How many can you make?¡± Slab asked, tossing a huge log onto the bonfire below the pot.


    ¡°Only need one,¡± Spitter objected.


    ¡°We have plenty,¡± Small answered the original question.


    ¡°Best do at least three. Just in case,¡± Slab said with a restrained, rumbling laugh, prompting Spitter to hock another foul wad of chaw into the fire with a sizzling hiss.


    ¡°So Torulf shoots the tree. It burns down. Then we send Bjarke in to see if the coast is clear,¡± Small pondered. ¡°If it is, then I guess I go down and grab the core. But what do we do with it after?¡± Slab¡¯s answer was to pull a hefty metal hammer from his broad belt and thump it heavily into the ground.


    ¡°And what do we do if the blasted thing just extinguishes itself?¡± Spitter asked Slab. It was Small who answered, though.


    ¡°Plan B,¡± they explained, pulling out a shiny bauble filled with thick amber fluid. ¡°I¡¯ll toss it and we¡¯ll run. We¡¯ve only got the one, though, so we¡¯re saving it in case we need to cover our exit.¡±


    Scout shifted his roots carefully, sliding ever so slowly to one side until a towering cypress stood between himself and the giants. Breaking camouflage, he dashed between broad fern leaves as big as he was and made his way over to a sprawling mangrove. The low branches with shallow angles were easy enough to climb, giving him some much-needed elevation.


    Perching atop a thick knot, Scout dropped a tiny wooden cylinder at the end of a long hemp rope. Snapping his arm upward, he put his all into swinging it four times overhead as fast as possible, before slowing down for three lazy arcs. The result was four piercing whistles and three low warbles. In the distance, many trees away, he heard the return call as Saboteur passed along the message, followed by Bushwhacker, and then the quiet echos of Sharpshooter after that.


    Winding up the whistle, Scout jumped down to the ground and made for home. He would draw his pictures and tell his tale to the core. The core was wise. She would know what to do about the giants.


    ¡ª


    Torulf Marsh sat in the strong branches of a cypress, eyeing the hellish tree that had been twisted into a thing of blasphemy. It made the plum-soaked leaves in his mouth turn bitter at the thought. Below him, Bard used a polished metal disk hanging around his neck to silently get his attention with a flicker of light. Once they made eye contact, Bard gestured carefully.


    *All clear?*


    Torulf scanned the little islet again, seeing no sign of movement or life, and gave a slow nod.


    *Gunnhild go south. Listen for crow before fire.*


    Bard¡¯s signals were primitive but effective. Torulf nodded again and the stocky wall of muscle below handed up his bow before pulling out two axes of his own. Gunnhild must have reached her place because a moment later he heard the echoing caw of her crow impression. Smiling smugly to himself, Torulf notched a pitch arrow and steadied himself on his branch. He hoped this thing worked like Gunnhild said. If it failed to ignite on impact, they were going to have a pissed off tree and a world of problems¡­


    ¡°Time to burn,¡± He whispered under his breath.


    He straightened, setting his shoulders and drawing back the bow as he aimed. A loud *SNAP* came just an instant before the blazing line of pain sliced into his face. Blood blurred his vision as he pinwheeled, the world tilting away from him before the earth itself bludgeoned his kidneys with a ferocity that had him wondering if he owed it money.


    Bard winced at the hollow thud of Torulf¡¯s body hitting the ground. Dropping all pretense of stealth, he lumbered over toward his fallen kin.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°Torulf! What happened?¡± The question answered itself as he reached the downed archer. The bowstring had snapped, whipping across Torulf¡¯s face and giving him a nasty gash. He bent down, offering a hand to help him off the ground.


    He¡¯d been about to grab Torulf¡¯s forearm when the larger man staggered, hopping slightly as a sharp pain lanced through his calf. The beefy man twisted awkwardly in his leather cuirass and grabbed at a slender shaft of wood protruding from just below the back of his knee. He yanked it out with a grunt as Torulf groaned, and stared in disbelief at the six-inch shaft half stained with his own blood.


    ¡°What the feck?¡±


    A high-pitched trilling cut through Torulf¡¯s pained exclamations and the distant caws of an increasingly confused Gunnhild. Bard took up a ready stance, favoring his injured leg, and looked upward toward the source. There, perched some fifteen feet up on a branch, was a tiny humanoid figure. The little wooden man gripped the branch with root-like toes and was spinning something on a short string over its head that seemed to be the source of the trilling whistle.


    Bard¡¯s expression furrowed into a scowl, as he snarled through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Leshies¡­¡±


    In a smooth, practiced motion, the leshie snapped its hand down so the whistle wrapped swiftly about its waist, using its other hand to point ominously down at them in a silent order. Bard was pulling back, preparing to throw an axe at the thing, when the foliage around them seemingly erupted with tiny projectiles.


    ¡ª


    Gunnhild was crouched low, obscured by the tall grasses on the opposite side of the islet from the others. She had her hands cupped to her mouth, about to try a final, louder bird call, when she heard the screams. Something had gone wrong! The damned tree was still rooted in the pond, so there must be another threat.


    Springing onto the balls of her feet, she dashed northward towards the shouting and curses of the others. When she heard her brother¡¯s shriek of agony, she abandoned all caution. She¡¯d just have to hope that the tree¡¯s senses ended at the islet¡¯s shoreline. She cut across, sprinting along the edge of the shallow stream.


    ¡°TORULF!!¡±


    There was a crackle of bending wood as the accursed tree seemed to wake. To her horror, the mangrove was lumbering north, towards the others. It began weaving between the more mundane mangroves, moving like some verdant arachnid, trying to reach them. She couldn¡¯t take the time to divert her path close enough to the thing to make use of the alchemist¡¯s fire. She had to reach the others first. From the denser foliage ahead, Bjarke¡¯s furry bulk shot like an arrow, yelping in pain as it bolted past her. On the heels of the hound, she could see Bard¡¯s silhouette plowing through the last of the shrubs.


    ¡°BAR-¡° The cry died on her lips as the world around her spun into darkness.


    ¡ª


    Bard only realized Torulf had fallen behind when he heard the archer¡¯s plea from further back in the brush. He paused, looking back in time to see Torulf fighting with a dense patch of razor grass. He was trying to free his clothes from their grasp when the next volley fell from above. A slender sharpened stick pierced the bloodied man¡¯s eye, eliciting a scream of agony as he tumbled back into the tall grass.


    Bard wanted to turn back, but the barrage of tiny spears had him so harried that he dare not. The shafts that hit his armor bounced uselessly off of him, but it felt like every patch of exposed skin was bristling with the things. And they burned! Keeping his guard up to protect his face from spears and branches alike, he drove blindly forward to escape the onslaught.


    When he stumbled out from beneath the shadows of the trees and onto the shore of the delta, he was finally able to part his guard enough to see. Gunnhild was sprinting in his direction, and the pair had a fleeting moment of eye contact. Whatever she¡¯d been about to say was brutally silenced as a thick, gray-green vine snatched her ankle out from under her.


    Bard skidded to a halt as his cousin¡¯s face smashed into the ground with an audible crunch before she was rolled upwards into the dense canopy by the assassin vines. His adrenal haze parted for a transient breeze of reason, and he saw this for what it was. A trap. Another sharp pain stabbed into his shoulder as those demon leshies tried to drive him into the assassin vines.


    In the distance, Torulf went suddenly silent. This wasn¡¯t supposed to happen this way! There had to be a way out. Bard¡¯s frantic scan revealed a hole in the dungeon¡¯s plan. The tree. The tree was gone! It must have followed the screaming to Torulf and finished him off. Protecting the right side of his face from the leshie¡¯s tree-line defense, he pivoted towards the stream and charged across the water.


    He had to move fast. If he could reach that core and smash that red bitch to pieces, everything else would unravel. He just had to be faster than a tree¡­


    ¡ª


    Liv stood beside her guardian, which was hidden amongst the other mangroves that lined the western shore of her little island. She watched with an oddly blank expression, hands on her hips, as the big guy dove head first into the green pool that had once housed Masque¡¯s den.


    ¡°Not the sharpest tool in the shed, is he?¡± she asked in a flat imitation of her usual humor. Giermund pulled its head out of the water to look at her, uncomprehending. At least that¡¯s what she told herself it was. A wooden face and green glowing eyes didn¡¯t make for much range in emotional expression.


    ¡°Never mind¡­¡± she sighed, shaking her head and patting the scarred mangrove¡¯s bark. Her expression darkened into a grim resolve. ¡°Just grab him, and fetch the other two. I have a message I want to send to these cultists.¡±


    Liv turned away as Giermund strode into the water and pulled out the screaming man. Closing her eyes, she took several slow, deep breaths. She¡¯d spent days obsessing over this dilemma, trying to prepare herself. Logically speaking, the answer was simple.


    The muffled complaints of the other two captives were coming closer, barely audible over the cries of the man in Giermund¡¯s massive claws.


    ¡°Simple arithmetic, Liv,¡± she whispered to herself. They were monsters. They were aligned with whoever made that abomination. They were murderers, either content with or possibly even in favor of the summoning sanity shattering elder beings. Beyond even that, she couldn¡¯t risk them getting back home with information on her defenses. The leather clad punk widened her stance, setting her shoulders in a pose that projected a strength and conviction she didn¡¯t feel.


    ¡°Do it,¡± came the simple command to her forces.


    It had to be done.


    Simple Arithmetic.


    ¡­


    So why did the massive rush of SP feel so tainted?


    ¡ª


    Erik Marsh stood at the gate to the stead, eagerly awaiting news. The trio had been sent out nearly a fortnight ago, and his nephew a week after, when they hadn¡¯t returned. Holda had wanted to be there with him to see what word there was of her husband, but he¡¯d sent her off with the comforting lie that he was certain Bard was fine. As one of his nephews rode hard towards the gate on his exhausted sway-backed horse, Erik already knew what was coming.


    The wiry teen¡¯s steed barely kept its feet as the boy reached him and dismounted. The boney young man looked a touch faint, with dark circles under his skewed eyes. Erik spoke before the sweat-soaked lad could have a chance.


    ¡°They¡¯re dead,¡± the old man said gravely. It wasn¡¯t a question, though he answered it as if it had been.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he wheezed. ¡°I found them. F-found their¡­ their um¡­¡± he trailed off, disturbed. That gave Erik pause. He¡¯d seen to it that all the Marsh children were raised with a firm hand and a strong stomach, knowing they¡¯d need both. What could have the boy so rattled?


    ¡°Bodies?¡± he supplied, curiosity overcoming his disdain.


    ¡°Yessir,¡± the boy (Sveinn? It was hard to tell; his sister¡¯s brood all looked alike) spoke in a shaky whisper.


    ¡°Then where are they?¡± Erik asked frostily.


    ¡°I c-couldn¡¯t reach them. They were up¡­¡± the boy gulped. ¡°Up in the trees.¡± Erik pinched his nose at that, sighing deeply.


    ¡°The dungeon must have more than one treant. You did the right thing running back as quick as you could. Go get cleaned up.¡±


    ¡°S-sir? There¡¯s more,¡± the boy shuffled uncomfortably, shivering despite the afternoon warmth. Erik looked back up to meet his eyes, staring silently until the rider got the hint to continue. ¡°They weren¡¯t just dumped up there. They were¡­ They¡­¡±


    ¡°SPIT IT OUT!¡± Erik barked, losing patience and not looking forward to passing on the grim news. The lad went rigid as a board and squawked.


    ¡°There was a message!¡±


    Erik lifted one bushy gray brow and held out his hand for it, but the younger man shook his head.


    ¡°It was with them. On them. Something carved it into them¡­¡± The nauseous looking boy knelt shakily on the dirt path. ¡°I didn¡¯t recognize the symbols,¡± he explained, running his finger through the dirt. When he was done, he looked up at his Uncle. ¡°What does it mean?¡±


    Erik pulled out a pocket-sized leather tome, glancing at the familiar scrawl, and recited a brief incantation. The foreign letters twisted and rolled into more familiar runes as the spell translated the phrase before his eyes. Just three words.


    ¡°BEWARE THE MANGLEGROVE.¡±

 Making Connections

    Liv looked up from her doodles as the pre-dawn light finally shot rays of warm sunshine across her thatch of razor grass. Her little ¡°Character Sheet¡± display had lacked¡­ well¡­ character. So lately she¡¯d been spending her least productive hours of the night just drawing up new options to see what took. Now that the sun was up, though, her little world would soon begin to wake up. Getting to her feet, Liv began her morning routine. She¡¯d always had a strict morning process when she was alive, and had recently decided that the fact she no longer slept was no excuse to drop the habit.


    ¡°Morning Giermund,¡± she said gently, rousing the drowsy mangrove. The tree shivered, slowly lifting its beetle-like head from the water to acknowledge her. ¡°And Koosh!¡± she added, waving upward.


    ¡°Hey Scout,¡± she chuckled. The little guy was always quick to rise and waved excitedly at her every morning. Bushwhacker, on the other hand, rustled his leaves a bit in recognition of the greeting but made no move to budge from his resting pose. And so she went, walking casually to each of her plant¡¯s preferred spots. Saboteur, Sharpshooter, Raider, Harrier, Tracker, Ambusher, Berserker, Kneecapper, each one got a warm greeting as the sunlight touched their leaves.


    As the slowly building rush of vitality that came with the sunrise warmed the specter of the core, she looped around her small but ever-expanding universe. Far from the tiny puddle that had once been her domain, Liv had managed to claim a whole second islet to the west and had just recently started to explore the edges of a new shore.


    The best part, though, the single greatest quality of life improvement she¡¯d managed since the day she landed in that puddle, wasn¡¯t anything tangible. No, the thing that was currently putting a smile on her face was finally figuring out the MATHS!! It had taken her ages to brute force her way through everything, but she had eventually reverse-engineered the numbers!


    Every forty square feet added 1 to her maximum SP pool. Meanwhile, she¡¯d worked out what different types of foliage averaged in SP regen per hour, with her mangrove trees being the best by far at about .25 SP per hour. Why was this simple knowledge such an amazing godsend?


    BECAUSE SHE NEVER HAD TO DO THE DAMNED SKEETER EXPERIMENT EVER AGAIN!!!


    Even now that thought alone brought a smile to her face. No more mathing out how her regen and summoning speed impacted the test results. Now she could track her expansion as a function of time and SP investment, and then plug in a few simple numbers to figure out how that expansion impacted her overall resources. Five minutes of math each night had replaced an arduous, day-long slog every week and she was absolutely over the moon about it!


    Walking to the edge of the world, she saw the edges of another stream trickling by her toes. Nearby sat a miniature reconstruction of what supposedly lay beyond the stream, as observed by Scout. Her shrubs had proven to be more clever and resourceful than she¡¯d originally thought, but they had a habit of only really caring about what plants were present when drawing a map. Everything was always ¡®six trees that way, just past the fern¡¯. Which is why this map had her so confused. It had the usual twigs and leaves marking trees and shrubs, but every inch between them had been covered in fine black gravel. She really wished her little shrubs could speak, because she had no clue what that was supposed to mean.


    Glancing down at her character sheet, she quickly recalculated her existing totals and nodded to herself.


    Lifting her hand over her head she slashed it downward, dumping about 120 SP into the single push. The fog swirled away from her as though she¡¯d cleaved it in two, forming a path across about eight feet of stream.


    Crossing along the surface of the water at a casual stride, the diligent dungeoneer stepped up to a three-foot ledge of packed clay. Atop the miniature bluff was a wall of trees so dense that, had she still been corporeal, she¡¯d have had a hard time squeezing between them.


    ¡°Oh¡­ So that¡¯s what the gravel was for.¡± Liv¡¯s voice was softened by something akin to awe. The canopy here was so thick and packed together that it dammed in the shadows to form a reservoir of night. The sparse weeds that grew along the little cliff tinned out into almost nothing the further back into the grove she looked. A fibrous creak and soft thump heralded the arrival of Scout. The little shrub clung to a thin woven rope that he¡¯d used to swing across, and which he now pinned under a stone the size of her palm.


    ¡°I see what you meant now,¡± Liv said aloud to her non-verbal companion. ¡°This is gonna be a problem.¡± If the grass wouldn¡¯t grow here, then claiming the territory would have to be done the slow and expensive way unless she could find a solution. With a sigh, she set her hands against the smokey gray barrier and pushed it a touch further, giving it an additional four square feet back into the shade.


    The city-dwelling punk didn¡¯t have a particularly clear concept of what plants might grow on shady forest floors, but if she could find something already living here, then maybe she could put it to use. Liv knelt between the tangled mangrove roots and took a centering breath before opening her eyes to a world of threads and magic. To her surprise, despite nothing being visible on the surface, the damp soil here was positively TEAMING with life. The tangled snarl of threads in the soil reminded her of the networked roots of her grasses, but nothing was showing through.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°Hey Scout? Can you come here a second?¡± she called over her shoulder. Scout scampered and scrambled between the roots until he was at her side, looking curious. ¡°Can you please dig up a bit of the dirt? Just right here?¡± she pointed at a barren patch of soil. Without a second thought, Scout plunged long, sharp, wooden fingers into the soil and yanked out a big clump of dirt and¡­ Something. Liv knelt, squinting at it, and realized the dirt was laced with hair-thin pale fibers. Fungus! She wracked her brain for the right word for the little subterranean fibers but was drawing a blank. Myconids? No, that was a fantasy creature. Though that did give her some fun ideas¡­ Later! Right now she needed to learn more.


    Looking once more at the threads of life that laced through the area, she tried to see if there was a source for the fungal roots that she could tap into. If she could claim that, then maybe she could use it to grow into this dark region. Laying flat on her belly, she scanned the leaves and detritus for maybe a mushroom cap or something.


    Scooching along on her stomach, her search came to a sudden halt. Not because she found what she was looking for, but rather because she¡¯d discovered something she hadn¡¯t been. The fiery punk¡¯s eyes went wide as she brought her nose so close to a large mangrove root that her pupils were practically crossing. She watched as a slow pulse of energy moved through the fungal threads just as with any life form she¡¯d seen. However, she was stunned to see that the strange threads of magic wove not only through the fungus¡­ but into the root of the tree.


    Unlike every other living thing she¡¯d encountered so far, this fungus seemed capable of somehow connecting threads between separate entities.


    ¡ª


    Logan steeled himself against the pain. His leg still hurt when he put his full weight onto it, but it wouldn¡¯t be wise to walk into The Wainwright¡¯s Weal with a limp. These sharks could smell blood a mile off. With a crack of his neck and a set jaw, the dusky-skinned ranger walked through a door he¡¯d not seen in nigh fifteen years as though he owned the place.


    The den hadn¡¯t changed a bit. The same odd assortment of crate and barrel tables, circled by mismatched chairs and stools. The walls were draped with colorful fabrics, both to insulate the space as well as hide hastily patched wooden walls and more hidey holes than a constable could shake a stick at. Even the pervasive smell of tobacco smoke and moonshine felt familiar.


    A handful of larger folk were scattered amidst the tables, no doubt arranging business before sneaking out one of the countless back exits. But they were the guests here. The regulars were his folk. The packed tavern was bustling with Halflings. Everyone was welcome in the Weal, but this was their place.


    Logan strode in, schooling his expression to hide the lingering pain, and sat himself atop a waist-high log, turned stool. The familiar impressions of a carved cat brushed against his palm, bringing a half smile to his lips. His seat was still here. Hopefully that was a good sign, he honestly wasn¡¯t sure what reaction to expect from his former mates.


    ¡°Alley Cat?¡±


    The old name slid onto him like a well-worn shoe. Turning, Logan saw a face that made him nervous, even if it was one of those he¡¯d been hoping for.


    ¡°Malcolm,¡± he cautiously greeted his one-time partner in crime. The nut-brown face was creased and wrinkled now, and the fence¡¯s hairline had receded to nearly halfway up his head. Malcolm had been none too happy with him when he left the life. There¡¯d been enough barbs slung between them over it that they¡¯d barely spoken since.


    The hairs on the back of his neck lifted when the tavern din softened into a murmur. Apparently, his presence had been noted. Logan tensed, ready to dive for the door or grab his boot-knife as Malcolm closed the distance between them. A few others around the room stood or turned to face them. This had been a bad idea.


    ¡°Wait Mal, I-¡° Logan¡¯s plea was cut short as the grizzled man pulled him into an uncharacteristically comforting hug. Blinking in shock, Logan tried to process this new behavior. This wasn¡¯t something Malcolm would have done even back when they had called each other brother¡­


    ¡°I heard about Emma,¡± Malcolm said softly, though his voice managed to carry in the sudden silence that now dominated the tavern. Wordlessly, other patrons made their way over to circle around them. Some he knew, others he¡¯d never so much as spoken to. Tears stung at his eyes, now. He¡¯d almost forgotten what this felt like. The near-instant solidarity, the almost familial bond. Fifteen years and he was being welcomed back with open arms like not a day had passed¡­


    ¡ª


    Malcolm sat across the crate from him in a driftwood chair of his own making.


    ¡°You¡¯re daft,¡± he said around his pipe, as he tried to strike a match to light it.


    ¡°Is it daft to want to protect the people I love from whatever madness has seized the Marsh family?¡± Logan whispered fiercely.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s perfectly understandable. You¡¯re¡­¡± Malcolm paused as the match caught and he took several drags to start the burn. ¡°You¡¯re daft to bring it here.¡±


    ¡°Where else could I go, Mal? There¡¯s not one arbitrator in Nj?rvenn that isn¡¯t in the old man¡¯s pocket! If there was anywhere I could go to be beyond the reach of his money-¡° Logan was cut short by Malcolm¡¯s husky cough of laughter.


    ¡°Alley Cat, if you think Halvard¡¯s money don¡¯ reach here then your head¡¯s gone as soft as your gut.¡± Logan suppressed the urge to point out that he was probably in better shape than his old partner, in favor of staying on topic.


    ¡°That racist old bugger? Here?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯ got to like a man to like his money.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s enough of our folk down at the docks. What about Connal? Doesn¡¯t his family still work down there? Him or his have got to know something about Old Marsh¡¯s dealings?¡±


    Malcolm pulled his pipe from his mouth by the pot, flipping it to jab the bit in Logan¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Don¡¯ waste your time. Connal¡¯s bought,¡± he explained in a more serious tone, dropping his voice. ¡°Ol¡¯ Halvard got him named wharfmeister. Loves to claim it¡¯s because he¡¯s ¡®one of the good ones¡¯ but we all know it¡¯s just because Connal¡¯s got a sharp mind and a soft spine. Now I¡¯m tellin¡¯ you, Alley Cat, leave it lay.¡± Malcolm leaned back, putting his pipe back in his mouth and taking a drag. ¡°Go home. Mourn your wife, comfort your daughter, and forget about Halvard Marsh. If not for your sake, then do it for Marla¡¯s.¡±


    Logan sat for a long, quiet moment, staring over Malcolm¡¯s head at the dancing flames of a lantern at his rear. His grim expression slumped into one of resignation, and he pounded back a tumbler of clear moonshine before getting to his feet.


    ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll be off then.¡±


    As Logan stepped out into the night, lit now by the waning moon, he kept his posture slouched and defeated. In the shadows of his hung head, a victorious smirk was hidden. So Limp Connal was the wharfmeister now?


    Good¡­

 Iejartiss

    This new grove was going to be a problem. Liv huffed, the metal spikes on the shoulders of the jacket clinking soundlessly with the motion. Without the grass to expand her borders the cheap way, all she could do was manually push them outward. If not for the truly LUDICROUS amount of SP regen this many trees would get her, she¡¯d have been sorely tempted to just see if she could go around it.


    But the trees here had to number in the hundreds, all densely packed together too. Even if her maximum pool didn¡¯t increase as much, that much regen would likely have her refilling her reserves in minutes as opposed to hours. At least during the day. That pot was just too sweet to pass up.


    So she continued pushing westward, pushing a ten-foot wide swath in seven-foot increments every few hours. She hoped to find the source of those little fungal roots soon; something she could claim and replicate herself in order to save on this expansion effort. What she was discovering so far was that the further in she moved the larger the trees were, causing broader expanses of bare, shaded soil to appear between them. She¡¯d just discovered a larger clearing where a few faint dapples of fading daylight managed to pierce through to the soil below when an uncomfortable feeling licked its way up her spine.


    The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she whirled to see what was behind her. The distinct impression of being watched from the shadows dominated her senses. Almost immediately the formerly familiar sensation became foreign. The sense of ¡®being watched from behind¡¯ wasn¡¯t usually grounded in an objective direction, yet as she turned Liv felt the impression of ¡®presence¡¯ remain as steadfast as a stone. Eyes that had widened in fright now squinted in confusion as Liv looked back and forth, feeling the sensation slide across her mind¡¯s eye as surely as a compass.


    Starting back towards her core, she moved cautiously until she heard a familiar faux bird call. Her shrubs had found something! Sliding between tree trunks, the athletic specter reached the ledge and coiled her long legs beneath her. With a mighty spring, Liv launched herself across the ten feet of water and came down running.


    ¡°DON¡¯T BE CULTISTS. DON¡¯T BE CULTISTS. DON¡¯T BE CULTISTS.¡±


    Liv hoped her silent chant could at least be heard by whatever gods still gave a shit. She lengthened her stride as the trees thinned, charging across the top of the second stream before finally skidding to a halt next to Giermund¡¯s pond. The first good sign was that her favorite mangrove hadn¡¯t moved an inch. The acid-scarred guardian seemed to be passively observing the newcomers while absorbing the last fiery rays of the setting sun.


    Six figures stood on the eastern shore of the pond, five of which, to her intense relief, appeared to be lizard people. The sixth, she discovered, was a stone statue that had certainly not been present when she left that morning. Judging by the ropes and such still tied to it, she guessed they had just finished erecting the thing, and now one of them was lighting a campfire.


    Further inspection of the strange new gift was forestalled, however, when Liv got a closer look at who had delivered it.


    ¡°KERMIT!!¡±


    The pond rippled happily with her exclamation as she dashed up to the one-armed lizard man. There was an exciting moment when he turned to look at her, but Liv quickly realized he was actually just facing the sound of the moving water.


    ¡°Dude! You¡¯re alive!¡± Liv didn¡¯t even care if nobody knew she was there, she was just overjoyed to see a familiar face. ¡°You made it, you absolute LEGEND!!¡± She cheered, causing another burble from beneath Giermund¡¯s roots.


    Oblivious to her commentary, ¡®Kermit¡¯ gave a low bow towards the middle of the tiny pond. The other four glanced between each other and then followed suit. Formalities seemingly concluded, her asymmetric acquaintance turned back to the others and began to speak animatedly. The language was still gibberish to her, all hissing clicks and glottal stops.


    Kermit ducked low, undulating his tail as he spoke. His guttural narration dropped to a low, hollow whisper as his good arm stretched out to sweep across the clearing where the fire was starting to crackle to life. Liv found herself not even caring that she didn¡¯t understand a single word, the art of a well-told story crossed that boundary for her. She just crossed her legs and sat at his feet to watch the tale unfold.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Gesturing to his eyes, he cast his clawed hand outward again with an expression of a hunter about to pounce on prey. Then the breathy syllables surged into a furious snarling cry, punctuated by the tip of his scaly tail slapping the water and sending a spray of droplets over the ¡®empty ground¡¯ where Liv sat. She stared upward, her expression tumbling from the precipice of enraptured innocence into a haunted realization.


    /Flecks of water fell slowly all around her./ Kermit mimed the explosive upward surge, his empty hand pulling up and back- /holding his spear aloft like it was a lightning bolt from Zeus rather than a flimsy sharpened stick./


    A stream of incomprehensible exposition must have painted quite the picture for the others, but Liv couldn¡¯t drag her eyes away from the one-armed warrior as he undulated, and moaned in an impression of the horrid aberration. The others were just as absorbed in the tale as she was, though they lacked the trauma of true memories to darken the moment. The storyteller grasped an invisible blade and stabbed toward the stump on his other side. Liv recoiled, swearing she could hear the sound; /the wet snaps of cold-blooded veins as they pulled taut and gave./


    Crab-crawling backward on her hands and feet, Liv pulled herself back towards the fire as though the warm light could banish the frigid memories.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Liv. It¡¯s dead. It¡¯s gone,¡± she reassured herself, turning it into a mantra and curling her knees into her chest. Her mumbled chant was broken when the sound of someone settling in on her left startled her out of her loop. Beside her lay another of the reptilian visitors. Smaller, with a longer torso and more serpentine physique, this one had two frilled crests running down its neck as opposed to one. This one lay on the ground beside the fire and began to twist and turn its hands in the air above it. Liv was trying to suss some meaning out of the movements when Kermit began to speak again and the others turned their backs to the fire. When the warrior lent his singular hand to complement the movements, Liv finally put two and two together and looked away from the flickering light.


    Long shadows stretched across the ground as curled digits and rolling knuckles formed a roiling, fluid shape. Kermit¡¯s hand and wrist stalked across the earth in a spidery flurry before a digit snapped out towards the rolling shadow.


    ¡°Wait¡­ I know what this is,¡± Liv whispered. ¡°That¡¯s not possible. You weren¡¯t th-¡°


    Her objection was silenced by the first familiar word she¡¯d encountered thus far.


    ¡°Issk¡¯a¨¢n na he¡­ Iejartiss s¨¢!¡±


    The smaller of the pair turned its hands, creating an elongated humanoid silhouette on the ground.


    Now the reason for the strange method of delivery became clear. They must have seen the shadowy silhouettes of the fight from somewhere to the east, backlit by Liv herself.


    The tone of the storyteller¡¯s voice became harsh and forceful as the humanoid shadow waved and danced, each motion being loosely mimicked by the tree. Soon the rolling mass returned, flaring out into tendrils that seemed to flicker and writhe in the shifting firelight, only for the tree to pounce upon it and elicit cheers from the watchers. They celebrated the battle like an epic of old, relaying the details of a glorious victory that ran counter to Liv¡¯s memories of blind panic and terror.


    Kermit stood from his place by the fire and walked over to the statue, pulling some kind of weapon from his belt. Gone was the flimsy fishing spear, replaced by a broad, flat, wooden club. The wedge-like edges of the thing boasted sharp-looking teeth of knapped jasper, giving the primitive sword a bloody and ferocious look. The massive reptile¡¯s features were thrown into sharp relief by the fire, lending him a primal, predatory bearing. He looked down his snout at an unseen enemy, pointing his bloody neolithic blade at some tiny target of his ire, face drawn into a snarl.


    With a jolt, Liv finally saw what was happening here, watching in shock and horror as he mimicked her own pose, pointing damningly downward at that old cultist.


    ¡°Iejartiss! Iejartiss! Iejartiss!¡±


    The chanting sounded so similar to that which she¡¯d heard when that little wooden idol had unraveled in her grasp. The name that the magic had burned into her mind, meaning and all. The watchers cheered him on. He basked only for a moment before turning to the statue and thrusting his blade into the air, joining in the chant. Only now did Liv finally stop to take a good look at the thing.


    Its feral, toothy grin combined with the bulging, rage-filled eyes to give her a bloodthirsty look. A crest of the same jagged jasper that made up the warrior¡¯s weapon made her look fierce and sharp and deadly. Her spiked leather jacket had been exaggerated by the artist into terrifying spines and armor, making her look less like a punk-rock artist and more like a literal demon.


    Liv stared at the new idol in horror as her stomach knotted up. This was how they saw her?


    Images of the three cultists being hauled away by Giermund came to her, unbidden. She hadn¡¯t had to stomach to watch the deed, but she had felt the chemical rush their deaths had caused and hated herself for it. She¡¯d told herself it was nothing personal. A necessity. Simple arithmetic¡­


    Now she was looking through a mirror, darkly; and the beast that was looking back was all too deserving of the name they¡¯d given her.


    Iejartiss. Blood-Warrior.


    She¡¯d once sat before the ravens and claimed an aversion to violence, calling herself an artist. She¡¯d wondered how and why the gods would have chosen her of all people, for this. This hungry, ferocious stone demon was a physical testament to her hypocrisy. The truth had just slapped her in the face, and she was feeling the sting.


    She had wanted to be peaceful. She¡¯d worn the persona of the harmless artist like a cloak, warding off the cold harsh reality. As cold as the stone mirror before her. This was what this new world had made her into¡­No. Even before the thought had fully formed in her mind, she could practically feel the stone demon¡¯s judgment. Its feral grin perforated her lie with unbidden memories. Fired like arrows tipped with truth, they peppered her from within and poked holes in the comforting stories she told herself.


    She had always claimed to only fight in self-defense, but the feral idol giddily reminded her of the perverse satisfaction she¡¯d taken in it. She protested that she¡¯d never set out to cause anyone harm. The hungry statue mockingly asked her why, then, had she had a knife on her the night she was killed? Whatever had caused her demise, she certainly hadn¡¯t hesitated to confront it with a switchblade in hand.


    She hadn¡¯t wanted to kill those cultists¡­ Had she? Was this what she really was? The ravens had seen it. These people saw it. She could try to lie to herself, sure. She could deny it all day long. But what was the point? After all¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s not like anyone can hear me, anyway...¡±

 Discovery

    The soft mat of damp detritus within the shaded grove worked in tandem with the dense foliage to swallow sound almost as surely as it did light. Dark, warm, quiet, Liv could have come to like this spot, if not for the frustration of her slowed expansion and the time that reduced pace allowed for her to brood in her own thoughts. The mushrooms had proven to be less than ideal for her usual method of expansion, so her breakneck pace had been brought to a screeching halt and replaced with the monotonous slog of manually claiming every square inch by hand. With a sigh, she stood up and rolled her shoulders.


    ¡°Alright, Saboteur, let¡¯s get back at it,¡± Liv said flatly, her tone almost mechanical.


    The shrub slumped dejectedly and nodded. Of all the duties she assigned them, ¡®census duty¡¯ was the most universally hated. Somebody had to keep count of how many trees she claimed while she was pushing her borders, but spending time in the dark doing such a dull task was something they all loathed. Little Sabo had, in this case literally, drawn the short straw today.


    Setting herself against the border, she frustratedly mulled over the potential reasons the mushrooms weren¡¯t working in the same way as her grasses. Saboteur was loping up to count the newest tree trunks when a bone-rattling horn boomed out from the misty border. The distracted core was jolted from her musing with a yelp and the scare sent the tiny shrub diving for cover. Liv crouched, muscles tensed, looking into the mist.


    ¡°What the hell was that?!¡±


    The closest thing she could compare it to in her mind was a trombone with a mute. Even in this sound-dampening grove, it had been loud enough to rustle some low-hanging leaves. She could just about make out the silhouette of someone crouching with their arms held oddly at their sides. She was about to call out for the others when a four-foot-tall bird strode across the border.


    The ethereal punk¡¯s confusion was swiftly subsumed by awe as she got a proper look at the thing. Covered mostly in glossy black feathers, the creature boasted powerful-looking legs and hooked talons. That, however, was where the similarities to any known ¡®bird¡¯ ended; because it also had a long tail and a slender toothy snout.


    ¡°Ho-ly fu-king shi-it¡­¡± Whelp, there went Defcon 1. She was pretty sure her mother would have understood, given the circumstances. It wasn¡¯t every day one saw a flesh and blood DINOSAUR! The raptor-like creature walked into the clearing, head swiveling about in quick avian ticks. The prehistoric beast flared its nostrils, taking a few sniffs as huge yellow eyes scanned the dark. Fear forgotten, Liv just circled the creature in a slow walk, shamelessly gawking. There was a FUCKING DINOSAUR in her dungeon!!


    Its long neck curved slightly bobbing its head back and forth as it walked, taking long strides till it reached a more open space. Standing up as tall as it could, the inky theropod tipped its head skyward and inhaled deeply. The predator¡¯s black feathered neck inflated dramatically revealing strikingly bright blue skin beneath the midnight plumage, and the muted horn boomed once again. Two short blasts and one long, low note growled out from the swollen throat.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Liv whispered to herself. No way it was hunting, if there was game within a quarter mile it was probably hiding now. That horn sound was loud. She circled the mysterious monster again, utterly enthralled. She had so many questions! What was it? How was it here? Had the dinosaurs never died out in this world or was this creature a genetic throwback? Had this ancient species been brought forward somehow, or was it some modern descendant of those prehistoric creatures?


    SO. MANY. QUESTIONS.


    A deep rumbling sound came from the north, reminding Liv of a cold semi engine trying to turn over. She and the beast turned toward the noise in excited unison, and from the shadowed mists of the beyond stepped a second theropod. This one was significantly larger, standing nearly a foot taller than the first. The mottled brown hunter lowered its head and rustled its plumage, once again producing a bass chugging with a force Liv would have expected more of a locomotive than an animal.


    Every moment only brought more questions! Was this some kind of mating dance? What were these things? Their three-toed feet had the distinctive sickle claws, yet they were way too big to be velociraptors. She wondered if they could be utahraptors, but dismissed that idea as they were too small. Gods, what she¡¯d give for a smartphone right now!!


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The more colorful one stood up as tall as he could, bearing his throat and booming once again. When the larger female didn¡¯t leave he began to shimmy from side to side. With another trio of booming calls, he extended his arms down and outward, revealing a hidden array of iridescent blue-green feathers that shimmered in the sparse dapples of light that managed to break the canopy.


    All of her questions fled Liv¡¯s mind, banished by a child-like wonder at this display of Cretaceous romance. The female watched this for a while, eyes roaming over the male as he danced and preened for her. He wove slowly back and forth, sliding in with each motion and closing the distance between them. With a chuff, the female seemed to come to a decision. At the next pass, she lunged forward and snapped her jaws just inches shy of the male''s exposed throat with a terrifying speed and ferocity. Both Liv and the male instinctively scampered back a few paces at the aggressive display, before the female gave a warning growl and fled back into the mist.


    Liv panted, hand over her heart as she recovered from the scare. The male, however, seemed undeterred and proceeded to give chase. As the second theropod vanished into the mists, the lonely core was left standing in the shaded grove staring after them.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡±


    She felt a familiar spark within her. An almost chemical spike that pierced through her recent malaise like the sparse Jacob¡¯s ladders that speared the leafy blanket above. This place wasn¡¯t the whimsical fantasy she¡¯d hoped for, true. It could be dark, terrifying, and awful. But she¡¯d only seen one tiny little piece of this amazing new world. There was still so much she wanted to discover and explore. She had so many more questions in need of answers.


    Liv turned back toward the border she¡¯d been working on, smiling for the first time in days. Saboteur was hiding there, posed as an innocent shrub beside a small patch of white-capped mushrooms. She was about to tell him it was time to get back to work when her eyes drifted back to the mushrooms. The things hadn¡¯t been useful for quickly spreading her territory, so she¡¯d dismissed them. Now, though, she felt the familiar itch to explore something new. The border could wait a bit¡­


    ¡°Come with me,¡± she beckoned her little shrub. ¡°I want to do an experiment.¡±


    ¡ª


    Liv lay comfortably in the soft loam, staring intently at the roots of a mangrove nearer the creek, allowing Saboteur to sun himself a bit. Of all the things she¡¯d seen so far, these mushrooms were the only one she¡¯d found that seemed to be capable of tying the threads her second sight revealed to OTHER organisms. She watched now as those same shimmering lines of magic slowly pulsed back and forth between the pale fungal tendrils in the soil and the sturdy root of the tree. The two were definitely sending signals or energy of some kind back and forth.


    She remembered some random YouTube science channel she browsed talking about fungal networks and trees distributing nutrients or something like that. Was that what she was seeing? There were definite input and output threads, each one signaling in one direction. Shaking her head, she cleared her vision. The thousands of connections were too complex to study. She needed to simplify it.


    ¡°Fern,¡± she said casually, tossing a few SP to grow just a tiny little leafy plant in the sunlight. ¡°Mushroom.¡± The fizzle-pop of a new entity preceded the emergence of a pale mushroom cap emerging in the shadow of the tree a foot away. Liv pinched her fingers as if holding an invisible brush and let the fibers of the imagined tool gently paint a shimmering thread into existence from fern to fungus.


    She watched in curious amazement as pulses flowed down her new thread from the fern, causing the mushroom cap to subtly thrum. Licking her thumb, Liv smudged the thread out of existence. The thrum flared into a glow all its own.


    ¡°Huh¡­ Mushroom.¡±


    A second white cap sprouted in the dark, damp soil, glowing identically to the first. Liv painted a new thread, linking the first mushroom to the second. The first sent gentle pulses down the line, and the second dimmed and thrummed just as the first had done. What was going on here?


    With a flourish, she swiped her mental brush along the fading glow where the first thread had been. As the brighter flow of energy flowed from the fern to the first mushroom, it dimmed. The trickle flowing to the second mushroom slowed, and that one began to glow with life once again. A distant flicker of an idea was forming in her mind now.


    ¡°Saboteur! Come here, buddy!!¡± Liv waved energetically to the shrub, which came to her side with a questioning look. ¡°I want you to stand over this little fern and shade it,¡± she explained. The shrub looked confused but did as asked, casting the leaves of the tiny plant in shadow. The flow slowed dramatically, though didn¡¯t disappear entirely. As it did, the first mushroom flickered to life, and the second dimmed. Saboteur looked up at her, wondering just what all this meant.


    ¡°Stay there. I need to try something.¡±


    Liv smudged out the first thread again. The mushrooms remained unchanged. Replacing the thread allowed that tiny trickle to return to the first mushroom, and they flipped.


    ¡°Okay, step back,¡± she whispered, grinning. As sunlight returned to the fern the mushroom got a more potent flow of energy, yet the state of the caps flipped once again. Liv pondered the new lifeform, ticking off what she knew on her fingers.


    ¡°So it can form connections between itself and other entities,¡± she explained, touching her pointer finger. ¡°It can relay signals from one entity to another,¡± Liv¡¯s expression was growing more excited now. ¡°It has two states, AND¡­ it detects changes in the connected organism and signals when that state changes¡­¡±


    Holy shit. Suddenly she felt bad that she¡¯d blown Defcon 1 on a dinosaur because if she was right then this was WAY more important. Liv¡¯s Cheshire grin was accompanied by an almost giddy snicker. To think, she¡¯d almost dismissed these little guys! Saboteur was looking at her like she¡¯d lost her mind, obviously failing to see what was so interesting about the silly mushrooms.


    ¡°Those fucking cultists won¡¯t know what hit them.¡±

 Keeping Time

    There was plenty ill to say of ol¡¯ Limpy, but Connal¡¯s books were fresh and his locks were old, so Logan couldn¡¯t complain. Not being a seafaring man, himself, it had taken him a while to sort out what the damned books even meant. Once he¡¯d figured out the departures, arrivals, cargo weights, and the rest, he¡¯d eventually been able to pinpoint just one ship that stuck out. Every other name in the books went out in the morning and came back before the end of the day. All but the Marsh Company Ship, ¡®Her Frigid Peaks¡¯.


    That lone boat was due to return only each fortnight and always after dark. Which was why he was currently crammed into the claustrophobic crevasse between two massive wooden crates. It was his third night spent in this uncomfortable post, and he was starting to wonder if perhaps the god of the seas had decided to take offense at the captain''s little joke of a name.


    ¡°Gods below¡­¡± he grumbled quietly, trying to shift his weight enough to get feeling back in his arm. The bags beneath his eyes could probably hold more than his bloody haversack at this point. Just trying to keep himself awake was proving a challenge after three sleepless nights and caring for Marla during the day.


    So it was honestly a mercy when his half-dosing mind was roused by the sound of boots on wood, followed by the clatter of a bell. Adrenaline raced through his leaden limbs, and Logan wriggled forward from his prone hiding spot to peek around the edge of the crate. Connal stood on the end of the dock, a bell in one hand and a lantern in the other.


    ¡°Limpy¡¯s takin¡¯ the night watch himself, eh?¡± Logan muttered under his breath. The soft-bellied Halfling turned, squinting into the darkness. Stifling a curse, Logan ducked out of sight. He was too damned tired for this. He doubted he¡¯d actually been overheard, but it was a stupid mistake nonetheless.


    When he eventually slithered forward enough to peer around the edge of his hiding place once more, he cast his gaze into the night beyond the balding Connal. Nowhere in the ledgers had the type of boat belonging to each name been mentioned, with only the shipment weight giving any hint as to size. ¡®Her Frigid Peaks¡¯ always seemed to bring in a modest tonnage that lined up with the other ships in the company¡¯s employ. So it was somewhat of a shock when the ship that glided into the starlit port was no mere trawler.


    Logan mouthed a silent expletive as he gawked. ¡®Her Frigid Peaks¡¯ was a bloody Herring Buss?! The two-masted monster could easily carry a crew of thirty, maybe more. Good gods, he¡¯d known the old miser was well off, but he¡¯d had no idea old Halvard Marsh was THAT rich. With a sinking feeling, Logan realized that the size of the boat may be the answer to why I was out to sea longer than any of the other boats. Was he wasting his time? The sound of horses and wheels clattering on the dock shook him from his pessimism.


    No. No this had to be something. Why else dock at night? Why didn¡¯t it bring in far more fish than the others? This was definitely off! Glancing around the corner again, the reformed thief saw that the crew had begun offloading oblong boxes while he¡¯d been busy arguing with himself. He watched as burly sailors hauled nearly two dozen boxes onto a pair of carts pulled by draft horses. It was over and done in less than a quarter hour, the sailors retreating to the ship whilst Connal and a man Logan presumed to be the captain stood down the dock a ways and conducted the business.


    This was it. He wouldn¡¯t get a better chance. Slipping from his shadowed crag, the Halfling slid silently down from the crate and wove between the storage containers toward the wagons. He was all too aware of how alone he was out here. He had to be careful. If he was caught¡­ Well, Marla needed him.


    Slithering through the darkened gaps, and dodging the flickers of lantern light as if they were a headsman''s ax, he eventually reached a precarious ledge of light. He could go no further towards the wagons without being seen. This would have to do. Logan pulled a spyglass from his satchel, keeping it wrapped in a dark kerchief to prevent the shining metal surface from reflecting some errant particle of firelight. Putting it to his eye, he scanned the visible faces of the oblong crates for some hint of their contents.


    The burned label of the nearest visible box claimed it was 30 stone of¡­ Mangos? The port listed on the box was Gr?nnsi. Logan¡¯s face twisted into a deeper state of befuddlement. They had sailed all the way to the Southern Isles for FRUIT?! Since when did Marsh trade in exotic fruits? And 30 stone?! Good gods, what were those Mangos made off, pig-iron? None of this made any sense.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Logan kept his smirk tight-lipped to hide his teeth, as he silently slid back into deeper shadows. He had no idea just what he¡¯d found, but it was clear he¡¯d found something. Weaving between barrels and cargo winches, Logan moved off the dock as swiftly as he could, making his way into a dark space between two marketplace shops. Those carts would be off before long and he had to have a vantage point on them.


    The slow groan and wooden clatter of heavy wagons starting to turn put the spurs to him. With a deep breath, Logan spread his arms and legs wide and planted his hands and feet against the opposing walls of the narrow space. Sweating with the effort, he shimmied upward until his right hand caught the ledge of the building, allowing him to grasp the roof and heave himself up onto it. He was gasping for air, but already the clopping of the draft horses was echoing on the cobblestone of Market Street.


    ¡°No rest for the wicked, Lightfoot¡­¡± he panted. With a quick touch to his trusty boots, he uttered the keyword. ¡°Alley Cat.¡± The moment he felt the enchanted tingle against his ankles, he grit his teeth and set off at a sprint. The magic took some of the weight of his tired bones off his hands, allowing him to sail across alleyways and bystreets. He didn¡¯t need to stay directly atop the carts, he only needed to glimpse their direction of travel and keep them in earshot.


    Bounding from roof to roof, he lived up to his given name. He took no pride in his past thievery, but he couldn¡¯t argue that his father¡¯s training served him well even now. As the sky brightened with the coming dawn just over the horizon, the smell of baking bread wafted up from the bakery he landed upon before his pursuit came to an abrupt end. The two carts pulled past the last structure before the city wall and Nj?rvenn¡¯s western gate.


    ¡°Bullocks!¡± Logan hissed in a whisper. The sun was about to come up, and the land around town was kept clear and open specifically to maintain visibility in case of an attack. He¡¯d have nowhere to hide if he chose to carry on after them. Not wanting the rising sun to draw any eyes toward his silhouette, he laid himself flat on the eastern slope of the bakery roof and pulled out his spyglass.


    He settled in to watch them for as long as he could, wanting a clear picture of their heading at least, but was pleasantly surprised when he didn¡¯t have long to wait. The carts only went a little ways out of town before turning northward, down a narrow path that would lead them to the hilled expanse of the Nj?rvenn Barrows. Logan frowned, stifling a yawn. There was nothing for it. That road only led to one place, and there was no way he¡¯d be able to investigate it now. With a groan of frustration, he slid backward and then down off the roof.


    ¡°Time to play the waiting game¡­¡±


    ¡ª


    An empty pond stood utterly still, decorated only by a lonely stone idol and the whorls of yellow-green pond scum. Only buzzing swarms of mosquitoes gave the islet any motion or life.


    ¡ª


    The western islet copse was silent. Small hutches and half-finished towers made out of living saplings and woven grasses lay abandoned and unmanned. Even the favored sunning spots of the resident foliage were empty.


    ¡ª


    The shaded grove echoed with laughter that bordered on maniacal. The mangrove roots were crammed with tiny, wooden figures as the dozens of shrubs crowded in to see what had the core in such an uproar. Even Giermund stood in the distance, leaning to and fro to try and see between the dense forest of his fellow mangroves. At the center of the dark clearing, the crimson specter stood amidst a circle of mushrooms.


    Liv crouched, admiring her fungal fairy ring. Her plants were looking at her like she was insane, but they would understand in time. Beneath the surface, invisible threads linked each mushroom in a sequential loop. What her companions couldn¡¯t see was the rhythmic pulse that ran along the circumference, echoing from cap to cap. Her various tests told her that this should work, but this was the moment of truth.


    She bit her lip, stilling hands that wanted to tremble in excitement, and painted a simple glowing circle in the air above a lone mushroom that stood outside her circle. With a centering breath the ethereal woman didn¡¯t actually need, she carefully painted a thread from the lone mushroom to the image she¡¯d made. She gave a tiny gasp as she felt the thread connect, latching itself to her simplistic floating image. The sound of her soft exclamation echoed outward, rippling through the shifting leaves of the assembled shrubs.


    Liv¡¯s smile widened into a broad, toothy grin. A final stroke of her fingers drew a shimmering wire of magic from the mushroom in the ring that was nearest her little outlier. The grove burst into a flurry of motion as the assembled plants reacted to the visible manifestation of the formerly unseen machinations. The looping signal of the ring split at that one point along its edge, sending a pulse through the lone fungus to the simple image, which began to flash on and off in regular intervals.


    The newly reinvigorated dungeon core jumped to her feet, mirth bubbling over into an almost mad cackling. The metallic studs on the shoulders of her coat clicked and jiggled as she thrust both hands into the air and spun about in victorious celebration, crackling with laughter at her success.


    ¡°How about that?!¡± Liv roared upward into the canopy, holding her middle fingers skyward. She doubted the ravens were watching, but it made her feel better anyway. When her arms lowered, she dropped one and swung the other in a broad arc westward.


    ¡°Look out, Fantasy Land!¡± she cackled, then clenched her outstretched hand into a fist. ¡°Mama just invented the clock!!¡±

 Making Moves

    Logan crept cautiously through a night as dark as his mood. Emma¡¯s mother had given him an earful, berating him for being out all night and barely awake when Marla needed him. It stung most because he knew it was true and yet there wasn¡¯t a damned thing he could do about it. To ignore the problem was to invite death upon them all¡­ Besides, sleep was just as much his enemy as Marsh.


    Pulling his lucky coin from his pocket, he cupped the glowing disk in his hand and used the narrow shaft of light to follow the ruts of laden wagon wheels left over from the previous night. He didn¡¯t like it out here. The grassy mounds of The Barrows each stood to remind him not only of his loss but the fact that Emma would never rest with her kith and kin. Logan shook his head, blinking back tears, and refocused on his task.


    The tracks were hard to follow, crossing constantly with older wagon trails, but he managed to trace them to a mound on the western edge. The large hill was surrounded by an oblong ring of foot-tall standing stones in the vague shape of a ship. That gave him pause. That hadn¡¯t been the fashion for many generations, this mound was old. Probably so old that none were left that would visit it.


    Pocketing the light, the stealthy hunter double-checked that he was alone in the moonlit barrow before making his way around to the eastern edge of the grave.


    ¡°Baldr¡¯s Balls¡­¡± he hissed, cursing his luck. Newer barrows sometimes had doors, but the older graves often just had the entryway blocked off by a large slab of stone. ¡°Of course. Wouldn¡¯t be fun if it was easy,¡± Logan joked dryly. Even a cursory examination of the area revealed that while the stone had been moved recently, he was entirely incapable of replicating that feat by himself.


    The cloaked Halfling grit his teeth, clenched fists shaking with rage before he kicked an errant stone and sent it bouncing along the ground. What was he supposed to do now?! He couldn¡¯t move the stone himself. Mal had told him it wasn¡¯t safe to hire local help if he wanted to keep his investigation a secret. Anyone he could trust enough to involve, he also cared too much for to ever do so. It would likely be another fortnight before Marsh¡¯s goons returned here, and even if he waited he doubted there¡¯d be any way to sneak past them and investigate what was in those crates without being spotted.


    Seething, he paced back and forth. He couldn¡¯t let it end here. He couldn¡¯t stop now. He couldn¡¯t¡­ He couldn¡¯t allow Emma and the others to have died for nothing. Fury and desperation seized him and with a cry of rage, Logan lashed out and punched the stone slab. There was a loud crack.


    ¡°FUUUUCK!!¡± Logan screamed, cradling his bloodied hand and what was surely a broken knuckle or two. He bit down hard, grinding his teeth and cursing his stupidity. Not like this. He couldn¡¯t let it end like this, there HAD to be a way! As he tried to refocus his thoughts, he slowly brought his labored breathing back under control. Only when his ragged panting quieted did he hear the distant echoes from the west.


    Drums. The Skethna had been camped on the eastern edge of the delta, leaving many in Nj?rvenn on edge; but they hadn¡¯t attacked any more homesteads since that first night. Stepping around the burial mound, he could see the distant pinprick of firelight from their camp. A pinprick that crackled and flared into the tiniest candle flame of an idea in his mind. A mad idea.


    The lizardfolk were savage, man-eaters with little concern for the morality of most other folk. However, they weren¡¯t impossible to treat with if you had something they wanted.


    If¡­


    ¡ª


    Drums rumbled through earth and air, ear and bone. A rhythmic chant of caws and warbling cries echoed in a hissing tongue. The usual campfires had been foregone in favor of a single massive bonfire, and titanic shadows danced across the wetlands. The hulking males sat or stood in small clumps, drumming, stomping; their fleshy dewlaps swaying below upturned jaws. Around the fire, the females danced. Their longer, more serpentine torsos undulated as they spun blazing torches overhead.


    All eyes faced westward, toward The Stilts, where shifting dapples of crimson light passed through the canopy and reflected off the low clouds that were rolling in. The smooth, steady thrum of the music was pierced by the sharp warning cry. One of the females had paused in her spinning, pointing a clawed hand eastward. The song quickly dissolved into chaotic notes and broken rhythm as the camp jumped into action, ready for whatever threat had been spotted.


    To the east, just barely within the reach of the firelight, stood a massive shaggy hound. Saddled upon its back was one of the hatchling-folk. One of the younger warriors hunkered down, tensing for a pounce and grabbing his spear. K¡¯sak reached back with his good arm and grasped the handle of his gro¡¯ca, letting the firelight give the knapped jasper blades an intimidatingly bloody shine.


    ¡°Wait,¡± he hissed, holding the stone blade outward to block the younger warrior¡¯s path.


    ¡°Why?¡± Lurkit snapped, teeth bared and tail twitching. K¡¯sak gave only a low, rumbling hiss in response. The younger warrior seemed to rethink his challenging tone and begrudgingly offered a submissive duck of the head.


    ¡°The hatchling-folk is unarmed. First, we see why it came. If it causes trouble, THEN we eat it,¡± the one-armed warrior explained. Striding forward, K¡¯sak kept his eyes firmly trained on the outsider, but he heard the rustling of grass as other warriors joined him. The tiny being stopped at a respectful distance, slowly raising its hands in the air.


    ¡°Peace,¡± it cryptically claimed. ¡°I gift you.¡±


    K¡¯sak¡¯s head tilted to one side, and he awkwardly glanced at his brothers. They all looked as stunned and confused as he felt.


    ¡°I Peace!¡± the little hatchling-person repeated emphatically. ¡°I buy gift you help. Much gift-¡°


    ¡°Enough.¡± The lighter, hissing, airy voice of the clan Druid spoke in foreign words K¡¯sak did not comprehend. ¡°We understand your words.¡± Logan blinked in surprise, having not expected that at all.


    ¡°You speak the common tongue?¡± he fumbled, momentarily off guard. It was evidently the wrong thing to say as the speaker growled, clearly offended. ¡°Of course! Right!¡± he floundered, perfectly aware of how dangerous this was.


    ¡°My apologies. I have brought you gifts. May I dismount and retrieve them?¡±


    The speaker muttered in low, guttural hisses, to the others, before giving Logan a tip of the chin that he took for a nod. Keeping his movements slow and steady, he slid off of Gilly and took his haversack off the saddle. Producing a hefty leather bundle, he glanced once more at the Skethna before rolling it out. Two quality deer hides, a brace of rabbits, and a handful of metal knives and hatchets he knew the lizardfolk would value highly. The clan was gathering around now, maintaining the distance but crowding together to see what was being offered.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The speaker snapped out arm out, bone necklace rattling as he silenced the others.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Good will,¡± Logan explained. The lizard seemed lost, so he explained further. ¡°I offer these gifts to show that I wish to be your ally.¡± The speaker mumbled a translation to his fellows as Logan spoke. ¡°I think we have a common enemy.¡±


    ¡°What does it know of the enemies of the Skethna? It is a trick.¡± Snarled one of the larger warriors. The Druid acknowledged the question and then relayed it.


    ¡°What en-eneny do you share with the Skethna?¡± the lipless translator inquired with some difficulty.


    ¡°The Marsh¡¯s.¡± When the Skethna only looked lost, he tried again. ¡°The¡­ the monster?¡± Logan shuddered as he realized he¡¯d have to be more specific. ¡°The beast with-¡° he took a shaky breath. ¡°With many mouths.¡± There weren¡¯t words. Logan wanted to be clearer, to convey the unnamed horror to these people, but he didn¡¯t know how.


    ¡°The voice stealer,¡± the scaled shaman affirmed. ¡°Flesh that flowss like water.¡± Logan nodded emphatically.


    ¡°Yes! Yes, that!¡± Logan agreed, pointing towards the speaker. The lizardfolk around him glanced down at the finger, frilled crests raising in offense. Logan swiftly caught his apparent error in foreign etiquette and retracted the digit. ¡°Sorry! Yes, that is the enemy I was referring to.¡±


    Turning to face the others, the speaker translated for his fellows. The results were mixed, to say the least. Logan didn¡¯t understand the hissing and spitting of several of the larger ones, but he knew a display of dominance when he saw it. The one-armed reptile, whom he¡¯d have expected to be of lower rank in such a militaristic culture, stepped in front of the larger one and planted the tip of his fierce-looking stone weapon into the dirt, making a loud gurgling cough. After a moment, the larger of the pair ducked his head and stepped back.


    ¡°They did not v-velieve you,¡± the translator explained. ¡°Now K¡¯sak sayss you sfeak the truth. He saw your¡­ grik¡¯nak?¡± he stumbled. Luckily Logan knew that one.


    ¡°Mate,¡± he said numbly, then; ¡°Wife.¡±


    ¡°Yesss. He sayss-¡° he was interrupted by the larger lizardfolk then, who snapped a question. Logan only caught something about ¡®eat¡¯ and ¡®hatchling¡¯. The wiser reptile hissed threateningly, a spark of magic making his fangs grow and eyes shine like some aspect of a serpent. If the speaker''s goal was to cow his fellows, it certainly worked. Logan took note, do NOT interrupt this man¡­


    ¡°Why do you seek the Skethna?¡± the Druid translated after a long moment, reverting to a more normal shape. Logan took a deep breath. He had to sell this. He¡¯d heard that the lizardfolk, while potentially ruthless, erred towards the pragmatic. Of course, he¡¯d also heard they occasionally ate people, so he was definitely taking a gamble.


    ¡°The enemy has you surrounded. They are in the west, yes, but now they also have a foothold in the east. In Nj?rvenn. I am trying to rout them out and weaken them so that they cannot cause more harm. But¡­¡± This was his biggest hurdle. He had to pray that his request didn¡¯t come off as a sign of weakness and backfire. ¡°But I am alone. We can do more against this enemy together than we could apart. And!¡± he cautiously opened a saddle bag, revealing glass phials of healing balms and medicinal salves, all courtesy of the late Magne. ¡°I am willing to pay for your assistance.¡±


    ¡°What do you want of uss?¡± he hissed, seeming suspicious. Logan decided to err on the side of directness and honesty.


    ¡°The Marsh family,¡± he began, then clarified ¡°the ones who summoned the¡­ voice stealer. Well, they are hiding something in the barrows. It may have to do with their plans for Nj?rvenn and the Skethna. I need help to be able to reach what they are hiding, and possibly steal it so I can reveal their plans to others.¡±


    For a long moment, while this was relayed, he was left to wonder if this was all a terrible mistake, but then the translator nodded.


    ¡°We need to discusss thiss,¡± he explained simply, motioning for the others to retreat a ways and convene. Logan stood awkwardly, one hand on Gilly¡¯s saddle, and allowed his gaze to wander over the rest of the small tribe, and then beyond to the strange crimson aurora that was dancing in leafy dapples along the rolling bottoms of the low-hanging clouds. It could only be the red ghost of The Stilts, but what in the worlds could it be up to?


    The shifting light faded slowly, dimming to just swirling specs of reflected light before narrowing into a single red circle, reminding him of some kind of illusory blood moon. The circle began to shrink as he watched, shadows spiraling inward to close it off. He practically jumped out of his skin when the raucous cheers of the Skethna clan erupted.


    Just what the hell was happening over there?


    ¡ª


    The time had finally come. As much as she¡¯d come to think of it as home, the pond was old news. It was too open and difficult to secure. Honestly, this had been a long time coming, but her recent discovery had given her the perfect idea for a new base of operations. It was time to upgrade her core room.


    The jagged jasper-like core crystal had grown substantially, and unlike the dim red glow it had once emitted the huge stone now blazed with light. Liv had forgotten how ODD moving felt. Actually moving, that is. Not just shifting her spectral projection around. As Giermund stalked along, swaying gently in an asymmetric gate, Liv felt the world tilt to and fro despite her vision remaining perfectly steady.


    The dungeon was on high alert. Giermund clutched the core like a protective mother holding a newborn. The mangrove¡¯s canopy looked bulkier and shaggier than usual, the result of being ridden by every one of her shrubs. Perched and at the ready in the branches above, they scanned the night for threats. This was definitely risky, but if she was right about this then her new core room was going to be a game-changer.


    After what felt like ages they finally reached the shadowed grove. The living wall represented the beginning of the most dangerous part of this journey. Giermund couldn¡¯t fit through the dense trees here. She felt the world swing around without visibly moving, as her guardian held her core aloft for the symbiotic vines of Koosh to take over. The mangrove leaned as far inward as the opposing trees allowed, allowing the shrubs to dismount and Koosh to very gently lay the core upon a woven grass mat. About half of the shrubs took positions all around it while the other half picked up braided, fibrous ropes and began to pull.


    The journey was nerve-wrackingly slow, but the vulnerability of this move meant that the utmost caution had to be observed. Winding around trunks and under roots, they bathed the formerly dark grove in bloody shades of red light while Liv wished she could still bite her nails. So it was a glorious moment of relief when the combined efforts of the various shrubs managed to roll the core through the final wedge-shaped gap and into the small clearing.


    What had been a more naturally occurring space between a dense body of mangroves had been widened slightly, and had its circumference made even more absurdly dense with the addition of newly grown trees. The gap they had come through was the lone point of access and egress in what amounted to a circular fortress of living wood. But that was just the icing on the cake.


    The real advantage of this space came from the pulsing forest of mushrooms. Multi-colored caps dotted the ground, the roots, some even grew out of the wood of the trees that made up the walls. And between them all ran her carefully laid out networks of invisible threads. As her little verdant denizens finished rolling her thrumming core to the space she had indicated for it to reside, all of the shrubs entered the space and raised their arms in a voiceless celebration.


    ¡°Alright lads, let¡¯s get this show on the road!¡± Liv held out her arms, fingers splayed, and pushed the SP outward from her core and into the mundane mangroves. With a twirl, she lifted her hands upward and twisted them together, pulling leaf and root and limb together into a dense dome that sealed away her crimson blaze.


    ¡ª


    The twisted trunks of a tupelo copse jutted out of the sloping earth, like the knobby fingers of some colossal hag long buried in the muck. In the palm of this proverbial hag, a squat, soft-looking figure sat fidgeting. He hid in the shadows between the bloody shafts of light from the east, untying the laces of his oversized boots. Eyeing a sleeping caiman at the edge of a murky pond, he prepared to make his move.


    Once free from the leather confines, he flexed stubby toes at the ends of lengthy feet. The round figure squatted low to the ground before slowly extending one leg sideways and shifting his weight onto the ball of his foot in a slow, fluid movement. His heels never touched the mud, giving the flabby figure an almost satyr-like bearing as he smoothly slid towards the water with a grace that shouldn¡¯t belong to such a creature.


    As he stepped into the dim red radiance, Hod held a clay jar in trembling hands.


    ¡°Ever your praises, and abundance to the lord of the wood. ?a Shub-Niggurath.¡± The slow, half-swallowed prayer was barely more than a whisper. The jar opened with a moist sucking sound, and a fleshy wriggling squicked subtly between the breathy rasps of the leaves above. Hod slid back a step as a massive black slug slid into the cloudy water.


    ¡°Bless us, great fecundity,¡± the doughy boy continued, his thick voice shaking as he quickly slunk towards the trees. ¡°May thy vessels burst with life.¡± The slug lifted its viscous, eyeless head from the water, tiny tendrils at its tip tasting the air before it lunged at the caiman. The apex reptile woke with a jolt and snapped its jaws uselessly as it tried and failed to dislodge the creature. The black mass sank itself into an unsightly bulge beneath the scales, piercing flesh like a gelatinous tick.


    Soon the frenzied movements became more erratic. The spasmodic seizures of the beast caused large splashing waves in the shallow swampy water. Slowly, agonizingly, the caiman stilled. As the crimson light shifted angles, the cold-blooded predator opened eyes as black as pitch.


    The shifting light reflected briefly off of the pool, illuminating Hod with long crimson shadows from below. It flowed up his flabby forehead, and high cheekbones, lending his brows a grim ridged arch. The light glimmered off of his blunt, gapped teeth, and made the cleft bisecting his upper lip look bloody and raw. His eyes looked in both directions at once and bulged with an eager anticipation that aligned itself perfectly with the shaking in his voice and the madness in his grin.


    ¡°?a Shub-Niggurath, the black goat of the woods with a thousand young¡­¡±

 Potential Exponential

    Waves rippled through the air in the distance as the noon sun pierced the thinning canopy. The core grove stood like a wall of wood and shadow to the east, with dapples of mangrove scattering out from it into the western marshlands like blueberries from a dropped basket. From between their towering forms, a tiny figure cautiously ventured into the more open spaces.


    The exploratory foliage looked all around before pausing to stretch out its arms and bask in the sunlight for a moment. Then, somewhat reluctantly, it set itself back to task and began examining the area. The land to the west was a sodden marsh, dappled with only the occasional tree, a lot of grasses, and foamy green puddles. Unspooling a tiny wooden cylinder attached to a thin woven rope, it made two broad, slow circles at full extension before pulling the line swiftly in towards its lifted hand, exciting a quick series of high-pitched chirps. Then it slowed for two more circles before doing it again.


    The speedy pulses relayed its identity, how many trees past the last expedition it had traveled, and that a change in the foliage had been found. Hearing the call picked up by another ranger to be passed back home, the little shrub nodded to itself and continued on. It made a broad circle around the nearest shallow pond, pausing at something that looked like some kind of very large nest or bed. It eyed the eggs within for a moment and then pulled out the whistle again. The whistle was spun in a complex pattern, warbling out three repetitions of the nocturnal Chuck-Will¡¯s-Widow signaling a possible threat in the area, before it stowed the item once again and hurried back towards more familiar trees.


    The humid air was alive with chirps and buzzing, still but not silent. Then the swift fibrous brushing and thumps of footsteps on grass drowned out the white noise of the drifting mosquitoes, as a dappled brown theropod sprinted over to the nest. It reared upward, standing tall to inspect the area for the source of the strange sound it had heard, sniffing loudly. When nothing caught its attention, it hunkered down and checked the eggs. Deciding all was well, it moved off toward the water and began to drink.


    Black tendrils erupted from the murky water and wrapped around the predator''s head. As the feathered hunter dug its talons into the muck and struggled, the body of a caiman was partially pulled from the depths, the lengthy head having been replaced by a wriggling mass of mucosal slugs. The pair thrashed wildly, locked in a mortal struggle and kicking up mud and clumps of grass. With a screech, the Cretaceous combatant wrenched itself free and staggered away from the water. The hideously corrupted caiman only slid disinterestedly back into the water as its prey collapsed and began to seize.


    ¡ª


    Liv smiled as one of her little rangers trundled back into the grove, rushing to add its discoveries to the growing map the shrubs were creating nearby. Turning back to her current project, she cracked her knuckles. She paused then, eyes wide. She¡¯d cracked her knuckles¡­ and she¡¯d heard it. When had that happened?! How had that happened? Was that new or had she just failed to notice the change? Smiling like an idiot, she clapped her hands and was thrilled to hear the slapping sound of her palms. Liv threw up her hands, fingers held in ¡®the horns¡¯, and gave a victorious yell.


    ¡°WOOOOO!!!¡± her voice was oddly echoed in a metallic ringing as the crystalline core behind her flared and vibrated. She turned to gawk at it but decided to set that aside for later. Right now she had a more important task.


    Her experiments had shown that the mushrooms reacted to state changes, basing their status quo on the condition of the object at the time of connection. If she¡¯d done this correctly and hadn¡¯t screwed up her math, then she was pretty sure she could use this to track her SP in real time! Currently, she was full up, so she made the connection from the first fungal cap directly to her own core. Liv hoped that was actually where the SP was stored or this probably wouldn¡¯t work.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The thread materialized, and the first mushroom went dark. That caused her little organic not-gate to trip, and behind her most recent little display, a bright red bar appeared, displaying [100%]. The new window was a simple, bare bones little thing. Perfect for an alpha test.


    So far so good but it was the next step that would indicate success or failure. Some quick math had assured her that 1% of her SP was about 4.25 points. She had no way to spend exactly 4.25 so she had to time this carefully. Making five skeeters took about two seconds. Her current regen gave her about .05 SP per second, so from the moment she spent her first point, she needed to start counting out exactly fifteen seconds to regenerate .75 SP before making the second connection.


    Counting under her breath, she concentrated as hard as she could, using her pulsing clock to keep time, creating the bugs and timing the connection of the second mushroom. As expected, the layer below her display disappeared, and a new bar marked [99%] appeared. Liv was practically vibrating. This was it. If she¡¯d done her math right, she¡¯d know if this was going to work in exactly one minute and forty-five seconds.


    ¡°Good gods, longest minute of my LIFE¡­¡± She muttered, counting the seconds by the pulsing of the mushroom circle. When one hundred and five seconds had passed and nothing changed, Liv was about to sigh in defeat. Then the clock sent the next pulse through the network.


    ¡°YEEEEAH!!¡± Liv exclaimed, doing a frenetic series of air guitar strums before falling to her knees and putting up her middle fingers toward the sky. ¡°SUCK IT, YA¡¯ BUZZARDS!¡± she screamed at her domed canopy, cackling with glee. This was it! No more stupid daily calculations. No more having to remember to update the stupid character sheet. No more wondering if she¡¯d forgotten to log an expenditure.


    It was a small victory, she knew. At the end of the day, all she¡¯d really managed was to set up what amounted to a gas gauge. She wasn¡¯t a programmer or an engineer, she was well aware of her limitations here. But she had built a simple logic system out of gods-damned magic mushrooms!!


    ¡°In a cave! With a box of scraps!¡± She quoted, giggling.


    As Liv danced and spun about in her living fortress of plants and fungi, twin shadows watched, unseen, from their perch in the branches above.


    ¡°Buzzards?¡± Muninn asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s referring to us,¡± Huginn explained dryly. Undeterred, the first bird moved right along to the next question.


    ¡°Why has it done this? This is not how mushrooms are meant to grow,¡± the raven¡¯s whisper was brimming with curiosity.


    ¡°Inefficient!¡± the second chided, cold and aloof. ¡°They¡¯re meant to be spread among the trees, keeping them healthy so they can grow more densely. These odd rows are a waste of seier.¡± The obsidian corvid shuffled his feet and looked to his brother, drawing his attention back from the spectacle below. ¡°Muninn.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm?¡±


    ¡°How many other dungeons use these in this way?¡± Huginn asked the keeper of memories.


    ¡°None,¡± Muninn chirped, enthralled.


    ¡°Never? Even among the others from its world? How many have we taken from there?¡±


    ¡°Thousands. But not in a long time,¡± Muninn recounted distractedly. ¡°Last one was Gunnar Egilsson.¡±


    Huginn watched, deep in thought, as the young core prance about like a fool for a time, before setting itself to work on expanding this strange fungal web it was weaving.


    ¡°How do you think it will do?¡± Muninn inquired of the more clever twin. ¡°Will this one survive?¡± Huginn¡¯s gaze was as shrewd as Muninn¡¯s was innocent, as the pair worked to better understand this strange spirit.


    ¡°It may be time to speak to it again,¡± Huginn murmured.


    ¡°So soon?!¡± Muninn¡¯s attention returned to him in an instant. ¡°That¡¯s not how we did it before.¡±


    ¡°Irrelevant.¡±


    ¡°Returning so soon has ended poorly in the past.¡± Muninn reminded his more presently-minded twin. That seemed to give Huginn pause.


    ¡°We should bring this to the Allfather.¡± The clever conceded to the wise.


    Below them, Liv was so focused on counting the seconds and timing her connections that she never even noticed the echoes of flapping wings within a space no bird should have been able to reach.

 Interlude: The Dungeon of Blackwater Reef

    The slumbering waters of the reef inhaled deeply, swelling with the rising moon. Dreams danced between floral blooms of bone and stone. The moon faded beyond the horizon, and the ocean released a breath of warm currents and plankton upward to the surface. Rise and fall, ebb and flow, the wine-dark sea watched and waited.


    *Intrusion*


    The hollow creaks and thuds of a wooden hull broke the serenity, sending fish scattering into coral abodes. The unnatural displacement of the surface of the water was a nuisance, like an unpleasant itch between the shoulder blades.


    *Food?*


    The crackles of straining wooden planks came from the hull of an unusually large ship. A merchant galleon much like the three others it had already collected down near its silty floor. The collection, which contained hundreds of boats, was one of the last things that still sparked joy. It was even through these same trophies that the living waters had come to know what the outside world called it. Blackwater Reef.


    This ship would have made a fine addition¡­ but the reef was not hungry today. Losing interest at the realization, the craft became little more than a nuisance. Batting at the rear of the vessel with frustrated currents, it cooled its heart until winds began to blow inward across its waves to push it along its path more speedily.


    Blackwater returned its attention to the colorful skeletal forests of coral and fish, waiting for the disturbance to pass far enough that the bright little fish emerged once more. A few of the larger denizens remained, unable to easily hide in the minute nooks and crannies. A sleek, powerful looking tiger shark cruised along like a living harpoon. In the dim distance behind it, the many algae coated masts of the reef¡¯s collection stood tall. And further still, the misty barrier that marked the boundary of Helheim. It reminded the reef of something¡­ Something that once stood tall, in broad green clusters.


    The shark twitched, instinctively snapping its sinuous form towards movement that the beast¡¯s finite senses were more attenuated to than those of Blackwater itself. The massive predator dove downward and to the east, driving itself with an urgently beyond hunger. The Blackwater Reef knew better than to ignore this sign.


    *incursion*


    The fine grains of sand and oceanic detritus swirled inward as a sinkhole formed nearby. VERY nearby¡­ Currents shifted, and the water pulsed with a soundless burst, all roads lead to the core as the myriad creatures of the reef swarmed inward. As the sinkhole disappeared into a murky, cloudy depth, the enemy arrived.


    Wide, lidless eyes looked in both directions over noseless faces and impossibly huge mouths full of long, thin fangs. Webbed hands and feet allowed ungainly humanoid bodies to move with unexpected grace and precision. Heedless of the natural dangers, the deep ones charged en masse out of the briny film of the newly formed underwater lake. Most of the creatures nearby were too small to do more than obscure their vision, but the currents were quickly bringing more into the fray.


    Sharks tore at their limbs, leaving black swirls of congealing blood. Barracudas struck at their eyes and bellies. Jets of ink fouled their aim. Armored claws snapped at their delicate flippers. The ocean writhed with bloody-minded ferocity! But the deep ones were quick, and far more clever than the simple beasts they faced. The first wave was pushed back to the sinkhole, but there, the Blackwater¡¯s creatures lost the momentum.


    A new term sprang to mind, drawn from memories ancient and faded.


    Raid. This was a raid. The enemy had baited them out of position, and leaving the reef vulnerable to a greater force. With a voice of fury and thunder and vulcanism Blackwater Reef spoke.


    ¡°DRAUGAR¡­¡±


    Already an undulating abomination was pulling its spear from the eye of a shark, shoving it out of the way and charging forward, towards the core. It dodged a desperate grab by an octopus, spiraling down to skim the sand with impressive speed. The shock and pain on the abomination¡¯s fish-like face as a bloated, blackened hand punched out of the silt and grabbed it by the throat made the flood of seier that came from it all the sweeter.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    If the beasts of the sea were a shield, here then was the ax. What had been a wild stampede swiftly evolved into a proper battle as the drowned occupants of those many ships ran along the ocean floor in great loping bounds. They grouped together, holding aloft moldering bucklers, green planks, and other barnacled fragments to form defensive shield walls around the enemy. Rusty blades stabbed at the deep ones from behind the shifting cover, pinning them down until the weapons began to break.


    The undead lashed out with monstrous strength, bashing the intruders with their shield until those too crumbled away. The waters were thick with the shredded remains of the denizens of the great trench beyond the misty borders, but as the ancient and waterlogged equipment broke down the Draugar were left with nothing but their mortal remains to fend them off.


    The Blackwater Reef reached upward, in a desperate bid for survival. The driving currents had drawn the galleon toward the core, while the unnatural chill of the waters pulled at the very winds. A dim memory, gray and distorted with age, floated to the surface. Another raid, spurred on past reason by the blessings of T¨®rr when his mighty hammer clashed in the sky above, taken for a portent of victory.


    The waters nearest the blue agate core began to boil and swirl as the reef poured its all into a furious, whirling gale. Let the enemy know the might of T¨®rr! The Blackwater was the hammer now!


    Booms of thunder and crashing waves sent the shimmering surface above into a chaotic frenzy. The dungeon knew that the gods had blessed the endeavor when the rush of magic flowed back inward as each life aboard the ship was extinguished. It reveled in the haze of battle, the sensation of flowing into the lungs of terrified sailors. It filled them. Claimed them. Changed them.


    With a muffled crash, the currents drove the downed galleon toward the pit. Rent sails fluttered in the currents, dragging the behemoth along until the driving waters slammed the keel into the ocean floor. Like some mockery of its former self, the sunken vessel carved a path in the sand, wakes spiraling to either side to form great plumes of dust.


    It slammed into the pit and folded in upon itself with the force, crushing enemies and blocking their egress. Then came the real threat as the freshly reanimated Draugar punched through the hull to wreak havoc upon the aquatic beings from beyond. No moldering husks with rusted blades these, this batch was fresh, vital, and strong. Those without weapons tore into the enemy with sheer bare fisted brutality. Blackwater exalted in the destruction as though it was its own personal Wild Hunt. It was the orchestrator of its very own Ragnar?k. It was awake. He was ALIVE!


    The crumpled remains of the deep ones sank to the floor, and the lesser fauna emerged from the forest of coral to feast upon them. Grinning and panting with exhilaration, the azure specter of Blackwater strode over to the new additions, sending his fresh guardians to man the hidden posts their predecessors had abdicated. He moved swiftly, for there wasn¡¯t much time. Already he could feel the flush of lucidity leaking from the edges of his vision.


    He walked up to the last Draugr, exhilaration slipping into a pale shadow of mild approval as he looked the muscular warrior over. The Draugr was tall, broad, with a crimson beard that drifted in the tide. Armed with ax and shield, he would make a fine guardian. The Blackwater Reef circled the man, noting the unfamiliar pattern to the shield he wore. Runes along one edge caught his eye.


    ¡°G¡­Gu¡­nnar¡¯s¡­ shield.¡±


    That name¡­ He had never seen this man before. Why was this name familiar? He struggled to bring forth some tattered scraps of the past, but only the sense of deep familiarity came to his call. The color was leeching slowly from the fringes of his world, and Blackwater Reef clung all the more desperately to that question.


    Why was that name familiar? Why did he know that? Why did he remember¡­ He fought against the winds of time, and the seeping fog of ages they pushed into the crystalline matrices of his mind to cloud his thoughts. WHY DID HE REMEMBER?! WHY DID¡­ WHY?! Why¡­


    ¡°Why does it matter?¡± the dungeon asked, unsure of why it had been so driven just moments ago to pursue such a pointless thing. Wordlessly sending the Draugr off to its post, the spirit of the reef numbly noted the return to its preferred state of peace and quiet. The fog rolled in, blurring all within a sleepy haze once again. The ocean sighed with the passage of the moon over the horizon, tumbling once more into the dreams that swam between the floral blooms of bone and stone.


    A fluttering scrap of memory swam from shape to shape, trying to make its way home, trying to reach the core. The shadow of paranoia, born of centuries of constant assault, snapped its jaws around the lesser dream. The last fleeting sliver of Gunnar Egilsson, now consumed by The Blackwater Reef¡­

 Know Thy Enemy (Part 1)

    TINY village.


    insane these little guys actually were, trying to take down that kind of apex predator, but when the ancient hunter pulled its head from the wreckage it became instantly apparent that the situation was not what it seemed.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    He couldn¡¯t be sure at this distance. The figure barreled through the blades of grass whistle whirling overhead until it came in range.


    FIFTY?! More warriors than his village had ever had. Each coiled their ropes in time, striding into the village before planting their roots in the soil and pulling back with all the strength they could muster.


    BEAST! She was just glad he was on her side.

 Know Thy Enemy (Part 2)

    The sliver of the waxing crescent in the sky cast only the faintest shadows off of the lonesome mounds and standing stones. The barrows lay empty and eerily silent, but for the faintest winds over the knolls and the songs of the fallen that whispered from between the unkempt blades of grass. Three hunched figures made their way towards the westernmost cairn, darting furtively between sparse landmarks. As they closed in on the target, Logan paused to whisper to his companions.


    ¡°That¡¯s it. That big slab is the problem.¡±


    A hissing voice repeated his words in the glottal sibilants of the lizardfolk¡¯s tongue. A deeper voice replied too swiftly for Logan to understand any of the words.


    ¡°Doess stone need to go v¡­ vvv¡­¡± the lipless translator, who had refused to tell Logan their name, fumbled with a sound that was too difficult to make. ¡°To return?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll make that call when we get there, but likely yes,¡± Logan answered, trying to look for the best method of removal. Closing the distance, he pulled his lucky coin from its pouch and inspected the grass near the stone. The blades to the right of the slab were crushed into the mud, but not uprooted. ¡°Seems we¡¯re meant to roll it aside.¡± The tawny ranger concluded.


    Logan stood and stretched while the translator relayed his words, before pulling off his haversack and digging for a rope. Locating it at the very bottom of the largest pocket, he was about to explain his plan for the three of them to leverage the slab just far enough for him to sneak through. However, the larger of the pair, Lurkit, had other ideas. The massive, scaly beast of a person gripped either edge of the stone slab in his hands, before setting his feet and trying to muscle it over via brute force.


    ¡°That thing is likely sixty stone or more!¡± he hissed. ¡°You¡¯re just going to hurt yours-¡° A deep, painful grinding sound cut him off as Lurkit¡¯s arms and back bulged with muscle. Moving the thing was obviously a strain for the warrior, but he managed to set it down somewhat gently regardless. Panting, the powerfully built lizard rolled his shoulders and nodded to Logan.


    ¡°Good gods¡­ Tell your friend his strength is most impressive.¡± He said to the nameless translator. The smaller of the pair gave him a look he couldn¡¯t quite interpret but did as asked. Lurkit tilted his head, seeming¡­ confused perhaps? Logan had a hard time interpreting their body language. Lurkit¡¯s halting response seemed almost uncomfortable.


    ¡°He sayss he only take ik¡¯ssah grik¡¯nak.¡±


    Logan didn¡¯t know if that first term was a name or a word, but he definitely knew the latter. Did this savage expect him to repay his services with a MATE?! Taking a step back, Logan quashed his instinctual outrage at the idea in favor of clarification.


    ¡°I must not have heard that correctly,¡± he said in a forcibly apologetic tone. ¡°What does Lurkit want with a mate?¡± The translator¡¯s head shook back and forth emphatically.


    ¡°No n-nate! He sayss he only want ik¡¯ssah female! No hatchling-folk!¡± Comprehension dawned on Logan, and his expression became one of utter mortification.


    ¡°I¡¯m MALE!! And m-¡° With a pang of loss he stopped himself from saying ¡®married¡¯. He pushed forward with less verve, the wind having been taken from his sails. ¡°I was not offering that.¡± The translator seemed surprised, but Lurkit looked as relieved as he was.


    ¡°Sorries¡­¡± The translator spoke for her companion. ¡°Could not tell.¡± Logan decided that this was a conversation that could happen later¡­ or never.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move on,¡± he sighed, stepping past the pair. Inside the burial mound was dank and musty. His companions ducked look in over his shoulder as he used his coin to light up the chamber. All around the stone archway, he could see faint, time-worn carvings. Old runes, meant to ward against the dead. Before them was a trio of skeletons, two adult figures wrapped around a much smaller one. The shelves built into the walls held dusty and desiccated grave goods.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    His every instinct was screaming at him to leave this private, sacred space, but at the back of the chamber lay the stacked crates. Those were already more of a desecration than his presence would ever be.


    ¡°Hel, goddess below, grant me this swift journey into your halls and a safe return, that I may right a wrong,¡± Logan whispered a quick prayer and then walked into this poor family¡¯s stead in the underworld. He moved with care, trying his best not to touch or disturb anything besides the crates. He could scarcely believe even that salty old miser had dared to desecrate a grave like this¡­ He looked back in a panic when he heard the heavy footfalls of Lurkit follow, but relaxed when he noted that the big lizard was emulating his caution.


    Returning his attention to the crates, he set his coin on the corner of a shelf and pulled off his pack again to retrieve a pry bar. It took several minutes of wrenching and heaving, during which Logan kept nervously glancing at the bones, but eventually, the lid of one of the ¡®fruit¡¯ boxes came free. Logan snatched his coin and held it aloft to see¡­


    ¡°Ssand?¡± the translator¡¯s hissing question nearly made him jump out of his skin. Clenching down and getting a hold of himself, he stilled his racing heart and dragged his fingers through the grains. Furrowing his brow, he sniffed at it before touching a bit to his tongue and spitting back into the box.


    ¡°And salt,¡± Logan whispered, baffled. Lurkit reached over his head and scooped up a handful, letting it trickle between his claws. The shifting grains revealed more solid clumps beneath.


    ¡°Sk¡¯tah ne?¡± Lurkit asked.


    ¡°Why salt?¡± the translator provided.


    ¡°They were delivered on a herring buss,¡± Logan answered, half to himself. ¡°Big ships, used to catch lots of fish. They keep the catch preserved in salt so they can stay out longer.¡± But why in the name of all the gods would they store it here? Logan reached back in and began to dig. The clumps scratched at his fingers and knuckles, breaking away as he searched. Just handspan downward, he found something.


    ¡°Aha!¡± Logan whispered triumphantly. ¡°Gotcha now, Marsh. What are you hiding?¡± He brushed the mixed grains of salt and sand aside to reveal a leathery haunch of pork. The clumps of damp salt were still clinging to a deep brand. Some rancher in the Southern Isles most likely.


    ¡°Salted pork¡­¡± Logan was stumped and felt his heart dropping to his toes. Had he done all this for nothing? Was this a trick? A trap? ¡°All this for salted pork?¡± His voice shook as his mind struggled to account for this bizarre development. Then he felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned to see Lurkit. The huge lizardfolk slowly shook his head from side to side.


    ¡°Isssnot¡± his guttural hiss echoed oddly in the small space. Logan didn¡¯t know the word and turned to look at the translator, but Lurkit got in the way and pointed to the crate with a bob of his chin that set his fleshy dewlap swaying. ¡°IsssNOT!¡± The warrior repeated. Logan realized that the word wasn¡¯t draconic, Lurkit was trying to say something in common.


    ¡°Is not?¡± Logan asked. ¡°Not what?¡±


    ¡°Issnofork!¡± he insisted, then tapped his nose and sniffed.


    ¡°Are you saying it¡¯s not pork? Can you identify meat by smell alone?¡±


    ¡°You can not?¡± the translator asked from back by the entrance. Ignoring the question, Logan turned back to the box. Cautiously shoveling grains of salt and sand onto the lid of the box beside it, he tried to uncover the rest of what he suspected to be a side of pig. That suspicion began to unravel as he scooped more of the grains away. The shape was wrong. The thigh was too long and slender for a pig, and the prominent hip bone wasn¡¯t right either.


    With shaking hands, he fought down his gorge as he moved to the other side of the crate and began to dig there. Mere inches down, his efforts pulled up a salt-crusted tangle of long black hair. Logan recoiled, staggering back away from the box in revulsion.


    ¡°Gods below!¡± He cursed as the pieces fell into place. The Herring buss, the Southern Isles, the brand, he felt ill.


    ¡°We don¡¯t understand.¡± the translator inquired from a world away, the words barely penetrating Logan¡¯s addled mind. His explanation came in a flat, toneless voice as he pointed to the runes that spelled the port of origin.


    ¡°Gr?nnsi,¡± he said softly. ¡°It¡¯s a port in the Southern Isles. Which is the colony where the old rights of conquest are still legal.¡± Logan tasted bile. The lizardfolk looked nonplussed, clearly lost, so Logan tried to explain it in terms they could comprehend.


    ¡°Thralldom,¡± he tried. When that didn¡¯t work, he risked a term that had been coined to refer to their own folk back when it had still been legal to own them. ¡°Slaves.¡±


    That got a reaction. Crests bristled and teeth were bared. Logan wasn¡¯t sure how many generations had passed since the Skethna had faced such threats, but evidently, the memory was still a potent one. Logan turned back to glare down at the half-buried body in the box. Every answer he had found here led to more questions.


    Marsh was wasting the productivity of his largest ship, just to cross the New Sea and spend exorbitant amounts of gold on illegal thralls. Only to then kill them, pack their bodies in salt, and store them in the barrows. The amount of money this must take was mind-boggling, and for what? What in all the realms of gods and men did that fishy old bastard get out of this?!


    ¡°I need to think,¡± he whispered, scooping the salt back into the crate and closing the lid. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    As one trio left the grave, the other remained coldly at rest. Wrapped around their kin in an embrace that had been undisturbed for countless years, their empty sockets bore the only witness to the deepening darkness as the visitors returned the stone door to its rightful place.

 Axis and Allies

    As the orange sunlight of dawn trickled slowly through the foliage, Liv sat cross-legged in the grass just outside a razor¡¯s edge that marked the bounds of the village. The wild shrubs had proven to be one of the more interesting discoveries she¡¯d made in a while, excluding the mushrooms. Her territory now completely engulfed the tiny village of plant people, leaving her with a cylinder of her dungeon over which she seemed to have no influence whatsoever. It was as if the village both was and was not a part of her.


    She got a hefty amount of SP from it, but she couldn¡¯t so much as step foot inside. It was clearly out of bounds, yet unlike everything else, it wasn¡¯t obscured by the thick fog of the outer reaches. She¡¯d taken a liking to her shrubs, and so had felt predisposed to want to help these wild cousins as well. So she¡¯d taken to observing them and trying to anticipate their needs.


    That scrutiny had, in turn, brought her to a conclusion she didn¡¯t like. Not because it was bad, but rather because it made her feel like an idiot. Liv had seen members of various primitive species under her banner display greater than average intelligence and comprehension. She had arrogantly assumed that her shrubs were so clever and crafty because they were her shrubs. But this village¡­ They had routines, rituals, and even complex multi-person operations.


    That level of coordination didn¡¯t happen without communication. These tiny plants weren¡¯t clever beasts, they were clearly sentient. Which meant that her shrubs had somehow been talking all along and she was simply too dense to understand it. Liv shook her head, brooding. Actually, it was worse than that, she might not understand someone speaking French, but she¡¯d know they were speaking a language. She hadn¡¯t even picked up on that much.


    From one of the low woven huts stepped yet another recent revelation. The plant was slightly larger than most of the other shrubs, and its semi-humanoid body seemed to have been shaped out of some kind of squash plant. Looking towards the sun, its cloak of broad, prickly leaves shifted to reveal two arms of tangled stems and vines which it stretched overhead. The bottom of its green bell-shaped gourd opened two dark eye sockets and a gaping mouth as it yawned.


    The idea that there could be more than one type of shrub-person had never really crossed her mind. Even if it had, she wouldn¡¯t have expected to find them living together. Most creatures viewed other life forms sharing their ecological niche as competitors. Yet again, a simple discovery had filled her with so very many questions. The big guy seemed to be a central figure, maybe even the leader of this village. Was the squash the leader because it was a squash? Or was that coincidence? Was it leader because it was larger? Or did being the leader somehow make it grow? Maybe they were a like a hive with specialized castes¡­


    The other shrubs were waking up now, stumbling tiredly to the center of the village. Each of the little plants paused before Gourdo and shimmied a bit. Liv watched closely to see if these were some kind of repeating signs or motions, but no such luck. Every single one was different, with some barely moving and others gesticulating wildly. The spectral woman growled in frustration before one of the little shrubs snapped her back into the present moment.


    Among the gathering of shrubs that now stood behind Gourdo, facing the sun almost reverently, was BUSHWHACKER!? Liv¡¯s jaw dropped. It wasn¡¯t outrageous that some of her shrubs would want to socialize with these newcomers, nor was she in any way bothered by it. Her shock was entirely to do with the fact that it was Bushwhacker in particular who was doing this. Her firstborn foliage was a possessive, territorial little shit. That tiny guy guarded his favorite morning sunning spot against the other shrubs with a passion that bordered on zealotry. If he was here this early, it likely meant he¡¯d stayed the night in the village and willingly given up his treasured spot.


    Pressing her face and hands against the boundary like a child against a candy store window, Liv tried to see whatever was going on more closely. Bushwhacker stood shoulder to shoulder with another shrub, both twisting and shimmying emphatically before Gourdo. The squash nodded sagely, then began to rustle his big leafy cloak in response.


    ¡°Hold up¡­¡± Liv whispered in a smushed voice against the invisible wall. Each shrub was capable of making a single note, like a little battle cry, but were otherwise incapable of speech. So she assumed they were using sign language or something, but what if that was incorrect? What if their language was spoken, but not with their mouths? From this distance, it was hard to make out the sounds their movements made, but she concentrated as hard as she could on the soft noises.


    At a signal from Gourdo, Bushwhacker, and the other shrub turned towards the others and lifted their arms, linking hands. Together they began to lean and sway and rustle to the others present. Out of it all, Liv caught just a single potential ¡®word¡¯. An elongated creaking that overlayed a gentle rustle, which peaked upwards into a louder sound like a tree in a gale, and then back down again before the creaking ended. She heard Bushwhacker make the sound several times. Gourdo too, at least once. She had no possible way to know what it meant, but it was a potential start!


    As the speech seemed to conclude, with multiple shrubs nodding and bobbing, Gourdo lifted a splayed hand to signal the group, before turning back towards the sun. Together, the village faced the dawn in a worshipful bliss. Deciding there was little more to be learned at the present moment, Liv stood and drifted westward.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    As the trees grew more sparse, she came upon her claimed edge of the pond-dappled wetlands. The ethereal projection wrinkled her nose at the sight. Far from the peaceful beauty of her thriving swamp, this region looked like a war zone. The western front was lined with haphazard barricades of wood, stone, and bone. The whole area stank like an open grave, as the rotting bodies of infected creatures and speared slugs emitted a miasma so thick she could practically taste it.


    Drowsy-looking shrubs manned the line, swaying sleepily beside dwindling supplies of wooden spears. Liv put her hands on her hips, surveying the scene and mulling over the problem. The parasitic infection was growing worse, if they didn¡¯t manage to quarantine it soon this was going to become unsustainable. She huffed in annoyance. She¡¯d never been big on wargames or RTS, and now she was really wishing she had been.


    Her biggest hindrance was the fact that her plants were sluggish and tired if they had to move around in the dark for too long. Try as she might, she couldn¡¯t really think of a way to overcome this biological restriction. So all that was left was technological compensation. Unfortunately, that was hard to accomplish without either an efficient means of communication, or serious technical expertise, and she had neither. Trying to do R&D through pictures and pantomime just wasn¡¯t cutting it.


    The shrubs seemed to have a kind of Neolithic hunter-gatherer level of technology. Big stout spears for stabbing and lighter, shorter ones for throwing. She¡¯d tried to coach her denizens through making bows, but every attempt had ended in pitiful failure. So far she had managed to relay exactly one technological advancement, based on what she remembered of those spear-wielding cavemen in her history classes.


    The atlatl was simple to make, easy to use, and remarkably effective. The shrubs were already great spear throwers, and the little tools took that to the next level. She¡¯d done the math when Scout had tested the first prototype, and for a human-sized being to make an equivalent throw they would have to lob a spear over 700 feet! It was impressive, but no matter how many of the slugs they impaled, it just didn¡¯t seem to make much of a dent. It felt more like combating a virus than an opposing army.


    Coming from the west, members of the village alongside many of her own denizens were emerging from the taller grasses. Some hopped over the barricades to collect the salvageable spears, while others relieved the exhausted sentries, which Liv knew would fall back to a safe distance before going dormant to soak up the sunlight.


    ¡°This is a bandaid, at best,¡± Liv murmured to herself. ¡°We need a better weapon¡­¡±


    ¡ª


    Weavebriar stumbled along through the muck, pulled along by a hand in the grasp of the eager Bushwhacker.


    ¡°They¡¯re just over here!¡± she rustled, yanking the builder past a thin line of mangroves until they reached a pond. Weavebriar, who had never been this far west before, looked curiously at the towering stone statue with the jasper crest atop its head and staggered as he nearly tripped over the root of a hardy grass variety he was unfamiliar with.


    ¡°Here!¡± Bushwhacker exclaimed excitedly. Weavebriar looked up from his roots to see a cluster of carnivorous fly traps. One of them was so large that he was sure it could snap him up if he was foolish enough to climb near one of those mouths.


    ¡°So? Can you do it?¡±


    ¡°I told you, I¡¯ve never tried. This would have been master Sunblossom¡¯s job¡­¡± Weavebriar repeated nervously.


    ¡°You¡¯re a powerful spellcaster! I saw all those vines and thorns you grew,¡± Bushwhacker insisted.


    ¡°That¡¯s a very low-level spe-¡° his explanation was cut short as the warrior ran her hands over his foliage and stilled his rustling.


    ¡°Hey. I believe in you. In us. If our groves work together, I¡¯m sure the core will bless our efforts.¡±


    Weavebriar was still uncertain. He didn¡¯t know this ¡®Manglegrove¡¯ spirit that Bushwhacker and her kin were so devoted to, but if it had brought them together and saved his grove then he had to believe it was benevolent.


    ¡°Get the others,¡± he said with more conviction. ¡°We¡¯ll need at least a dozen Leshies and someone to hunt as many bugs as possible. Preferably big ones, like beetles.¡±


    ¡°Will roaches work?¡± Bushwhacker rustled curiously.


    ¡°If you know where to find them, those would be perfect!¡± Weavebriar was growing more hopeful by the second.


    ¡°Allow me to introduce you to The Roach Coach!¡±


    ¡°¡­ The what?¡±


    ¡ª


    Deep in the heart of The Manglegrove, a shrill whistle warbled. Saboteur perked up, turning toward the sound. Someone had found it! Trundling as fast as his roots could carry him, he closed in on the signal and skidded to a halt. There, half hidden by the shadows and fallen leaves on the western shore, lay the treasure he hoped would solve the mysteries of the core¡¯s machinations.


    Half a dozen of the industrious little Leshies stood in a loose circle at the roots of a large tree, beaming with pride and excitement. Between them all lay the giant¡¯s bow, which Saboteur himself had disabled by partially sawing the bowstring with a strand of razor grass.


    ¡ª


    As the orange rays of the setting sun made the distant mangroves in the east seem to burn, a hulking nutria wriggled back out of its burrow. The writhing mass of slugs plunged the last of the rodent¡¯s young into its gullet, the furry pelt rippled and stretched. With a moist squelch, the oversized rat burst, spilling a mass of black slugs over the ground which began to slime blindly outward in every direction. One of them paused after only a few inches, bulging upward in a profane parody of fecundity. From the back of the slug emerged four black tentacles that reached upward toward the waning moon. With the knobkneed awkwardness of a newborn kid, the thing shakily rose onto two stubby, cloven-hooved feet. Gelatinous flesh parted, giving way to a single bulging eye and a misshapen mouth, allowing a strangled, gurgling cry to emerge.


    The slithering mass ceased its mindless migration, frozen in place by the sound. Then, slowly, the slugs began to turn. As the wobbly, hooved abomination shambled off, the mucus-coated infestation inched along after it in disturbing unison.

 Tensions

    Logan knelt down beside the tiny figure that lay curled up in the covers of her bed. The sliver of moonlight that manage to creep in through the window gave the girl''s pale cheeks an ivory glow.


    ¡°I''m sorry, Marla,¡± he whispered, knowing how sad she must have been that he had once again failed to return home before she went to bed. Her Nan was fit to burst with rage at Logan, and in truth, he couldn''t blame her one whit. ¡°Soon,¡± he promised, swallowing tears. ¡°Soon I''ll find a safe place and I''ll be there for you again.¡± The child shifted in her sleep, grumbling, but by the time she settled again, her father was already gone.


    ¨C-


    Logan hit the ground with a soft grunt, moving swiftly away from the house. Exhaustion clogged every last pour of his being, weighing down his skin so that it practically sagged off of his bones. Sleep was only a distant memory now, driven off by the ever-present and all-encompassing threats that dominated his every waking moment.


    The weary ranger stepped onto market street, passing the fishmonger''s stall. The pungent smell of the cornucopia of salted herring and canned fish evoked a sour bile at the back of his throat. He turned northward, trudging through the filth on the road, brooding as he fought off sleep he knew wouldn¡¯t offer real relief.


    ¡°Damn, Magne, why did you have to live so bloody far?¡± he huffed to himself. A ghost of a smile graced his lips as he remembered one of the dwarf¡¯s many ridiculous rants about the ills of living too close to the sea and why they had chosen one of the northernmost homes in town. Turning right at a familiar corner, he passed the butcher shop. A board was nailed over empty windows, roughly carved with jagged runes: ¡®Closed for business¡¯ it proclaimed.


    ¡°Feck all!¡± Logan hissed as the sign drew his eye from the street, causing his heel to land in a slurry of nightsoil. He paused at a vegetable cart that would normally be laden with tubers, scraping refuse from his boot with a carved sign offering fifty silver a piece for ¡®lizard crests¡¯. When his hazy eyes focused on the runes, Logan sneered. This town was quickly coming to a boil, and with Halvard Marsh unchecked it was more important than ever to get Marla away from here before it became a battleground. But therein lay the current conundrum, which had him cautiously meandering to the north end of town.


    It was sheer desperation that drove him to fetch the spare key from its hiding place beneath an ornate altar to Freyr. Logan tipped the fertility idol backward and retrieved the sturdy black piece of iron. Of all the places in town that might contain the clues he needed, his old friend¡¯s library was the best chance at both finding the answers and of remaining undetected while doing so.


    All of this, because Marsh had driven him into a corner, and the only way out was madness. Emma¡¯s folk were firmly entrenched in Nj?rvenn and unwilling to leave. Logan was the last of his bloodline still alive. He¡¯d been warned off of asking his old contacts for help. With no substantial connections in any other nearby towns, the simple truth was that there was no place they could go. They had nothing and no one in their corner, and the game was rigged against them.


    So if there were no answers among the realms of men, then he would turn to the gods. That crimson spirit had gone out of her way to protect the children from¡­ it. The shiver that ran through Logan had nothing to do with the temperature inside the dusty, abandoned home. Perhaps it could be bargained with. He ignored the stinging in his eyes as he passed keepsakes and story pieces from his friend¡¯s life, and came into the library. With a heavy sigh, he placed his lucky coin on a hardwood table and searched the shelves.


    ¡°Where to begin¡­¡± he murmured. With no clue what the thing in the bayou might actually BE, he chose every text he saw concerning spirits. Three massive stacks of tomes later, he realized he would need to be more specific. There were simply too many varieties of entities to be contended with. Ghosts, Fae, Elementals, Djinn, Demons, a myriad of denizens of the astral¡­


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Right¡­¡± he whispered to himself. ¡°Okay Logan, narrow it down. What do you know?¡± It was protective of children, for one. He reached for a text and paused. Actually, it had gone out of its way to protect HIM as well, not just the littles. Benevolent then? Maybe? He shelved the texts on demons and the undead. Over the following hours, he whittled down the possibilities.


    It fought indirectly, without physically touching the enemy. That shelved most celestials. It was utterly silent, which ruled out Djinn and most of the Fae. It could animate and command trees. It appeared to be a large human woman. It seemed to hold a special loathing for aberrations like the mouther. It looked like it was made of carved jasper. Each detail allowed him to slowly narrow the search via process of elimination.


    The sky was beginning to turn paler shades of blue by the time he was left with only a few books before him. It was within the delicate pages of a book called ¡°The Rights of H¨¢rr¡±.


    The illuminated text highlighted an old Skaldic verse in one corner, decorated with a gray-cloaked figure and a dwarf sitting before a fireplace.


    ¡°The fifteenth spell¡­¡± Logan half slurred, blinking hard to stay awake. The story detailed an exchange between the Allfather and an ancient dwarven smith, whose songs taught ¨®einn to work the most precious of metals into a tool to strengthen the gods. The tale was vague, but it was the subsequent chapter that drew him in.


    The fifteenth spell of ¨®einn, the forging of a soul. Logan''s eyes began to dart all over the page, adrenaline briefly pushing aside his exhaustion.


    ¡®The metal of the soul¡¯, ¡®gleams like polished crystal¡¯, ¡®Bane of the eldritch¡¯, this was it!!


    ¡°Crafted of one of the einherjar, these guardians act as a bulwark between Miegare and the forces of Niflheim¡­¡± he breathed reading aloud. Turning the page he saw a horrific illustration, with a warrior spirit holding his shield aloft against a massive, armored, winged insect; whose eyeless head writhed with countless antennae. The warrior¡¯s feet were planted firmly in the grass of a lush meadow, while the horror descended from a backdrop of frozen spires in a shadowed wasteland.


    Neither living nor dead, these constructs shape the ambient flows of seier within their domain. The inherent order and structure of life were inimical to many denizens of those far realms. So by granting these souls a pale shadow of the gods¡¯ own gift of creation, the very stuff of life


    could be woven and reinforced into a shield. A person, reduced down to a tool that helped keep the Elder Beings from gaining a foothold in Miegare.


    Another beautifully illustrated banner showed the process by which the one-eyed god ground and honed a polished blade in whose polished reflection a shield-maiden could be seen. Sparks of memory and self, sanded away to make something more hard and rigid. Logan''s brow furrowed as he read. ¨®einn was well known as a somewhat ruthless pragmatist, even among his more reverent devotees. Even so, this seemed a particularly cruel fate. A conviction in which he became more resolute with each passing paragraph.


    The book detailed multiple accounts of encounters with these beings. There was one known as Loadstone Deeps which was discovered in an iron mine. For over a century, it was considered a guardian spirit for the miners, protecting them from the beasts of the Underdark. Then the mine was finally stripped bare, and work finally ceased. Over the century that followed, the mine became the focal point of many local legends and horror stories until an aged dwarf, who remembered the guardian, returned there to speak with it. What the old priest discovered was a shade of the former guardian, driven half mad from hunger and isolation.


    Redwold was a benevolent orchard, whose fruits kept the locals healthy and strong through countless unnatural winters. Until foresters took too greedily from its trees. Now it was known as Legwold; an impassable den of monstrous spiders. The Aerie was a peak known for its giant eagles and magical rams. The people who lived in its shadow had coexisted with it peacefully for nearly five centuries, offering it the eggs of various birds in return for protection from the monsters that were once said to descend from the night skies and snatch up the unwary. A shipping passage to the south, once known as Nj?rd¡¯s Hoff, is now called Blackwater for all the lives it''s claimed in the name of suppressing threats from the depths.


    Over and over the same tales circled, like a playwright who wrote a singular classic and now found all their stories following the same, increasingly tired, formula. The beings were crafted by the One-Eyed God for a singular purpose. Those who were well-fed and tended to with respect could remain powerful allies and defenders for centuries. While those who were abandoned, or taken advantage of, would eventually succumb to hunger and take what they needed by force to continue to combat the darkness.


    They were like machines¡­ Ones crafted out of a formerly living person with the singular intention of being used as a barricade against an enemy so foul that it almost hurt his head just to look at the image on the page. People, made into tools.


    ¡°Good gods¡­¡± he said tremulously, turning back to the start of the chapter. Many songs extolled the glory of fighting in Ragnar?k as a part of the forces of Valh?ll. But this? Logan wouldn''t wish the fate of becoming one of ¨®einn¡¯s ¡®Dungeons¡¯ even on his enemies. Part of him longed to find a way to help whatever poor soul had been maimed like this, but he knew that was beyond his ilk. Right now he had to focus on what was within his power.


    Dungeons could be bargained with and, if well-fed, could be phenomenally powerful protectors. Desperate and insane as it might be, it was likely his best option to keep Marla safe.


    ¡°Now to find something to barter¡­¡±

 First Blood

    The creak and rustle of the shrubs began to soften, slowing to a crawl. Liv looked up from her sketches to see that the sun had set, and the sleepy plants had come to rest in a tight circle around the largest of the flytraps. She hadn''t the faintest idea what they were doing, but the shrubs had been dancing and¡­ Singing maybe?... All week. Liv had been observing the shrubs closely, trying to learn as much as she could.


    She had actually managed to learn a few words! Well, potential words at least. The problem with learning through pure observation was that it was difficult to be certain of what a word is describing. She knew the criks and shimmies that they all made when seemingly referring to the flytrap, but had no way to be sure if it was the world for the plant itself, some attribute of the thing, or just their way of saying ¡®it¡¯ or ¡®that¡¯ or even a name.


    Knowing the shrubs would be still until sunrise, Liv stood and made her way westward. Passing her own shrub¡¯s half-finished village, then the bayou, and into the dense, dark core-grove. Wriggling her ethereal form through a gap that never would have let her pass were she still solid, she crawled over to her latest cluster of mushrooms.


    She¡¯d been hard at work, wracking her brain for useful applications for the little fungi. So far her major achievement had been creating a way to input her daily expansions so that the system could track her SP total in hard numbers rather than just percentages. That had taken AGES but the results had allowed her to track percentage gain per second against an actual number. Liv had been super proud of that, right up until she realized that she regenerated less than 1% per tick, so the numbers she got were off.


    To get an accurate number she had to create a tracking system that allowed for fractions of a percent. Since she couldn¡¯t spend a fractional sp, much less time the connections that closely, she¡¯d been forced to make an entirely new ¡®room¡¯ just to house the mess of fungal threads that could time how many ticks it took to gain 1% and then check THAT against the total. She¡¯d eventually have to make an addition to compensate for when her regen exceeded 1% per second, but that was a tomorrow problem. Much as she loved the results, this stuff wasn¡¯t her forte and it made her head hurt.


    Still! Seeing her new display project real numbers and save her from having to do the math in her head was worth it. She grinned at her new display, beaming with pride.


    There were other experiments to try, but honestly, she needed a break from- Liv paused, squinting at the window. The regen had just jumped upward. That shouldn¡¯t be possible.


    ¡°Gods damn it¡­¡± she grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°Another glitch.¡± With a sigh, she turned back towards the mush-room when the number jumped again. What was going on? Then the regen dropped back down! Looking over her connections, Liv watched as the numbers fluctuated, even though it seemed like everything was functioning perfectly. She checked the NOR gates in the calculator for errors, double checked the signal relay lines to make sure they hadn¡¯t grown together again, but everything looked fine. What the heck was the problem here?


    Then Liv had an awful thought. What if it wasn¡¯t her mushrooms at all, but rather something to do with her plants? The shrubs!! Dashing westward yet again, Liv sprinted for the front-line barricades. Her panicked rush skidded to a halt when she found half the line missing.


    ¡°The fuck?¡± she mumbled under her breath. It was the border. The misty wall had somehow moved inward, rolling over the southernmost extent of the shrub¡¯s defensive barricades. The dungeon specter blinked in surprise. She hadn¡¯t even known that could happen. Was she shrinking? Planting her feet, she thrust out her hands and shoved the border back. The mist receded, revealing the barricades and their guards once more. However, after just a fraction of the ground she¡¯d expected to gain with that shove, her knees began to wobble. A quick glance at her floating window gave her a shock. Her SP was draining fast. She was almost dry!


    Liv staggered back, parched and panting. Then she watched as the mist ever so slowly closed inward again.


    ¡°Shit!¡± she cursed, scrambling to think of something. This was bad! Worse, it was an unknown variable. The guards turned to watch her as she paced frantically back and forth. She turned to scold them and tell them to watch out for the slugs, but it was then that she noticed the silence.


    ¡°Wait. Where are the slugs?¡± One of the guards shuffled forward a step and made an exaggerated shrug. ¡°Have you seen any tonight?¡± The guard dropped their shoulders and shook their head back and forth, slowly. Liv had a bad feeling about that. Something had scared off the swarm and she was somehow losing ground.


    ¡°Weapons up,¡± she ordered. ¡°Something is wrong here.¡± The guards all stood up a bit straighter, fighting against the darkness-induced lethargy and trying to look for any threats. Liv stood still as a stone, not even breathing as she listened intently¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    THERE! Her eyes snapped upwards and to the north as the unfamiliar noise reached her from beyond the veil. A chaotic, almost ungainly, flapping sound made dull by thick, humid air. It could be nothing, but with how much more slowly the plants moved at night Liv knew better than to take that risk. Putting her fingers to her lips, she whistled as loudly as she could. The metallic ringing from behind her was accompanied by tiny flecks of crimson light as the core flared.


    The echo was still fading when she heard the first impact. Setting off at a sprint once again, she beelined towards the western village. She barely stopped herself before smashing face-first into the invisible wall surrounding it. The crash had come from the watchtower they had been slowly rebuilding. A blackbird had dove straight into it, decimating a part of a wall along with the bird itself. The flapping grew louder as the shrubs slowly emerged from their huts. In a gray blur, something much larger slammed down on one of the buildings like a cannonball. Liv barely had time to identify it as a Bog Trodder before the pulpy mass burst into countless slugs and the next unfortunate avian hit the ground.


    The shrubs began diving for cover to avoid the increasingly devastating kamikaze attacks. In the distance, the deep creaks and thundering footfalls of Giermund barreled toward them, and she could hear the rustling of her forces not far behind.


    ¡°HERE!!¡± she screamed, waving her arms to get the mangrove¡¯s attention. As soon as the massive creature spotted her, she formed a ¡®roof¡¯ over her head with her hands and then pointed at the village. Liv was flooded with relief as the mobile tree seemed to understand and changed course to guard the village with his canopy. That feeling was short-lived, however.


    From behind her came snaps and crackles over disturbingly deep whines and chattering teeth. Something was hitting the front line, and it wasn¡¯t slugs. As Giermund splayed out his roots and covered the village, Liv dashed back once again to the barricades.


    ¡°Come on! Come ON!¡± she pleaded, wishing the shrubs could move their little legs a little more quickly. This had definitely come at a bad time. Liv yelped in surprise as something burst out of the grass just ahead of her. The largest rat she had ever seen was bounding forward, heedless of the two shrubs furiously stabbing at its back with stone daggers while they clung to barbed spears to stay aboard. In its mouth, one of the guards hung limp and lifeless. The poor shrub had been bitten in half by the beast¡¯s massive incisors.


    Looking past the gruesome battle, Liv spotted what remained of the barricades. Rats the size of small dogs were mindlessly swarming the ramparts, frequently impaling themselves in the process. Their cumulative bulk and sharp teeth were bringing the simple constructs down one by one, and the flagging guards weren¡¯t going to hold up much longer.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    With a jolt, the pieces came together in her mind. Ever since discovering the slugs, they had been successfully keeping the aimless infestation at bay. This was different. This wasn¡¯t a bunch of brainless beasts wandering too close to the border. This was a coordinated attack.


    She¡¯d never been more grateful to hear the familiar whistles of her rangers as her remaining forces finally closed the gap. Scout leaped from the grass. Straddling the rat¡¯s neck, he clawed viciously at its eyes while staying out of the reach of those teeth. After a moment of spinning wildly, the rodent opened its mouth wide enough that Liv could hear its jaw crack, and a slick tendril slithered out to grasp its attackers like a slimy black tongue.


    Until now, even larger waves of the slugs or their infested hosts had been handled more like preventative maintenance than anything; taken down at range, with minimal risk or loss. Like redirecting a river before a storm could cause it to flood the town. What she saw now was utter chaos and devastation.


    A rat pulled itself by its front paws, the rear ones dragging limply behind it. A leafy warrior reared back, atlatl in hand, about to launch a spear into the fray when some kind of waterfowl slammed down with enough force to crush the tiny plant and explode into countless writhing parasites. One of the newcomers ran up to the line, lifting what looked like an oversized chicken bone over his head in both hands. The beads and feathers strapped to it rattled as a wall of brambles reinforced the failing ramparts. A small gator burst out of the nearby shallow pool, tentacles wrapping around another unsuspecting shrub and yanking it into the water.


    Every last erg of the enemy¡¯s ground forces were trying to push past the front line and in the direction of the village. Giermund would have been a boon here, but someone had to keep that little village safe from aerial attacks. Feeling helpless, Liv put on a brave face. It wouldn¡¯t do her side any good to see her fretting. So she planted her feet in the muck and tried to imagine herself as a fearless general.


    ¡°Form the line!!¡± the crimson-haired punk commanded, trying her best to sound confident and signaling with her hand to form up on her. When the chaos continued unabated she ground her teeth and dropped her voice downward before bellowing. ¡°I SAID FALL BACK AND FORM A LINE!!¡±


    Her orders echoed over the battlefield, finally getting the attention of her forces, which all began to slowly retreat, covering each other as they moved into a loose, unpracticed formation. Those that were connected to her dragged the others who couldn¡¯t hear her voice along with them. Slowly, the enemy¡¯s momentum broke. The thorny briar had bottlenecked them enough to allow for her shrubs to regroup.


    Near her feet, a familiar bush staggered up to her. Scout leaned heavily on his spear. His right arm looked like it had been ripped away, leaving nothing but debarked wood and splinters. The weary plant gave her a solemn nod, before turning to stumble into place beside his fellows. Liv almost broke, choking up as she watched him try to heft his spear in his remaining arm and fight unto the last.


    ¡°Idun, lady of the orchard,¡± she prayed, reaching down to touch her wounded soldier, uncertain if she could even heal a missing limb. ¡°guide my hand, while I tend to this guardian of the grove.¡± She doubted whether the gods were even listening for the pleas of a dead woman, but she couldn''t just do nothing. Closing her eyes and pushing her SP into the shrub, she tried to reweave the threads that lay in tatters at his shoulder, like painting the nervous system of a new arm. She imagined growth, unfurling leaves, and budding flowers, praying fervently that the splintered wood would sprout anew.


    As the sounds of more rodents hitting the line of spears threatened to break her concentration, she scrunched up her face and tried to focus with all her might. She could feel something happening, she was close! Then Scout pulled away, breaking her focus. Looking at him, Liv was thrilled to see what looked like the beginnings of a new limb forming from the old stump, now covered safely in fresh bark. Then she noted the expression on Scout¡¯s face. Glancing around, she found that not one of her shrubs was looking at her. All of those not currently fighting off infected fauna gazed somewhat upward, into the mists.


    ¡°What do you s-¡± her words were drowned out by a booming bass that swiftly spiraled upward into what she could only describe as something akin to a car alarm. The almost bird-like ululations were throaty and deep, but far from the most worrisome thing about what was happening. No, the observation that was truly scaring her was the sound of thick, heavy footfalls. This was going to be bad¡­


    Against the war zone of foot-tall combatants, a monster the size of a buffalo looked like an insurmountable titan. Its horned and scaled, triangular head burst through the briars as the monster began to shred the living defensive wall. For a single, horrific moment, Liv was convinced that whatever was controlling the slugs had managed to find an honest to gods dragon.


    The thing that ripped her barricade out by the roots trundled into her dungeon. Squat, flat, and low-slung, its powerful jawline came down to a wicked, pointed beak. Her mind went blank as she stared at this armored tank, bristling with sharp horns. The instinctual part of her lizard brain locked up, even though this beast couldn¡¯t harm her ghostly form. Reality came crashing back down, quite literally, as the monster twisted and a huge boney club slammed into the ground beside her with enough force to send a spray of dirt and muck and offal flying into the air. The near miss was enough to give the beast a name.


    Liv scrambled backward, eyes wide as she got back to her feet. Ankylosaurus. That was a fuck-mothering ANKYLOSAURUS!! Another blow unleashed a tsunami of earth, unlucky shrubs flailing as they tumbled through the air. The fallen barricade was slowly consumed by the mist, while the smaller entities it had held at bay now poured through in force. This wasn¡¯t a fight they could win. Not here. Not now.


    ¡°RETREAT!!!¡± Liv screamed, pointing towards the core and waving frantically. ¡°RETREEEEAT!!¡±


    The line broke, the tiny shrubs fleeing for their lives. Liv prayed they could make it back to the core grove, where the dense mangroves would slow that monstrosity down and give her some options for contributing to this fight. Running next to one of Scout¡¯s rangers, she pointed to the village.


    ¡°We have to warn them! Tell them to run to the core!!¡±


    The shrub nodded, pulling out its whistle and making a mad dash northward. She heard the whistle begin a chirping bird-song and winced as it was cut abruptly short. All around her, the rodents were pouncing on the increasingly scattered plants as they fled. A thunderstorm was rolling up on their heels as the massive armored dinosaur lowered its head and began to charge.


    The one-armed Scout bravely hauled another shrub onto its feet, hurling it out of the path of the beast. Harrier had another in a fireman¡¯s carry and was barely keeping ahead of a huge rat while Sharpshooter tried to slow it down with spear after spear. Liv couldn¡¯t let this happen. Not again. So many were already dead, she could not lose her children a second time.


    There had to be something she could use out here! Spinning around in a desperate search, she saw nothing but the muck and grasses of the marsh and their doom trundling toward them like a freight train. She glanced at her ¡®Character Sheet¡¯ surprised to see her SP bar was completely full. She¡¯d been too panicked to even notice the SP coming in from all the infected creatures.


    The ground beneath her feet was starting to shake beneath the onslaught of the charging Dino''s feet. Ground¡­ GROUND!! Turning back mid-step, without bothering to slow down, her boots gouged deep grooves into the muck as she skidded to a halt. Teeth bared in the feral snarl of a mother bear whose cubs are being threatened, she pulled back a fist. The sounds of howling wind, creaking wood, and rushing water converged there, shaping the air itself into a single word.


    ¡°NO!¡± the Manglegrove roared, as fierce and wild as a summer hurricane. The jasper apparition punched her fist down into the muck, severing the countless threads that connected all life within the soil to herself. Hardier weeds wilted and fell, while countless blades of grass just disintegrated into a formless soup of base materials. As the unnatural patch expanded outward, dissolving all life native to the dungeon inside it, the fluids seeped into the muck. Rats bounded one or two paces more before beginning to struggle. Serpents and caimans got a bit further, but then they too began to sink.


    The Ankylosaurus¡¯ bulk seemed to work against it, dragging the heavy beast down into the mud almost immediately. Her SP bar flickered as the strain of loosening the soil warred with the small bursts of SP that came from each creature she managed to swallow up. She could feel each life snuff out as her quicksand flowed into their lungs. The armored giant sank down to the broadest point of its midsection, where it stopped and began to slowly move forward again. The Manglegrove glared balefully at it.


    ¡°SINK, DAMN YOU!¡± she demanded as her shrubs used the opportunity she was providing to reach the tree line. ¡°SINK!!¡± Alas, the huge herbivore seemed to have been designed to survive the trials of the swamp. It struggled slowly forward, trumpeting and bellowing all the while. This close to the beast, she could see how its tongue was a familiar slimy black. Fury gave way to worry as her SP reserves ran dry, and that thing was still coming.


    The air screamed, rent by something which flew with such force and velocity that The Manglegrove was sure it would have ruptured her eardrums if she¡¯d still had them. As it was, she fell back onto her rear as a hunk of limestone the size of a Radio Flyer wagon slammed into the dinosaur, exploding into countless fragments.


    Liv shook her head, blinking rapidly as the dust settled, and turned to look at the source of this miniature recreation of the Cretaceous extinction event. Giermund, draped in the carcasses of countless impaled birds, and carrying what looked like the entire population of the western village, knelt to allow Koosh to pull another boulder from the mud and place it in Giermund¡¯s wooden claws.


    The dinosaur bleated, a gaping wound on its back revealing nothing but a tangled mass of slithering black mucus, unable to move swiftly enough to get out of the way.


    ¡°YES! YEEEES!! DO IT, GIERMUND!!¡± Liv threw her fists up into the air, pinky and forefinger extended in the sign of ¡®the horns¡¯ as the second rock slammed down like the hammer of the gods, forcing the huge beast down into the mud, where both host and parasites alike could suffocate in the dark. Liv¡¯s one-sided smirk was twisted into a pseudo-sneer as she flipped off the muddy pit with both hands.


    She reveled in the victory for only a moment. The patch was only so big, and the smaller invaders would find their way around it eventually.


    ¡°Take them to the Core Grove!¡± she yelled, waving for Giermund to follow her lead. ¡°GO! GO! GO!¡±


    ¡ª


    Dawn had eventually crested the horizon, after what felt like years of eternal night. The edges of the grove had been haphazardly woven together into a wall of root and branch, with Liv spending her energy as fast as she could make it just to fortify the tree line. With the light of the sun, her bedraggled soldiers and the terrified refugees of the western village had been bolstered. Spears lobbed from living battlements peppered any of the scattered enemies that wandered too close, while Giermund patrolled the newly-formed border.


    They¡¯d survived the night, but Liv couldn¡¯t call it a victory. The village was a wreck, the barricades were decimated, so SO many plants had died¡­ And as she stared out across the marsh, Liv could just barely make out the slow inward creep of the mist as it made its way eastward just a centimeter at a time. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be eaten alive.


    ¡°First blood goes to you,¡± Liv hissed at the unknown. Clenched tightly at her sides, The Manglegrove¡¯s fists trembled with rage.

 Attrition

    Stumbling out of the dark, Liv shielded her eyes against a sun she couldn¡¯t even see. The sky was the same misty gray as everything else, but somehow the instinct to guard her eyes managed to hang on even now. Liv shuffled eastward, coming to the tiny ponds where her second life had begun before flopping limply onto the grass. The swaying shrubs nearby gave her sidelong glances as they danced, some looking nervous.


    Liv groaned, exhausted. A glance at her ¡®character sheet¡¯ revealed that her SP total was down by another fifty points.


    ¡°Fuuuuuuuck¡­¡± she whimpered. This thing was taking all she could muster just to hold it at bay. It wasn¡¯t showing any signs of letting up or slowing down. Pushing back against the incursion was taking up most of her energy, but if she stopped pushing back the losses would be catastrophic. Still, even she, couldn¡¯t keep struggling indefinitely. She needed to regroup.


    Looking ¡®upward¡¯ from her prone position, she saw her stony likeness hanging from the grassy ceiling like a bat. Her brow furrowed as she noticed other, unfamiliar, upside-down objects clinging to the earth scattered around it. Half rolling over and propping herself on one elbow, Liv squinted at the newest additions to the primitive shrine. They looked mostly like an assortment of figurines. Heaving onto her feet with a grimace, the haggard avatar shuffled across the surface of the water until she found herself beside the large shrine and the myriad of offerings.


    Varying widely in quality and material, most of them looked like little animals. A clay figure of something avian with a crest of clipped feathers, a blocky boar carved from something that may have been a bone, and a wooden gator. She knelt to inspect the last item, realizing it wasn¡¯t made of wood, but leather. Then it clicked; a boar made of a tusk, a gator made of gator skin, a bird with real feathers-


    ¡°Offerings,¡± she mumbled. Then her eyes widened as a thought struck her. Were they still here? Did they know about the dangers? Looking around in a panic, she began to jog, then sprint around the boundaries of her little world. She couldn¡¯t risk the time for a more casual search if she was right. She made it about halfway across the northern edge when she spotted exactly what she¡¯d feared. A band of lizards were thrashing in a heap along the edge of the bayou, beside a blazing torch planted in the mud. Flailing, Liv dashed towards the hunters, certain she was too late and some infested creature had caught them.


    As she closed in, though, she saw that the three hunters had managed to catch one of their goals. They pinned a sizable gator of some kind, with the smallest wrapped around its snout while the largest laid atop the beast¡¯s back. The third quickly plunged a dagger into their prey, slicing a ragged triangle into the gator''s side. The formerly city-dwelling punk recoiled as the hunter grabbed the flap of still-living flesh and pulled the gator¡¯s belly open. Before Liv could even process the cruelty of the tactic, a black slug slithered out of the hole. The parasite was swiftly run through with the dagger, pinned to the sand, and all three hunters hissed in frustration.


    There was a wet *crack* as the one holding the snout rolled and twisted, snapping the beast¡¯s neck and allowing the largest to angrily chuck the inedible prey away from the water. Liv concluded that the animal must have been more recently infected, as it didn¡¯t burst into a swarm as she had seen more advanced cases do. Instead, as the handful of parasites tried to emerge from the carcass, the one who had done the carving took up the tall torch and thrust the burning end into each slug, causing them to sizzle and burst.


    When no further specimens emerged, the trio angrily dragged the body back to the water, disgustedly tossing it back into the bayou. Liv watched, fascinated. So the lizards knew about these things! She was getting excited about what they might be able to show her when she noticed a disturbing detail. The three hunters were thin. Too thin. The trio all looked a bit boney, and their frustration over the infected catch was swiftly escalating into what looked like some kind of argument between them. Her hopes of a solution being handed to her plummeted. These hunters looked like they were struggling, possibly even starving.


    Liv looked at her slowly shrinking pool of SP. She could feed them. It was within her power¡­ but it would cost valuable resources. She watched as the torch-weirder inserted themselves between the other two, trying to make peace. The very idea of summoning an animal into being just so that it could be promptly killed and eaten just seemed wrong, but she had no idea if these people could eat plants at all.


    With a sigh, Liv realized her mind was already made up. The little gifts and offerings they left were fantastic little batteries of SP, and those wouldn¡¯t keep coming if they didn¡¯t get anything out of it. More than that, she couldn¡¯t let three sentient beings starve to death to protect a simple lifeform that didn¡¯t even exist yet. Grimacing as she spent more SP than was probably wise, she put the extra energy into making the creature large enough to be worth the effort. If she was going to do this, she wanted as few lives lost as possible.


    The catfish that exploded out of the water had to have been nearly four feet long. The bulky bottom feeder flailed out of the water and flopped onto the land beside the quarreling lizard people, who stared at it in slack-jawed stupification. The smallest was the first to react, lunging to grab the slippery meal. What came next was a flurry that Liv really didn¡¯t want to stick around for.


    Hugging her arms around herself, she headed back towards her shrubs. Their ecstatic cheers echoed behind her. The meaning was lost, but she knew ¡®Iejartiss¡¯ when she heard it.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine¡­¡± she whispered to no one. ¡°The gifts they left will make up for it. You had to! They were hungry!¡± Her self-assurances came to an abrupt halt as she passed back through the line of mangroves. Emerging near her shrubs'' continuing ritual, stumbled onto yet another unexpected scene. A tiny figure in a hooded cloak stood before the statue, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.


    Perhaps it was her paranoia at play, but the sudden thought that the shady visitor might be out to take her offerings forced a knee-jerk reaction.


    ¡°GUARDS!!¡± Liv shouted, her voice hoarse, pointing at the newcomer. Popping up from the razor grasses and down from the nearest canopies, those shrubs not currently involved in the ritual charged forward and encircled the cloaked traveler.


    ¡°Woah WOAH!!¡± The voice was male and sounded as tired as Liv felt. He extended his hands, palms outward and empty, while the guards angrily brandished their spears.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean any harm,¡± he insisted, speaking in an overly slow, level tone. Liv¡¯s brow furrowed, as the voice began to sound more familiar. The ring of warriors either didn¡¯t understand or were simply unconvinced. Moving very slowly, the tiny man pulled back his hood.


    Liv wanted to jump for joy as she realized who had come to visit her, thrilled beyond words to know that Halfling Lad had made it home safely. She moved in to get a better look at him and was stunned to see just how worried the ranger looked. That gave her pause; this guy had fought off a band of cultists while injured and feverish, why was he worried about her shrubs?


    ¡°Look, I didn¡¯t mean to interrupt nothin¡¯. I¡¯m only here to talk to the Red Lady¡­¡± When no reaction was forthcoming from the shrubs, Logan grumbled under his breath. ¡°Fecking Leshies. Why did she have to go and make fecking Leshies?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay!¡± Liv insisted. ¡°He¡¯s okay to be here!¡± One of the guards, she was pretty sure it was Harrier, nodded to her and shambled over to Logan¡¯s feet. The shrub shimmied and gyrated, making wooden creaks and leafy rustles at the Halfling. Logan¡¯s relief was palpable as the warriors parted ranks and stalked back into nearby greenery for cover.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Er¡­ Thanks? Do¡­ Do you speak the trade tongue?¡± the confused Halfling asked. Harrier¡¯s head tilted to one side, looking curious. ¡°Can you understand me?¡± Logan rephrased, speaking slowly. At that, the shrub enthusiastically nodded.


    ¡°Oh thank the gods,¡± he sighed. ¡°Do you know where I can find the Red Lady? I have something I think she¡¯ll really want.¡± Liv perked up at that. Whatever could the little guy have for her? Harrier nodded again, and half turned to point back at Liv. Logan looked in her direction, but she could tell immediately as his eyes latched onto the only object in that direction. She sighed as he returned to the statue.


    ¡°Right¡­ I have no idea how to do this,¡± he grumbled to himself, eyeing Harrier nervously now and again.


    ¡°Uh¡­ I, LOGAN TANNER, FORMALLY REQUEST AN AUDIENCE WITH THE RED LADY OF THE STILTS,¡± he half shouted, awkwardly standing as stiff as a board.


    ¡°Shit. Right. Uhhh. Hel, how am I supposed to do this?¡± Liv had only ever seemed to appear visibly to outsiders on one occasion. She had no idea how to do it again or what it might cost her to do so. Shaking her head, she decided on a better idea.


    ¡°Harrier, I want you to draw what I show you in the mud in front of the statue.¡± When the shrub nodded, she wrote out a message in glowing letters in the air in front of her. Knowing this might be pretty slow, she decided to keep the message simple.


    /I am here/


    Harrier moved swiftly, scratching out the letters in the dirt. Logan looked down, then seemed confused.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t read¡­ Leshy? I don¡¯t know those letters¡­¡± Liv slumped. He spoke English but couldn¡¯t read it? What sense did that make? Sitting down on the dirt, she put her chin in her hand and tried to think. After several silent moments, Logan knelt beside her and began to write something of his own into the mud. The exasperated punk¡¯s jaw dropped as she saw shapes she recognized.


    ¡°Runes?! You use runes?!¡± Hope surged within her but then faded. She knew the runes, but she only knew a tiny bit of Old Norse. What if that¡¯s what he was actually speaking and some weird magic just made it sound like English to her? The runes weren¡¯t quite identical to any of the Futhark she knew, but were close enough to read.


    ????????????


    ¡°M-ih-n-aw-m-ih-r-l-oo-k-ah-n¡­¡± Liv slowly sounded out each rune. Unlike an alphabet, runes were entirely phonetic and lacked such niceties as spaces and punctuation. It also didn¡¯t help that some runes could have multiple potential sounds.


    ¡°The second rune could be a sharp I¡­ Oh! That first A too. And I think that R was sometimes¡­¡± her whispers trailed off as she tried to think as quickly as possible, lest she miss her chance. After wracking her brain for a bit, she came up with something plausible.


    My name is Logan.


    Pumping her fist, she began to sketch her reply in the air, then paused. She had an opportunity here. She could just introduce herself as Liv, but image was important. She didn¡¯t want to sound bland and inviting. She wanted to scare cultists and keep tourists away from the dangers here. While Harrier scratched out the runes Liv hoped were correct, Logan began to read.


    ¡°I¡­ am¡­ thee¡­¡± Liv winced. Right, phonetic. ¡®The¡¯ ended in e but it sounded like ¡®uh¡¯. Should have used an ¨²r there. ¡°Man¡­ gal¡­grow?¡±


    ¡°Balls!!¡± Liv huffed.


    ¡°Manglegrove?¡± Logan self-corrected.


    ¡°YES!! VICTORY!!¡± The invisible punk cheered, unheard by her guest.


    ¡°Well. That¡¯s hands down the most Leshy name I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± Logan was looking at Harrier now. ¡°Alright, Manglegrove, how do I speak to the Red Lady?¡± Harrier looked horrified as if some grave blasphemy had been committed. Crossing its arms in vehement denial, the shrub¡­ Leshy?¡­ then pointed at the statue insistently.


    ¡°Oh¡­ OH!¡± Comprehension dawned on him. ¡°Apologies¡­ Manglegrove?¡± He said to the statue, looking to the Leshy to confirm and continuing on when the little plant nodded. ¡°Right¡­ My name is Logan Tanner. I have come to thank you. You saved our lives that night.¡±


    Liv moved to stand in front of her statue, enjoying the illusion it gave her that a flesh and blood person was actually looking her in the eye. Logan fidgeted nervously. She realized then that this was just a lead-up, and sighed to herself as she braced for ¡®the ask¡¯.


    ¡°I¡­ I wish to propose a trade,¡± he said quickly enough to practically slur into a single word. Liv blinked, pleasantly surprised that the ask was coming with some kind of reciprocity. She sketched her reply for Harrier.


    /What Trade/


    The lack of punctuation was going to drive her nuts. She didn¡¯t need the Oxford comma here, but how the heck did people get by before periods and question marks?! Logan took a deep breath.


    ¡°I wish to barter for sanctuary. For myself, my child, and¡­¡± he paused, then changed his words. ¡°For myself and my children.¡± Liv realized he must have been referring to the kids that had come looking for him that night.


    /Danger/


    /Not Safe/


    ¡°Nowhere is safe,¡± Logan said grimly. ¡°The same folk who summoned that¡­ thing¡­ They¡¯re also at work in Nj?rvenn. I have been doing everything I can to try and expose their plans and put a stop to them, but so long as my family is there, I can¡¯t risk confrontation.¡±


    /Not safe/


    /Monsters/


    ¡°Please.¡± Liv¡¯s heart wanted to break as Logan got down on his knees. ¡°Please, I am begging you. I know what you are. I saw how powerful you are. Monsters or no, they would be safer with you than anywhere else right now. Please.¡± Reaching behind himself, he pulled up a backpack and opened the top flap.


    ¡°I don¡¯t ask for charity. I have brought you something in return.¡±


    This was an awful idea. She wanted to make him understand that he was trying to put those kids in an active war zone. But just saying ¡®no¡¯ to a man who was begging her for help felt so cruel.


    ¡°I offer knowledge,¡± the leather, clad wildsman explained, pulling out a thick book and holding it to his chest. ¡°I know about what you are. I know the suffering you¡¯ve had to endure.¡± That took Liv aback. She began writing questions, then erased them. She had to keep her sentences short and simple or this would take ages for Harrier to write out.


    /What suffering/


    /What am I/


    ¡°Were you once alive? Like me?¡±


    /Yes/


    ¡°Are memories of your life missing? Do you feel incomplete? Like pieces of you have been lost?¡±


    Liv froze, her pupils dilating. If she¡¯d still had a pulse, she was sure it would have been racing. So her reply took a little longer than usual.


    /How did you know/


    Logan held the book up. Liv sounded out the runes on the cover and nearly choked. ¡®The Rites of H¨¢rr¡¯. She knew that name. That was one of the many titles of ¨®einn.


    ¡°Ho-ly fu-king shit¡­¡± she wheezed.


    ¡°I know what Old One-Eye did to you,¡± he assured. ¡°Grant my family sanctuary. Give my children a safe place to lay their heads, and I will share everything I know. About your condition, about the cultists, about the world beyond, all of it.¡± He lowered the book again. ¡°I know you can¡¯t leave your dungeon. But I can. I can bring you anything you need from outside.¡± He dropped his eyes to the ground. ¡°Please. This is my only chance. The only safe haven I can trust. You guarded them once. I am begging you. Keep them safe within your territory, and I will be in your debt. I will do what you ask. Fetch what you need. Answer anything I can. Please¡­¡±


    Logan rambled on, pleading to the statue as Liv took many long moments to consider his offer. Eventually, Harrier shambled in, brushing out the old runes, and wrote the longest message yet. When the leshy finally moved out of the way and allowed the pleading man to read the response, tears began to trickle down his cheeks.


    /I know you as well Logan Tanner/


    /I see you/


    /You are as lonely as me/


    He was about to speak again when he saw Harrier was still drawing more runes into the mud beside that message.


    /You lost a part of yourself too/


    /I wasn¡¯t strong enough to save her/


    Logan clutched his tunic to his chest, hunching inward. Though he couldn¡¯t know it, Liv now sat beside him. Her tears were silent and unseen, but no less real.


    /I am stronger now/


    The first hints of hope flickered in his eyes.


    /You are a good father Logan Tanner/


    /I will keep you safe/


    A strange breeze tugged at his cloak, though not a single blade of grass bent to the wind¡¯s will. Liv felt a pull from the center of her chest as a fresh new thread somehow formed between them. She watched him shiver and knew that whatever this was, he felt it too. Logan wiped at his eyes and looked up to thank the statue, but the words were swallowed in a gasp of shock.


    Still sniffling, Liv met his gaze and¡­ Wait¡­ He was looking at her. Not through her, AT her.


    ¡°Can he really see me?¡± Her voice was a whisper, barely daring to hope as she thought aloud. Logan''s eyes roamed up and down, clearly baffled. Then he cleared his throat.


    ¡°Yes.¡±

 Mangrove Mobilization

    The dim pastels of dawn trickled like honey across the swamp, shimmering in the sparse patches of the stagnant water yet to be claimed by the green. It flowed into the village, eddying around new construction and empty shelters. Pooling atop a grassy gnoll, it filled divots of dark loam left bare by Bushwhacker¡¯s roots. Regions that would usually have been abuzz with early risers and the dungeon¡¯s friendly greetings instead sat as silent as the first, soft snows of winter. Frozen beneath the glassy sheets of time, the fragile peace shattered as a bulky Leshy charged through the village.


    Scout trundled along with two ¡®offerings¡¯ over his good shoulder, and the lightest one tucked under the elbow of his smaller limb. Jumping over a thick root, he landed in a small clearing where dozens of his kin diligently practiced throwing javelins at swinging targets. He stood nearly two heads taller than the rest as he waded through the crowd, headed westward with his load. Scout didn¡¯t understand it, but whatever the mother had done to regrow his arm seemed to have had some unexpected consequences. Not that he was complaining; even Chief Rindguard had to look up at him now!


    Pushing through, he continued West until he reached the wall of woven roots and branches that marked the furthest edge of the dungeon these days. It was certainly worrisome, if they lost any more ground, the mist would be INSIDE the walls¡­ Finally reaching his destination, Scout dumped the load of offerings at the core¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Thank you, Scout.¡± The avatar of the core looked genuinely appreciative, if somewhat distracted. ¡°Hopefully these will give me enough.¡± The crimson-haired punk crouched down to grasp the carved boar tusk, and place her hand against one of the two mangroves she had carefully unwoven from ¡®the wall¡¯. He marveled as the mother seemed to pull the very substance out of the carving, and through arcane mysteries so ancient even Bushwhacker didn¡¯t understand them, the shimmering spirit pushed that magic into the tree.


    Scout only understood what was happening, when the smallest roots curled into a kind of lopsided face, with sockets filled by shimmering lights like chartreuse stars. Lifting his arms into the air, he gyrated and swayed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle, mother! Such beautiful magic!¡± The core gave a tired chuckle.


    ¡°Yeah, Woohoo!¡± she said as she mimicked his pose and put her arms in the air, for reasons he couldn¡¯t comprehend. The asymmetric behemoth of a tree looked back and forth between them as she took a brief respite. It looked at Scout¡¯s slowly regrowing arm, then up at its own twisted trunk, and made a happy rustle. Then she picked up another offering and looked to the next mangrove.


    ¡°I got this, Scout. Can you tell Bushwhacker to take whatever supplies they¡¯ve gathered from the front line over to Gourdo?¡± she asked with a tone of resigned exhaustion, pointing towards the beleaguered line of barricades. Scout wondered why the mother never called Chief Rindguard by his name but chose to forgo a verbal response she wouldn¡¯t really understand anyway. Instead, he just nodded and put two thumbs into the air. With a small wave at the new Mangrove, he ran westward.


    ¡ª


    Bushwhacker pulled at the woven rope around her waist, dragging the heavy bark sled behind her. It was laden with stones, bones, and scraps of nutria pelt, leaving a furrow in her wake.


    ¡°No no, like this.¡± The soft, raspy voice belonged to the sage elder of the western village. Rindguard took the chunk of glittering stone out of a younger leshy¡¯s hands. Lining up another stone, he expertly struck the quartzite, knapping off a sharp flake before handing it back. When she replicated his method satisfactorily, the former chieftain¡¯s gourd opened up in a broad smile.


    ¡°Very good! Well done¡­ umm¡­¡±


    ¡°Blitzkrieg!¡± the younger Leshy chirped. Rindguard shook his head, sighing. Bushwhacker noticed he did that a lot when members of her grove introduced themselves. It was beginning to irk her.


    ¡°Gifts from the core!¡± She susurrated, branches jostling.


    ¡°Wonderful! We¡¯ll take the bones right here for handles, but the hairy giant will need those skins.¡± Rindguard¡¯s gourd twisted into a dour expression, as it always did when he regarded the dwarf. She wasn¡¯t sure why that was, but supposed ¡®hairy giant¡¯ was a step up from ¡®the fleshy¡¯, so she chose to leave it be. Dumping the bones off the sled, she picked up the rope and trudged onward.


    Dagny sat in the dirt, utterly unphased by the dark shadows of the surrounding grove. All around them were scraped pelts on tanning frames, and countless little leather breastplates, grieves, and shields. Their stubbly face split into a broad grin at the sight of her.


    ¡° ¡®Ello!¡± they boomed. She only waved in response, offering up the furry skins. The huge dwarf picked up the slimy pelts without so much as a twinge of squeamishness and set them aside to be scraped and tanned. Then they leaned back and grabbed a heavy coil of rope, as thick as Bushwhacker¡¯s wrist, and handed it to her.


    ¡°Here¡¯s that string that Sabatoo¡­Sabotee¡­ Here¡¯s what Sabo wanted,¡± they stammered. Grinning, she made the sign of approval, looping it over her shoulder and turning to deliver the parcel.


    ¡ª


    Logan sat cross-legged on the ground inside the wooden dome The Manglegrove had created for them. It wasn¡¯t the homiest location, but with cultists to the west and enemies in search of himself or Dagny to the east, he had agreed that this was the safest place for them. Marla knelt beside him, diligently counting up and organizing their supplies while he worked on his secret weapon.


    The aged tome before him lay open to a page depicting the slug-like being he believed to be behind most of The Manglegrove¡¯s troubles. An aberrant parasite known as Moit of Shub-Niggurath. On their own, they weren¡¯t too much harder to handle than any giant slug. But once enough of them infested a host, they could become a more serious problem. What¡¯s worse, the book even alluded to further derivations that could be spawned by these pests if they were allowed time to breed as they willed. The text before him claimed that significant burns could kill off an infested host, but their biggest weakness was cold. In fact, causing frostbite over the back of a recently infested host¡¯s neck was one of the only ways known to actually kill the thing and save the host. So given that most of his new allies were made of wood, that had seemed like the best option.


    Cursing under his breath at the oafish fumbling that the thick leather gloves he wore were causing, he held a frosted phial in one hand, and a customized arrowhead in the other. He¡¯d already spilled a few drops of the blue liquid onto himself today and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. This is likely the only reason he didn¡¯t notice the Leshy approaching him, as well as how he managed not to scream and drop the bloody phial in surprise.


    ¡°FECK ME RAW!!¡± he gasped, barely managing to put the stopper into the glass. One of the little barbarians was tapping on his knee, and he had to fight back the instinct to kick it and grab for his knives.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Papa!!¡± his daughter said, aghast.


    ¡°Sorry¡­ Erm¡­ Yes? How might I help you, Mister¡­¡± he trailed off. Did Leshies have gender? Hel, did they have names? The question was quickly answered as the shrub scratched in the dirt, forcing Logan to pull out his lucky coin to see it. Written in the mud beside his book were some half-legible runes.


    NED AROZ. LIK THOSE. PLIZ.


    Logan was still scratching his head in confusion when he felt another tap on his knee and the feral little plant pointed urgently at the arrowhead in his hand.


    ¡°These? No. These were expensive. Besides, they¡¯re far too big for you lot to use.¡± The shrub clasped its hands in a pleading gesture.


    ¡°Can you even shoot an arrow?¡± The plant nodded again and pointed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have many of these. How about I give you a normal one, ey?¡± The crossed arms and shaking head marked an obvious rejection, before returning to pointing at the arrow in his hand.


    ¡°Hel¡¯s hound, you don¡¯t give up, do you? Fine, I¡¯ll give you one.¡± The shrub held up five fingers.


    ¡°Two.¡±


    Four


    ¡°Three and you bugger off and let me work!¡± The shrub nodded enthusiastically. In a mildly petty move, Logan unceremoniously dumped three empty arrows into the Leshy¡¯s arms, smirking as it struggled to carry shafts that were longer than it was tall. Another of the plants bounded in, carrying a little coil of oiled twine, greeting the arrow holder and then grasping one end of the load to team lift it out of the hut. Logan shook his head. Leshies. Of all the things out here that he could have anticipated working alongside, that had not been one of them.


    The little blighters were usually an absolute nightmare to deal with. Lizardfolk may be strange and aggressive, but they could still be bartered and reasoned with if one was careful. If a Lizardfolk killed you, you knew they had a reason for it. If you made it obvious that you weren¡¯t easy prey, they¡¯d likely look elsewhere. Leshies? They were only a foot tall but by the time you noticed one, there were probably twenty more, and the bloodthirsty little demons didn¡¯t seem to fear anything.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re cute!¡± Marla said brightly. Logan only shivered.


    ¡ª


    Saboteur groaned as he and Bushwhacker dropped the heavy wooden logs onto the ground near his work clearing. The Core had taken to calling it the ¡®La-bow-rah-tow-ry¡¯ but that was too long and complicated for his liking. Bushwhacker stretched out her leaves, breathing deep after the exertion.


    ¡°What are¡­ you working on¡­ out here, anyway?¡± she panted, holding out the huge coil of heavy rope. Saboteur took it with a nod of thanks, catching his wind before he spoke.


    ¡°A weapon. Do you remember the strange bent sticks the Core tried to show us?¡±


    ¡°With the strings? You think that was supposed to be a weapon?¡± She chuckled at the idea. ¡°Those things were a waste of time. Useless.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not. I couldn¡¯t figure them out either until I remembered something about those giants.¡± Saboteur preened, motioning for Bushwhacker to follow.


    ¡°Are you going to share your thoughts, or do you plan to keep me in the dark so that you can delight in ¡­ feeling ¡­smart ¡­¡± Her sentence trailed off as they passed under the stilted roots of a mangrove. There, six other Leshies busily hammered away at a gigantic mechanism of wood and leather. It was nearly four times as wide as any of them were tall. Saboteur held up the rope victoriously and the others all cheered. He tossed it to his crew, who began the laborious task of slowly bending the wood enough to allow the rope to loop around each end. With a smug expression, he turned towards Bushwhacker and nodded to the machine.


    ¡°That¡­ you harnessed the weapon of the giants?!¡± she exclaimed.


    ¡°Assuming that rope works, yes.¡± Three Leshies fought with all their might to stretch the rope taut and loop the end over the grooved wood. When the loop finally slid home, the crew jumped backward to a safe range and waited. A tense few moments passed before the root-cove housing the weapon exploded into cries of victory and ecstatic dancing. Saboteur thrust his hands outward, rustling as bombastically as his foliage would allow.


    ¡°BEHOLD! THE POWER OF THE GIANTS, AT OUR FINGERTIPS!!¡± This time even Bushwhacker joined in cheers, a sight that set Saboteur''s leaves aflutter.


    ¡°This is incredible! But how will you move it?¡± She asked. The workers all grinned at each other as Saboteur replied.


    ¡°That part is being taken care of as we speak. For now, we¡¯re going to need that westerner¡­ Basketweaver?¡± Saboteur did his best to keep the disdain from his voice.


    ¡°Weavebriar? What for?¡±


    ¡°He seems the most likely to know how to fuel those giant spears. If you see him, please let him know Scout would like to speak to him about that.¡±


    ¡°Scout? Why not you?¡± she asked, curiously.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say that this machine isn¡¯t the only relic of the giants. Scout¡¯s rangers are looking for the other one now, and we think the westerner is the best suited to helping us control it.¡± Bushwhacker nodded excitedly.


    ¡°Alright! I know where he is, I¡¯ll fetch him!¡± Bushwhacker dashed back into the clearing and then eastward, out of sight. He waited till she had left before speaking to the others.


    ¡°Any word from Harrier on the status of ¡®The Beast¡¯?¡±


    ¡°She sent a messenger a little while ago,¡± a younger Leshy named Strafe spoke up. ¡°She thinks it can be ready in time, but needs to mount the device in order to continue training.¡±


    ¡°Grab the hook-spears and make sure the tow lines are tied SECURELY this time. We don¡¯t need another escape¡­¡±


    ¡ª


    Scout bounded eastward, hauling a bundle of atlatls to distribute to the troops. Spotting Bushwhacker headed the same way, he cut across the roots to close the distance.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he crackled, getting her attention. When she looked over to him, he rustled out his question as they ran. ¡°You headed to Giermund¡¯s Pond?¡±


    Bushwhacker, breathing heavily, only nodded. Scout pulled out half a dozen of the spear throwers. ¡°Can you pass these out there?¡±


    ¡°Sure. Weavebriar should be there now, as well. Where should I send him to meet you?¡± Scout¡¯s reply was cut short by the trilling of multiple whistles to the north.


    ¡°That way!¡± Scout shouted over the din, leaning left and curving his path toward the direction of his rangers. Ducking through brush and briar, he followed the sounds of the whistles until they reached a familiar cypress. Tracker flagged him down, her long willowy branches waving excitedly. Her squad stood in a loose semicircle around a filthy, mud-caked bottle. Inside lay a swirling orange fluid. Scout positively beamed with pride.


    ¡°Good work!¡± he commended as he inspected it to be sure, then nodded to himself. They had finally found it. He just hoped Saboteur and Harrier could do their parts.


    ¡ª


    Bushwhacker leaped the shallow stream that brought her back to the island of her birth. He should have been watching the ritual, but even from the corners of his vision, Weavebriar would know that glorious crown of leaves anywhere. He waved her over, urgently.


    ¡°Hurry!!¡± he shuffled. Bushwhacker¡¯s eyes went wide. He knew she¡¯d been worried that her duties would keep her away and she¡¯d miss the fruition of their efforts. Her timing was practically fate. She staggered the last few steps as the dancers came to a crescendo, with fresh bodies seamlessly switching out for exhausted performers even now. Weavebriar grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into the ring. There, at the center of it all, lay the mound of skewered bugs and the hulking flytrap.


    ¡°Spirits!¡± Weavebriar chanted nervously. ¡°The offerings have been made! Vitality has been given back to the soil!¡± He held his staff now above his head. ¡°From death, comes new life! The guardians of your groves require a warrior!¡± He grasped the staff in both hands swaying emphatically. ¡°ARISE! WARRIOR OF THE GROVE! FIERCEST AMONG THE LESHIES!¡±


    Bushwhacker watched in awed fascination as a magic she had only ever seen the Core perform took shape at the hands of one of her own kind. The flytrap surged upward, the soil rippling as roots pulled free. It bulged, larger than Rindguard. Larger than Scout! The group of participants all stepped back as the green skin of the thing twisted itself into a bipedal form. A massive, green, fanged maw rested between its shoulders. Terrifyingly, each arm ended in another, slightly smaller mouth. The hulking warrior knelt down and began to gorge, all three mouths chomping loudly onto the brittle carapaces of the roaches they had collected there.


    When it finished, the newest Leshy of the grove stood up to its full height. The carnivorous titan towered over them all, twice the height and three times the width of any other adult Leshy. This was the future, he knew. The end of their terrified nights of fighting through exhaustion without the vital energy of the sun. Unlike the Leaf-Leshy or the Gourd-Leshy, as long the Flytrap-Leshy had MEAT, they could move just fine. Even at night. It stood there, looking at all of them curiously for a moment before Weavebriar spoke again.


    ¡°Welcome, brother. What do we call you?¡± This would be an important moment. Two groves had worked together to make this happen. He had no way to know which it would align itself most closely with. It spoke in a wet, baritone voice that dripped with literal venom.


    ¡°Call me¡­ Siege.¡± Bushwhacker grinned happily at him.


    ¡°Alright, Siege. Why don¡¯t you follow me? Something tells me mother is going to LOVE you.¡±


    Weavebriar trailed along behind them. He hoped this worked. One warrior wouldn¡¯t win them the war. But if the Dungeon could use its power to sprout more of them, then this could mark the turning of the tides. He just had to hope that was the case.

 Enemy Lines

    Logan stood before a seemingly impenetrable wall of living wood. Beside him was the utterly bizarre spirit that had granted himself and the children sanctuary. He couldn¡¯t help but stare at her from time to time. She was tall for a human woman, and powerfully built. Enough so that he half wondered if she might have some Orc in her bloodline. It would certainly explain her hairstyle; perhaps even her clothing.


    ¡°You¡¯re staring again,¡± the dungeon chided. ¡°Told you, bro, you¡¯re not my type.¡± A slight quirk of her lips gave away her banter for an attempt at levity. Logan gave a nervous huff of laughter, unable to muster the real thing in the face of what was to come.


    ¡°I was just trying to figure out if you were a thin, pale orc woman, or the brawniest human woman I¡¯ve ever met.¡± He jabbed.


    ¡°Purebred huma- Hold up, Orc? Orcs are real too?¡± She asked with a bit more enthusiasm. Logan just stared at her.


    ¡°You¡¯re takin¡¯ the piss, yeah?¡±


    ¡°No! I¡¯ve never seen one. I¡¯ve seen Halflings, Dwarves, one Elf, Humans, and the Lizards. No Orcs yet.¡± She explained.


    ¡°The lizards, as you say, are technically called ik¡¯ssah. Most folk will know what you mean, though. You¡¯re not likely to run into Orcs here anymore. When the settlers came down the river, the natives were driven west, into the swamps. There wasn¡¯t space for the Orcs and the Ik¡¯ssah, so the Orcs ended up driven further north into the plains. Nearest batch to here is gonna be the Southern Isles.¡± She nodded along as he spoke, taking it all in. Manglegrove was stalling and they both knew it.


    ¡°If we survive this, I¡¯d love a map of this area. Hel, even a globe. I don¡¯t even know how many continents this world has.¡±


    ¡°Sure. I can do that¡­¡± Logan assured, trailing off. The dungeon seemed to decide that the banter was at an end and the time had come to get down to business.


    ¡°Remember. You¡¯re there for tactical support, and reporting. If things go sideways, you hightail it out of there and get yourself back to safety. You have two kids back there who need you. They¡¯re the priority.¡± Logan could hardly believe what he was hearing.


    ¡°You want me to abandon your own and come home?¡± he asked incredulously.


    ¡°If it comes down to it, yes. This is our fight, and if it looks like we¡¯re going to lose, then you need to get those kids out of here and take them to safety. Got it?¡± Logan blinked back tears at her words.


    ¡°Yer good folk, you know that?¡± He said a tad thickly.


    ¡°Hey! No touching moments! That¡¯s how heroes die!¡± she joked again, forcing a smile that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. The sun was up now, casting the swamplands in hues of orange and gold. It was now or never. Lifting her hands, Manglegrove pulled at invisible threads, causing two trees to creak and groan as they untangled themselves and shifted in opposite directions, making an opening into the dense core grove. She took a deep breath, and Logan saw how flickers of crimson light danced behind her eyes and under her skin as she projected her voice outward into a flurry of howling wind, and creaking wood.


    ¡°MANGLEGROVE!¡± She boomed. ¡°MARCH!¡±


    Logan stared into the shadows of the doorway as a cacophony of groans and crackles and rustling rolled like thunder into the open space. He¡¯d thought he was prepared. After all, he and the dungeon had been working together closely, and he was well aware of the forces they had at their disposal. But knowing the numbers was different from seeing the real thing with his own eyes.


    The first things to emerge into the light were the two new Mangroves. As the sunlight cast them into sharp relief, he saw that each of the titans had been transformed into beasts of war. Each carried dozens of the leafy Leshy warriors on platforms of wood and fiber that had been woven into their very branches. Below the canopy, their trunks were peppered with scores of cylinders, each full to the brim with stockpiled ammunition for the javelin throwers. Like the war elephants of legend, they were practically mobile fortresses for their tiny riders. Then came the troops.


    The shadowed floor of the grove itself seemed to move until the three columns marched into the daylight. Row after row of Leshies poured out of the trees. More than Logan had ever seen. More than he could have imagined in his nightmares. Down the center marched a column of the familiar foot-tall shrubs, armed with one long spear and a quiver of javelins each. To either side of them marched narrower columns of the Manglegrove¡¯s newest madness.


    At two feet tall, the flytrap Leshies came up to Logan¡¯s shoulder, each sporting at least three mouths that bristled with fibrous fangs. Logan was becoming well acquainted with the fact that The Manglegrove didn¡¯t do things by halves, however; so it was little surprise that she¡¯d somehow taken an even more aggressive-looking version of the green demons and managed to make it even worse. He had wondered why they wanted leather armor when their natural bark would be harder and more protective than the freshly tanned rodent pelts. Now he understood. The columns of flytrap Leshies bore piecemeal suites of armor, with each of them being equipped with a tiny shield and what looked like the wood and stone ¡®swords¡¯ the Lizardfolk were so fond of. Logan slowly turned towards the ephemeral image of the core, when something stopped him in his tracks.


    ¡°What in the name of Hel¡¯s hound is THAT?!¡± the rugged ranger squawked. The absolute monstrosity that was shambling unevenly out of the grove was possibly the most bizarre thing he¡¯d ever laid eyes on. The machine was made of driftwood planks, woven twine, and what appeared to be a fairly nice Rowan bow, all slapdashed together into a kind of primitive ballista. This, in turn, was held in place by two leather belts with shoddy-looking copper buckles. This alone would have been enough to disturb him, but it was the thing their device was mounted to that disturbed him most. The wriggling bundle of tendrils could only be an uprooted assassin vine. The little green devils had roped sticks and bones to the thickest vines, giving the beast of burden form and stability. It was horrifyingly clever. Normal Leshies were bad enough, and they were Stone Age hunter-gatherers.


    ¡°That¡­ That might be my new favorite thing!¡± The core cackled gleefully. ¡°That¡¯s brilliant!¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell them how to make that?¡± Logan asked, incredulous.


    ¡°Nope! Never would have thought of it. That is pure shrubbish innovation!¡±


    Logan¡¯s thoughts drifted to those tales in his book of dungeons gone mad, or feral, and creating horrible monstrosities. Good gods, he hoped the Manglegrove never turned out like that. As the bulk of the forces passed, he let out a sigh and secured his quiver to his belt.


    ¡°Remember. No matter what happens, you get yourself back to those kids.¡± Liv reminded him once more.


    ¡°I¡¯m marching with a literal army. How much safer could I get?¡± Logan jokingly tossed back.


    ¡°Wise a-¡° Her voice was swallowed up, disappearing entirely between one step and the next. It took him a moment to piece together that he must have just passed outside the dungeon¡¯s sphere of influence. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and focused on the moment at hand. One of the Leshies, he honestly couldn¡¯t tell most of them apart, stepped up to him and stood as straight as its little wooden body could manage. It snapped a hand outward, and then folded the limb inward until its gnarled little hand sat parallel above its eyes. Then it jerkily dropped that hand back down to its side. Logan hadn¡¯t the faintest idea what that was supposed to mean, but he was here for tactical support and figured he¡¯d best get started.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Right. Okay¡­ People?¡± He paused his stumbling address as the Leshy before him did a brief dance. His confusion suddenly turned to comprehension as he realized the leafy being in front of him was translating. Some of these Leshies must be from the village the dungeon adopted.


    ¡°Keep well away from the water. Tight formation. We don¡¯t want them picking off stragglers.¡± He looked towards the mangroves. ¡°Igore!¡± The knotted, lopsided mangrove perked up. ¡°You¡¯re the forward battery. Take the lead.¡± He looked at the other and sighed.


    ¡°M-¡° He struggled to keep his expression level. ¡°Mosstache,¡± Damn that dungeon. She¡¯d claimed she made them distinctive so he could easily differentiate them, but the scraggly green ¡®mustache¡¯ on the latter treant was rather over the top. ¡°You¡¯re rear guard. Both of you stay close enough together that your javelineers can cover at least half of the line.¡± ¡®Mosstache¡¯ looked down to the tiny translator, then back to Logan to give a slow nod.


    ¡ª


    The morning had passed in relative peace. With the parasites being so prolific, it seemed they had depopulated most of the immediate marsh, leaving only occasional slugs to worry about. Those were slow, and none too sturdy, so they hadn¡¯t proven to be much of a concern. It wasn¡¯t until nearly noon that they started to encounter errant bits of infested wildlife.


    Logan swayed back and forth, perched in the heavy crook of Igore¡¯s trunk. The seat gave him a good view, and as the only being present that was at risk of infection, it ensured he didn¡¯t accidentally step on some errant slug hidden in the grass and end up like those things. At the sound of a tussle, Logan turned to look back at the line in time to see what looked like a large snake with a head of writhing black tentacles surge into their flank. An adrenal jolt electrified his limbs as he grabbed for his bow, but by the time he knocked his first arrow, the mindless beast was already cut to ribbons by the flytrap Leshys.


    Encounters were growing more frequent now, but thus far there hasn¡¯t been anything noteworthy. Their sheer numbers were proving to be more than enough to make short work of even the larger beasts. Still, this was no time to let their guard down.


    Based on what the dungeon had told him he had been expecting to confront a swarm. He felt a tap on his arm and glanced down to see his leafy translator vying for his attention. It pointed to him, tapped its gnarled knuckles against its wooden head, and then gave an exaggerated shrug. The odd pantomime gave him a bemused chuckle.


    ¡°Best as I can think, there¡¯s a few possibilities for what we¡¯re seeing.¡± He held up a single finger. ¡°You lot did more damage to the enemy than you realized.¡± A second finger joined the first. ¡°The enemy killed off too much of the local wildlife to keep a force ready.¡± He ticked the next digits as he carried on. ¡°They could be busy elsewhere, or they could be waiting for nightfall.¡±


    He fell silent, deep in thought. He didn¡¯t relish the idea of fighting in enemy territory in the dark, but the thought of returning empty-handed was a bitter idea to swallow. Glancing back the way they had come, he settled on a copse of cypress trees and signaled the troops to head that way. It was close enough to The Manglegrove that she should be able to catch up to them and reclaim the territory, assuming they could keep it clear. When the column arrived at his destination, he stood and raised his voice.


    ¡°Alright lads, circle the wagons and hold.¡± Logan made a twirling gesture with one finger lifted, signaling one of their few practiced maneuvers. ¡°Javelineers, guard the tree line. Eyes on the sky. Mangroves, cover the rest of the Forward Guard. Ranger two, patrol duty. Ranger one, with me.¡± He nodded with satisfaction as his translator repeated his words for those who needed it, and the various squads broke off to do as they had been ordered.


    He jumped down from the crooked trunk, and the first ranger squad formed up around him. Another practiced hand signal sent them radiating outward into the trees. At the first sign of trouble, any of the rangers outside the perimeter would make a break for the javlineer¡¯s cover range, signal whistle blazing. If the area was clear, then these trees would make useful materials for proper barricades.


    The copse wasn¡¯t especially large, boasting a few dozen trees around a stagnant, shallow pool. Many seemed to be dead, their hollow trunks rotting from the inside even as they stood. A few of the braver rangers waded into the murky water, but by the time the sun was lowering towards the horizon, no sign of the enemy had been found.


    Just the same, Logan continued his slow patrol with his bow held at the ready. Scout had returned to the others, giving the signal to begin fortifying their position. He could hear one of the mangroves moving inward and ground his teeth to fend off the nerves as the treant began to loudly wrench at one of the dead trees for materials. The cypress was much larger than Mosstache and must have been rooted deeply because it seemed to be taking considerable effort to knock it down.


    The noise set him on edge, nervously fingering his nocked arrow. The stagnant, cloying air already had him damp with sweat, and now his nerves had the underarms of his tunic soaked. Deep groans and creaks echoed through the grove, slicing through the deep rustling of the wind through the canopy over his head. He kept his keen eyes peeled, glaring into the growing shadows for any sign of movement. A flicker of motion nearly made him jump out of his skin, his bow snapping upward on pure instinct, only to scold himself when naught but a single leaf fluttered straight down from the canopy above.


    ¡°Hel¡¯s hound!¡± he cursed under his breath, then froze as something nagged at him. The falling leaf. He glanced at where it floated in the still water nearby. Hardly unusual, the wind knocked leaves down from trees all the time. It was late in the year, the leaf was the right kind for the trees around him, what was the issue? Why did this leaf bother him? He replayed the scene in his mind as the mangrove paused and repositioned itself, giving him a moment of deathly silence to consider.


    His mind raced to uncover the source of his unease. Silence. The salty sweat in his eyes. The tree trunk. The mangrove. The wind in the trees. The silence. The leaf¡­ Logan¡¯s eyes widened. The bright green leaf had fallen straight down. Straight down.


    ¡°There was no breeze,¡± he breathed the words so softly they barely made it past his lips. He turned on the balls of his feet and sprinted for the troops.


    ¡°THEY¡¯RE IN THE TREES!!¡±


    Mosstache heaved, freeing the dead wood from its damp earthen embrace. The crash spiraled outward into a cacophony of splintering timber, decayed trunks bursting open all around him. Logan took a flying leap over the perimeter guard, who were already weaving their shields into a wall. From the shattered log at Mosstache¡¯s roots, an armored, serpentine beast reared upward. The infested centipede stood at nearly twice Logan¡¯s height, its clicking limbs rattling like a bag of bones. Mandibles that could pierce a leather cuirass snapped down on a root, shredding the wooden limb into sappy fibers.


    Another charged for the front line, javelins ricocheting harmlessly off its chitin. The primitive monster¡¯s maw opened wide as it closed in, only to crash to a halt as Logan¡¯s arrow burrowed down its gullet.


    ¡°HOLD YOUR FIRE TILL YOU SEE THE BELLY!¡± Logan roared. Another cacophony from the rear pulled his attention to where their troops had clashed with a sudden rush of the infested.


    ¡°Option three it is¡­¡± he growled. Then the Halfling¡¯s face curled into a predatory grin. The enemy was likely expecting the same kind of fight The Manglegrove had given them before. Whatever was controlling these things was in for a shock.


    ¡°FORWARD TWO, PIKES! JAVELIN TWO, HARPOONS!¡± One of the ranking Leshies pulled out a whistle, relaying his orders. The second line of Flytrap Leshies sheathed their blades and pulled out pikes nearly as long as Logan was tall. As the first batch of infested wildlife impaled themselves upon their spears, the larger beasts found themselves barbed by roped javelins. Squads of the shrub-like warriors pulled beasts down into the range of the shield wall¡¯s blades to be hacked to bits while the pikes kept them safe from smaller enemies.


    Logan whirled and loosed another arrow into a centipede from the cypress copse. The impact was enough to redirect the thin stream of bile it was spitting. One Leshy writhed in agony as the acid dissolved the green, barkless flesh, but the arrow had saved its fellows. The carcass of the carapaced monster lifted into the air, and Logan couldn¡¯t help but cheer as Mosstache used the corpse like a club, crushing another of its brethren with a mighty swing.


    He watched carefully for changes in the enemy¡¯s tactics or some kind of break in their defenses. To his shock, there were none. This was working. They were holding the line! Another centipede reared up, twitching as its underbelly was peppered with spears. Logan barely had time to dive to one side as the acidic spray just barely missed him. He kept his momentum, rolling onto his back and drawing back the string¡­ Which came away limply in his grasp. His jaw dropped in horror as he saw the still-smoking end of his bow where the acid had dissolved the string.


    He rolled to his feet, falling back as he searched his pockets for a replacement string. He stood in the center of the formation, backed up against Igore, and watched as the offending centipede was pierced by Mosstache¡¯s root. Which was why the sound of another tree falling came as such a surprise. Both the mangroves were accounted for, so who was felling more trees?


    A towering cypress, still green and living, crashed down like the hammer of the gods. The copse-facing line was scattered by the blow, and Logan himself was only saved by Igore¡¯s quick thinking and willingness to take the blow on his behalf. The twisted mangrove was tangled in a mass of branches, with many of the riders laying scattered and disoriented on the ground.


    ¡°HOLD THE LINE!!¡± Logan coughed. ¡°WE NEED TO RE¡­ Oh.¡± The last rays of the fading sun were cast into shadow as a stooped hulk extricated itself from the felled canopy. The hunchbacked being had ape-like arms, crooked fangs, and claws as long as his hand. Bulging muscles twitched spasmodically beneath its lumpy green skin as it arched backward and briefly achieved a height nearly four times his own.


    ¡°Bugger.¡±


    The fen troll bellowed skyward, one eye bulging with rage-fueled insanity whilst the other socket leaked pale fluid around a writhing slug. The savage grabbed hold of the slug and ripped it out, with some bits of green flesh still attached, and blinked a few times before yet another slug tore through the half-regrown eye.


    Igore managed to pull itself free from the tangle, and Logan hoped that would prove to be enough of a distraction for the troll. Abandoning his hunt for the bowstring, he grabbed his pack and dug frantically for his flint and pitch. It was far from ideal, but it was the only thing he had on him that had any chance of harming this giant. He heard another crash and for a terrifying moment thought that another tree with coming down with a troll rider. Then he saw Igore land. Hard. The mangrove''s bark was stripped with deep claw gouges.


    Frantic now, he managed to get his hands on the small box he needed. Yanking it out, he glanced up to check on the troll¡¯s position as he grasped the fire starter, he felt his stomach drop as the crazed eye of the troll locked onto what he held. It may have been half mad, but it knew what that was.


    ¡°Fu-¡°


    The world spun in a blazing spiral of pain. A flash of green, a whorl of colors and shadows, then a splash muffled all but the ringing in his ears as dark waters swallowed him whole.

 Normandy

    Warm¡­ Dark¡­ Weightless¡­


    This was fine.


    The troubles of the world were muted and distant.


    Here, he could finally find rest.


    Logan¡¯s dazed reverie was shattered by pain. His lungs were screaming for air, and that realization allowed his addled senses to take stock of the general throbbing ache that was his entire physical being. He took a moment to contemplate the merits of just giving up and drowning right there, but then he caught a flicker of movement. Something else was in the pool with him.


    Panic seized his battered muscles. Moit! The water was full of parasitic slugs! Flailing with what strength he had left he breached the slimy skim of the water and gasped for air. There was no time. He had to get out! Kicking furiously, he half-swam for the shore, feet sliding along the slick mud of the bottom. Then came the moment he had feared more than any other fate that might have befallen him out here.


    A sticky mass clung to his shoulder, and he felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck. He thought of Marla, orphaned and alone. No, not alone. Dagny would be with her. He hated to be the reason Dagny had to go through the loss of a parental figure again, but they would be able to guide Marla through the loss. All of this flashed through his mind in the flicker of a signal lantern as he felt something peel back the skin at his nape faster than he could react.


    Then there was a bolt of yellow; like a blurred arrow of condensed sunlight. The thing moved with such force that it left a wake in the water beneath where it flew. The slug was wrenched away from his vulnerable flesh with a meaty-sounding thwack, and in a moment of clarity Logan realized he couldn¡¯t afford to investigate. Charging out of the water and onto the land, he held his bleeding neck and took stock of the situation.


    Bass howls of rage made the smaller stones on the ground jitter in place. The mangroves had managed to pierce the troll to the ground with their sharp roots, but the beast had no fear of injury and kept tearing its limbs free to claw at them. Its lumpy green hide was bristling with javelins, but the tiny weapons weren¡¯t doing enough damage and it was all the mangroves could do to just hold the monster down.


    The perimeter was contracting, consolidating resources as the assault on the Leshies continued unabated. Without the support of the mangroves, the enemy had an advantage in momentum. He cast about, searching for his pack and the fire starter, but the impact had likely sent them flying afield and the low light wasn¡¯t helping him to spot where they had landed.


    Another of the massive centipedes charged in. Whatever was controlling the primitive creatures must have gotten wise to the Leshy¡¯s tactics, because this one never gave the troops a chance to strike at its underbelly. Instead, the countless legs of the armored tank drove it head-first through the line like a plow through loose soil. The chitinous giant bored right to the center of the fray, making for the troll.


    ¡°STOP IT!¡± Logan coughed, blood dribbling down his chin. ¡°STOP THAT BUG!¡± Fighting his way to his feet, Logan grabbed for his daggers and prepared to jump on the thing himself when he heard the familiar twang of a bow. Near his knees, Saboteur stood astride his ramshackle ballista. The plant it was strapped to rocked back as the arrow loosed, skewering the arthropod through the head. The segmented serpent thrashed in dramatic death throes, spraying spurts of acidic bile in random arcs. Logan barely managed to dodge an aimless spray that left Igore¡¯s bark sizzling. The troll¡¯s frenzy only increased as the acid burned welts into its skin. Welts that didn¡¯t heal.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Logan¡¯s eyes lit up and he spun around in search of another centipede, or even the corpse of one. Spotting a crumpled heap of legs he dove for the fallen creature as the troll roughly snapped a large root off of Mosstache.


    ¡°The bile sack should be near the jaws,¡± he muttered to himself. He growled with frustration as he saw the head of this beast had been crushed beyond repair. He stood and looked for another, but every one he spotted had the same problem. Hacked the bits, run through, crushed¡­


    ¡°Gods damn it all I need ACID!!¡± His frustrations were drowned out by the cacophony of combat. He had a flare of hope when he saw what might have been the last of the centipedes hitting the shield wall, but before he could signal the troops the thing had been swarmed by furious flytrap warriors. Many of them were practically unarmed at this point, their primitive blades having broken or dulled beyond use, leaving tooth and¡­ well, tooth, as their only weapons. It slowed the flytraps down, but not by much.


    Logan gasped as inspiration struck. He screamed over the chaos as loudly as he could.


    ¡°JAVELINEERS TO THE FRONT!¡± he cried forcefully enough to hurt his throat. ¡°FORWARD ONE AND TWO-¡± Logan prayed this wasn¡¯t a huge mistake. ¡°EAT THE TROLL!!¡±


    There was a moment of apparent confusion, the less bulky Leaf Leshies realizing they were now the front line, while the hardy melee troops wondered if they had heard correctly. Then came a frenzy that made the Moit look positively subdued. Logan had heard Leaf Leshy ¡®voices¡¯, with each individual being able to make a single high-pitched note. It was usually reserved as a battle cry. The Flytrap variety, as it turned out, were so much worse.


    The carnivorous plants made a kind of low, gurgling hiss. He doubted it would even be audible over the chaos were it not being echoed by nearly a hundred of the little savages. All semblance of discipline and order disappeared in an instant as the massive slab of meat that was the fen troll found itself dogpiled by a rabid horde. In a normal flytrap plant, a mild digestive acid would slowly dissolve bugs and other tiny prey. He could only hope that the Leshies retained that trait.


    Relief flooded through him as the troll''s enraged bellows turned to agonized whines. He watched as the nearest Leshy bit down on the beast''s forearm, jerked back and forth like a hound, and pulled a palm-sized bit of lumpy flesh free. It began to regrow, but much more slowly than before. Slowly enough that the thing couldn¡¯t keep up with the green piranhas that we¡¯re eating it alive. Relief was supplanted by revulsion at that thought, and Logan returned his focus to the battle.


    His knives slid smoothly back into their sheathes. They would be useless against the smaller foes, and require him to get far too close to the parasites infesting them. With no time to search for his spare string, Logan snatched up his bow off of the ground and charged for the front line. There was no grace here. No symphonies of battle, or artful economies of motion. Grasping his bow by one end, he leaped to the aid of the flagging Leaf Leshies. As the setting sun left them depleted and the hordes of nutria and other vermin washed in like a fetid tide, he swung the rowan bow with abandon. Every time the line would buckle, Logan jumped in to bat at the infestation and buy the Leshies room to breathe.


    Gasping, covered in ichor and blood and muck, he shakily lifted his bow to swing at a lump of writhing fur that may once have been a rabbit, only to find his bow trapped in the jaws of a large caiman.


    ¡°Bugger¡­¡± The word barely touched the air as the realization of just how bad this was about to be registered in his mind. Then a jagged root smashed down onto the beast, and Logan felt a powerful claw grab him about the waist and lift him into the air. The lopsided trunk could only be Igore! The exhausted Halfling looked back over his shoulder to see the twitching troll no longer being held by the mangroves, allowing the trees to return to the front.


    Putting his bow swings to shame, the mighty branches cleaved into the enemy forces, allowing the Leshies to reassert their footing and form up again. The slugs and their hosts were being pushed back as the troops mounted on the mangroves hurled down the last of the javelins. As Igore placed Logan on the crook of its twisted trunk for safety, he heard it again. That bowel-watering, awful guttural hissing. It was the most glorious thing he¡¯d ever heard.


    Like a verdant explosion, the flytrap Leshies surged back outward. They leaped over the Javelineers, looking as fresh and energetic as their leafy cousins in the noon sun, and hurled themselves into the dwindling enemies. It took a moment for the reality of the situation to hit him. The infested swarm was thinning, breaking, scattering! Logan thrust his broken bow into the air and gave a routing cry.


    The troops responded in kind, with a cacophony of hisses, piping screams, and even deep crackling, wooden groans from the mangrove trees. They had won! Somehow they had managed a real victory.


    ¡°Clear the brush! Set up the barricades!¡± he ordered, then bellowed so loud he thought his throat might bleed.


    ¡°FOR THE MANGLEGROVE!!¡±

 Intelligence

    Twin shadows slowly orbited the sharpened barricades of the encampment, tethered to the canopies of the guardian mangroves. Liv wrinkled her nose, unable to avoid the pervasive miasma of the surrounding battlefield. Carrion birds were happily feasting on the offal.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Logan was stoking a campfire that her forces were studiously avoiding. ¡°I¡¯d have thought you¡¯d be pleased.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I am! Normandy looks awesome. It¡¯s just¡­¡± She motioned to the field of fetid meat and decomposing slugs, looking a tad green about the gills.


    ¡°Normandy?¡± Logan inquired curiously.


    ¡°Yeah, it was¡­¡± she had been about to say it was a reference to the Second World War but realized that the explanation wouldn¡¯t mean much to the Halfling. ¡°It was a place where soldiers landed and set up a base of operations to engage in a far-off war.¡± As she spoke, Liv¡¯s expression turned even more sour, glaring menacingly at the flock of blackbirds who seemingly paid her no mind. Logan hummed in acknowledgment of the explanation, focused on stacking kindling, before changing the subject.


    ¡°You got out here fairly swiftly. Are you feeling any better?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°A bit. SP production is still down, but with a higher base pool to pull from, it¡¯s getting easier.¡± Logan had learned that her mind was bafflingly alien, and asking the dungeon too many questions frequently just resulted in headaches.


    ¡°We can¡¯t get too comfortable yet, though. I¡¯m putting my money on the enemy regrouping as we speak.¡± Liv sighed.


    ¡°We¡¯re about as ready as we can be. Scout has sentries hidden all along the border, in case they try to sneak around us, and this camp is as fortified as we can make it given what we have on hand.¡± As he spoke, Liv¡¯s frown deepened.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the idea of sitting here while they rebuild. Shouldn¡¯t we take the fight to them?¡± Her question surprised Logan. She was usually so confident and headstrong.


    ¡°Where would we take it? We don¡¯t know where the enemy is, how many they are, or whether they have more traps lying in wait. Without a better understanding of what¡¯s out there, we¡¯d risk a lot more lives.¡±


    Liv grumbled, knowing he was right and not liking it one bit. She stared out at the field, pondering the possibilities for a while.


    ¡°You look like you want to set those ravens on fire with your eyes.¡± His jab brought her back to the present. Liv snorted loudly in an unexpected chortle of laughter, Logan joining in as the tension broke. After a moment of breathless recovery, the specter of the dungeon voiced her thoughts.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re looking for a core crystal,¡± she said pensively. Logan¡¯s stiffened at that.


    ¡°Another dungeon? How? Why?¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Think about it.¡± Liv began ticking off her fingers one at a time. ¡°It claims territory just like I do. It seems to create all kinds of monsters to defend that territory. It coordinates otherwise mindless creatures into a unified force.¡± She looked down at him, meeting his gaze. ¡°It¡¯s just like me.¡± Logan looked away, staring at the carrion-eating birds as he processed that.


    ¡°I can certainly see where you¡¯re getting that conclusion, but it might be premature. You lot are literally forged by the Allfather himself toresist corruption,¡± he rebutted. ¡°That book said the Moit could spawn more diverse and advanced forms when they achieve high enough numbers. I won¡¯t discount your idea, but we can¡¯t make any assumptions either.¡±


    Liv grimaced at the term ¡®forged¡¯, disliking the mechanical, inanimate imagery that came along with it. Frustrated by her own uncertainty, she bent her ire back towards the heedless avians again. Gods help those ravens if she ever saw them again¡­


    ¡ª


    Huginn stood amidst the furthest of his ilk, notable only by the impeccable shine of his feathers. His keen eyes took in the movements of distant lips, intrigued by the progress this young dungeon was making.


    ¡°We should warn her of the danger,¡± he croaked.


    ¡°Wuff?¡± Muninn¡¯s caw was muffled by a beak stuffed with liver. The blood-flecked corvid tipped back his head and gulped down the morsel. ¡°We spoke of this. That is not how it is done,¡± the keeper of lore chided.


    ¡°Perhaps it should be. Knowledge is power. With only a few words, we could make her success that much more likely,¡± explained the clever to the wise. Muninn shook his head in exasperation.


    ¡°She is like an egg, brother. If you crack open her shell before the proper time, she may never develop the strength needed to fly.¡±


    ¡°May,¡± Huginn snapped. ¡°Is the chance of failure any excuse to allow that egg to be swallowed by a serpent? Is not a chance at a life better than none?¡±


    ¡°And what good would it do, brother, to tell the chick of the serpent before it has any way to defend itself? Knowledge rarely brings joy, you know this better than most.¡±


    ¡°Why not try? What is melancholy when weighed against survival?¡± Huginn demanded.


    ¡°Because it is cruel,¡± explained the keeper of memory. ¡°Because others have been driven to madness.¡±


    ¡°Others?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Muninn sighed. ¡°You have tried this before.¡± Shaking out his feathers, Muninn dipped his head back down to tug at another strip of flesh, leaving Huginn to ponder. Not for the first time, he wished he had his brother''s gifts of memory and empathy. Then again, without him, Muninn would do naught but maintain the status quo, just as he would do nothing but repeat the past were it not for his other half.


    His thoughts were interrupted as a deep shadow stained the astral to the west. It was not yet visible to the naked eye, hidden as it was behind a copse of trees, the corruption of space was unmistakable. It warped the very magic of Miegare around it. The scion of the outsiders was here.


    ¡°Time to leave!¡± Muninn ordered, already taking wing and circling sunward. Huginn looked up at him, and then back to the growing aura of the hidden scion. He could not feel the urgency his brother expressed and knew it would be wisest to follow suit. The raven¡¯s gaze turned then to the Dungeon and her companion. Perhaps¡­ Perhaps just this once. If he could not convey knowledge, could he at least offer a warning?


    Lifting his head skyward, Huginn held his wings akimbo and began to caw loudly. His hollow cries caught the attention of their mundane counterparts, the feathered corvids taking up the warning cry en masse and filling the air with a cacophony of metallic voices.

 Ceding Ground

    Steel voices echoed eerily over the wetlands, the corvid¡¯s warnings undulating like a cacophonous klaxon. Liv grimaced, flipping up her own twin birds in response, but Logan didn¡¯t seem quite so willing to dismiss the phenomenon. He slowly and cautiously grasped his bow, eyes flitting about to scan the area. He quickly zeroed in on the cypress copse, as it was the only thing in the area that could reasonably hide any enemy movement.


    ¡°Calm down. It¡¯s probably the buzzard brothers causing a ruckus.¡± Liv blithely dismissed his caution. Logan spared a moment¡¯s attention to shoot her a glare.


    ¡°Lest you forget, those birds are half of the Allfather¡¯s retinue¡­¡± he chided before returning to scanning the trees.


    ¡°If ol¡¯ One-Eye wants to show up on my doorstep and scold me, he¡¯s more than welcome to -¡° Liv found her blasphemy cut short by a crack of thunder. She instinctively looked upwards, but was drawn back down to earth when Igore crashed to the ground. A strip of bare wood scarred the mangrove¡¯s trunk where an impact had flensed the bark off. Already Mosstache was shambling over to assist, but to her confusion, Liv saw a third tree moving out of the tiny grove.


    ¡°Please tell me that¡¯s one of yours¡­¡± Logan called out over the din, nocking an arrow. Liv blinked, clearly baffled, as what looked like one of the tall cypresses stepped right up to the edge of the mist. She was about to respond in the negative when it finally shambled into the open and moved toward the downed Igore.


    Darker than a barren ebony tree, the thing had a chromatic, oily sheen that gave the impression of something recently dipped in a bubbling tar pit. A bulbous base on stubby roots rocked to and fro, each limb unnaturally bent and jointed. The thing waved its leafless branches as it ambled unevenly forward, and Liv glimpsed flashes of cloven hooves between the blades and brambles of the marsh.


    ¡°WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT?!¡± Liv exclaimed, pointing needlessly at the enemy. Any passing semblance to the local flora was banished as the stiff, angular branches relaxed into a flowing mass of boneless tentacles. With a jolt, she realized the thing had been camouflaging itself, hiding in the trees.


    ¡°Questions later!!¡± Logan chided, loosing an arrow. An obsidian hoof smashed down onto Igore, pinning the mangrove and snapping several heavy branches just as the arrow thunked into its blubbery hide. The inky flesh quivered in irritation, flinching like a horse''s flank shaking off a fly. A crusty seam just above the projectile split apart like an old scab, a narrowing hourglass pupil the size of a dinner plate anchoring itself on Logan.


    Realizing he was right, the spectral core turned her mind to action. She didn¡¯t want her forces to leave the safety of their barricades, but then she couldn¡¯t just fall back and abandon Igore either.


    ¡°Javelineers,¡± the fiery punk roared, ¡°suppressive fire!!¡± The ground swarmed with frenzied movement, as the Leshies rushed to take up practiced positions. Tucked behind the ragged barricades, flytrap soldiers formed ordered lines, passing ammunition bundles forward in a constant stream. From the tops of the defensive structures, her leafy shrubs took up their javelins. Logan was already shooting another arrow, his expression lined with concentration, as the growing exponential that was the volley of tiny spears took flight.


    The great eye closed, and the tentacles began to twist and flail. It looked as though it meant to try and bat away the weapons, until dozens of rubbery lips parted to reveal jagged, malformed maws.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°Nyal¡¯t¨­k ph¡¯nglui, uaaah¡­¡± The echoes of the phlegmy chorus slammed into her like a shockwave, setting her spectral skin alight and her fantasmal joints to creaking. Liv staggered back, bewildered. Beside her, Logan was clutching his ears in agony.


    ¡°IT CAN TAL-¡° her words were drowned out as a patch of open space wrent apart, revealing a glittering void. The very air vibrated, rushing like a river into the disk of midnight, through which Liv could swear she saw pinpoints of starlight. The volley faltered, pulled into the void, or slowed by the buffeting wind before the disk snapped shut with a boom. In a moment of shocked silence, she turned to look down at Logan. The man stared up at her with an expression of horror that mirrored her own, a bead of blood trickling off his chin from where it dripped from his nose.


    ¡°¡­ W-what was¡­¡± she whispered, stammering.


    ¡°Spellcaster,¡± was Logan¡¯s slurred, nasal reply.


    ¡°¡­ Fuck.¡±


    Igore was struggling, kicking wildly beneath the larger beings bulk as Mosstache heaved at a muddy stone to lob at the thing. The sappy drool that leaked from the myriad mouths of the thing, hissed gently against the bark of the downed mangrove.


    ¡±Ftaghu f¡¯lloig,¡± The words oozed like mucous, making Igore shudder, stiffly. Liv¡¯s second sight showed her the impossible shapes of phantasmal threads those dark tentacles were weaving. Beside her, Logan screamed. ¡°Wgah¡¯n ¡¯y¡¯nyth uaaah!¡±


    The brash woman clutched at her shirt helplessly, as the web of magic draped over her mangrove like a net, and the twin emerald flames in Igore¡¯s eyes were snuffed out. Liv felt her own threads of connection sever with an almost physical recoil.


    The roaring wind and creaking of trees gave physical shape to the Manglegrove¡¯s agonized howl of rage. A grieving lament of wood and stone accompanied the whistling flight of Mosstache¡¯s lobbed boulder. The being from beyond the void simply stepped back, finally opening its countless eyes to observe, as a mauled trunk stood to absorb the concussive impact of the stone with a splintering crackle.


    Liv¡¯s hands rose to cover her mouth as she stared. She¡¯d thought Igore was dead when she felt the connection break. She wished now that had been true. Empty eyed and broken, her beloved mangrove swayed mindlessly before her. A flick of one tentacle sent it careening toward Mosstache in a blind charge.


    This creature was strong enough to topple one of her guardians on its own, to say nothing of the threat its magics represented. Liv saw now that this was not the hill to die upon. Thanking the gods that she hadn¡¯t ignored Logan¡¯s advice and rushed ahead, she pulled up her menu.


    ¡±You¡¯re not the only one with surprises, you ugly fuck!¡± she seethed, silently praying this would even work. With a jab, she poked her finger through a small circle with an amorphous icon. As the tiny button illuminated, she watched the already loose muck beneath the enemy¡¯s hooves become almost fluid. Making a mud slick had been straight forward, but required more concentration than she wanted to spare. An issue she was glad to see could be overcome by the recent innovation of automated functions. Back within the guarded core grove, her network of threads was sending pulses of SP right back into her core itself, tied to the matrices that controlled her ability to shape the waters below the earth.


    For a moment she was surprised to see that her forces weren¡¯t taking advantage of the breather she hoped this would provide, but a glance at Logan revealed that her tactical advisor was preoccupied with bleeding ears. Something about the eldrich incantations was causing her lone flesh and bone companion pain, while her plants were unphased. Ducking down, she looked the panicked Halfling in the eye.


    ¡°RUN!!¡± she screamed, mouthing the word as clearly as she could and pointing back towards the grove. ¡°GO!!¡± Logan nodded, still holding his throbbing head, and made to retreat. Liv had barely enough time to stand up and face the enemy again when the disgustingly moist voice of the enemy frothed once more onto the air.


    ¡±Ya ftaghu ¡®fhalmaor uln. Throd, u¡¯ha shuggor. Uaaah!¡±


    Liv staggered, arms pinwheeling, as the ground beneath their feet began to bulge and shift. Textured, gelatinous flesh could be seen between the fissures of clay and soil, leaving only the mud pit beneath the beast devoid of the vile crags. This thing, this monster, could control elements within her own dungeon?!


    ¡°FALL BACK!¡± her command could hardly be heard over the rumbling. This was bad. They weren¡¯t ready. ¡°RETRE-¡° The words caught in her throat, snuffed out by a crushing pressure.


    ¡±Ss? thuul¡¯ga¡­ Dungeon¡­¡±


    Jasper eyes bulged as the crimson specter scratched futilely at her throat. Pain warred with confusion on the dead woman¡¯s face as the rubbery tentacle heaved her off of the ground.

 Backlash

    The rumbling of fissured earth. The splintering of wood. The wet slapping of the flesh-beast. All of it blurred together until the sensory encompassing din of battle seemed to peel away from reality like so much bark from a fallen tree. The world held its breath, as if time itself was uncertain how it could possibly move on after such a catastrophic revelation. Bushwhacker stared upward, humbled and horrified, as the spirit of the core dangled helplessly in the grip of the abomination.


    The core¡¯s crimson features twisted in agony as rivulets of Jasper sap began to pull from her skin, consumed by her eldritch captor. Bushwhacker didn¡¯t know what this was, or how such a thing could be possible, but every fiber of her being resonated with a single certainty. If this thing wasn¡¯t stopped, they were all going to die.


    Feeling as though she were moving through the cloying muck of the swamp rather than air, she turned, looking for answers, looking for orders. Logan was retreating, staggering as red sap flowed from his eyes and ears. The core choked and sputtered above them. Rindguard was back in the grove. Her leaves dropped as the weight of worlds threatened to crush her last spark of hope. Then a hand grasped her shoulder, shaking her from her despair.


    ¡°¡­¡± Weavebriar¡¯s susurrations were lost to the cacophony that rushed back in with it. Pulling her close, his leaves fluttered against her own as he shouted. ¡°BUSHWHACKER! BUSHWHACKER!!! WHAT DO WE DO?!¡±


    His eyes¡­ She¡¯d met them expecting fear or loss, but what she found in those windows of the spirit was trust. He was putting his faith in her. With a jolt she realized that she was all that was left. If she couldn¡¯t lead them to victory¡­ She shook those thoughts away as the last sparks within her blazed back to life. The Manglegrove¡¯s eldest child pulled out her whistle, and prepared herself for war.


    ¡°We need to free The Manglegrove!¡± she shouted.


    ¡°How?¡± Weavebriar¡¯s tone wasn¡¯t wavering with uncertainty, only a need for clarity. Bushwhacker looked around the battlefield. She needed Mosstache. The mangrove was the only thing with even a remote chance of wrestling the mother from this beast. She spotted it to the east, still grappling with the cracked and lifeless shade of Igore. Snapping the whistle into the air she trilled the signal for the forward teams. As flytrap Leshies began to run to her position, a familiar goliath of a figure trundled up to her.


    ¡°Your command?¡± Siege hissed, towering over her.


    ¡°We need Mosstache! Rally your troops! Take down Igore by any means necessary!¡± She ordered, swallowing the guilt and grief it caused her. Weavebriar looked incredulous, but Seige only offered a firm nod and a single, determined word.


    ¡°Yessss¡­¡±


    ¡°Weavebriar! We need a builder!¡± she commanded. When her companion nodded she continued. ¡°We need a clear path. Use your magic to bridge the cracks in the earth!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if the vines will last-¡°


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°They don¡¯t need to! Just get us there!¡± she demanded, pointing to where the lumbering giants that were the mangroves creaked and groaned in their mortal struggle.


    Weavebriar took a moment, muttering softly as his gnarled hand passed over the head of his bone club. Then the twin sparks of his eyes flared as he cleaved the air, causing the shattered earth to bloom with woven mats of tangled roots and vines. The fibrous nets might not survive long if the earth kept shifting, but they only needed a few moments. Whistle shrieking in the air over her head, Bushwhacker charged forward across the living bridge, Weavebriar at her back. All around them, the massive shapes of the flytrap warriors barreled past them, some even running on all fours, battle-lust foaming at their lips.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about Igore!¡± she shouted back to Weavebriar. ¡°Leave them to Siege. Just get me to Mosstache!!¡±


    ¡°How are the flytrap warriors supposed to take down Igore?!¡± He panted. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell Siege a plan!¡± Bushwhacker said nothing. There was nothing to say. This was a desperate move, and there was no time. All she could do was delegate the job to Siege, and hope that he found a way to at least slow Igore down.


    Leaping over the final jagged cliff, they arrived at the shambling roots of the two towering mangroves. There, she saw Siege throwing down his weapons and armor. Only once his green skin was bare before the light of the sun did he throw his powerful arms wide and bellow out a war cry. Bushwhacker watched in dread fascination as his warriors all threw their gear to the ground, inexplicably abandoning the advantages they offered. Then they struck. The legion pounced upon their leader, writhing in a heap of green tendrils and toothy maws. Maws which began to clasp onto each other while stalks twisted together.


    ¡°By all the ancients¡­¡± Weavebriar gasped. Before them, what had been many, became one. A hulking, headless form stood on two short legs and two absurdly long and powerful arms. It stood up and pounded its chest, with a roar that was felt from their roots to their leaves. It wasn¡¯t as tall or hard as the mangroves, but its sheer bulk might just be enough.


    Pointing upward to Mosstache¡¯s patchy, green, beetle-like head she tore her eyes away from the legion and back to Weavebriar. ¡°GET ME UP THERE!¡±


    With one arm, the builder grabbed her about the middle, while the other held his cudgel aloft. There was a brief moment of crushing acceleration as a surge of life below their feet hurtled them into the air, followed by weightless free fall. Behind them, Bushwhacker could see how the core¡¯s projection was beginning to dim. The Javelineers were throwing everything they could at the abomination, but with little effect. She had a moment to wonder why the beast wasn¡¯t using spells to block the projectiles anymore, choosing instead to let them pepper its hide. Then gravity returned as another vine caught them, and swung them down towards Mosstache¡¯s sorrowful eyes. They slammed into the massive trunk, hard. More than a few leaves fluttered down to the ground as the pair hissed in pain from countless little snaps and breaks. No time. There was no time for pain.


    As the barrel chested flytrap amalgam grappled onto the twisted trunk of Igore, Bushwhacker pushed herself over the gnarled eye ridge of the mangrove she rode upon.


    ¡°LET GO!!¡± she rustled as loudly as she could, desperate to be heard over the thunder of colliding tree limbs. ¡°MOSSTACHE YOU HAVE TO LET THEM GO!!¡± The great tree was slow to understand, turning one verdant candle flame of an eye upward to look at her, unable to speak and fight at the same time. Then it looked back to Igore. It didn¡¯t want to leave.


    ¡°I¡¯M SORRY. I¡¯M SO SORRY.¡± She shouted, stroking the tangled root above their eye. ¡°I KNOW. BUT IGORE IS GONE! THE MOTHER NEEDS YOU!!¡± A deep, wordless, creaking groan, echoed from the trunk of the mangrove. A sound that held no meaning beyond grief. Bushwhacker prepared to try again, to try to reach the massive being and convince them. But with a boom that felt as though it could shatter the very sky, the titan smashed a mighty branch into Igore¡¯s broken face, shoving the other tree further into the embrace of the shambling amalgam and turning to face the core. The sorrowful flickers of its eye hardened into crystalline determination.


    Bushwhacker stood once more, astride the head of one of The Manglegrove¡¯s mightiest children. Pointing at the tentacled monstrosity, she unleashed a furious scream. Her leaves shook so loudly she thought surely they would all fall out as she roared her rallying cry.


    ¡°BRETHREN!!¡± She bellowed over the cacophony. All around them she saw the scattered pockets of her fellow Leshies looking up at her, waiting to see what words she had for them that could help turn this battle around. With a cocky grin to mask her shaking roots, the words of the mother sprang to her mind. ¡°WHAT MAKES THE GRASS GROW?!¡±


    Her fellows did not disappoint. Spears thrust into the air, the Manglegrove¡¯s army rallied to the chant.


    ¡±BLOOD! BLOOD!BLOOD!¡±

 Verdant Retaliation

    The world seemed to tilt and whirl as she rode upon the thundering titan. They had to free The Manglegrove. With every fiber of her bark and leaf, she knew this single truth, even if she could not understand how such a calamity came to pass. Her whistle screamed overhead, signaling to the mangrove to strafe right and try to keep a safe distance from the abomination. Her goal was a moldering log, half sunken in the muck of a shallow pool. Below, amidst the chaos, she could see her fellows struggling to move in the same direction, following the signals meant for Mosstache.


    Bushwhacker held on tightly as the mighty tree reached for the prize and heaved the dead trunk up from the mud. The bass groan of straining wood rattled through her as Mosstache launched the detritus at the enemy. It screamed through the air, flying as true as any javelin, promising destruction. The impromptu commander of their verdant forces narrowed her eyes, counting silently as she observed its flight.


    Knowledge was power, as surely as strength of arms. Her fellows didn¡¯t lack strength. The problem was that the enemy was a spell caster, and that was a weapon she did not know. That black portal was a powerful defense. How quickly could it be cast? How often? At what range?


    She tried to gauge these details, counting the moments so she could learn, seeking a weakness. The effort was spoiled when three of the abominations'' myriad eyes locked upon the missile and a powerful tentacle lashed out to smash the log to pieces in mid air. The rumbles of shifting earth and creaking of wooden beings was overwritten by a shrieking howl from a dozen throats.


    ¡°YES!!¡± Weavebriar cheered. Bushwhacker gave him a questioning look.


    ¡°IT BLOCKED THE ATTACK.¡± she snapped, declaring the obvious in an effort to understand his response. Her glare was hardened by her frustration over the lack of information gained.


    He pointed at the beast¡¯s sagging tentacle. ¡°IT¡¯S BLEEDING!!¡± Her eyes widened as she saw the brackish ooze seeping from where the log had scraped and punctured the slick skin of the thing.


    So. It can bleed¡­ Pieces fell into place. A slow smirk slid across the warrior¡¯s face, fierce and feral, as a realization came to her. A forest missed for the trees.


    ¡°TAKE THIS!¡± she rustled, thrusting the whistle at Weavebriar.


    ¡°WHAT? WHY?¡± the frantic builder managed, fumbling to grasp the tool and his cudgel while keeping a handhold on the trundling treant. Bushwhacker pulled him close, her leaves brushing over his own so she could convey more meaning than their clumsy shouting allowed.


    ¡°Keep Mosstache circling that thing. Throw anything you can at it, but keep your distance. We can¡¯t let it take them like it took Igore.¡± she explained in a breathless rush.


    ¡°Me?! What about you?!¡± he demanded in a panicked voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m going down there.¡± The motion of her leaves carried a grim determination. A confidence the builder couldn¡¯t understand.


    ¡°Are you insane?! No! I¡¯m no warrior! I can¡¯t lead this charge!¡±


    Grabbing him firmly by one of the thorny branches about his head, Bushwhacker touched her forehead to his. Her eyes shimmered with the fire and passion that had stolen his breath away even in the first moment they¡¯d met.


    ¡°Listen!¡± she demanded. ¡°That thing could have used a spell to stop that log! It could have stopped the javelins earlier too. I saw it! If it¡¯s willing to injure itself blocking that attack then I¡¯m guessing it either can¡¯t cast that spell right now, or it¡¯s too slow at this range.¡± She paused, waiting to see if he was following.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°What¡¯s that got to do with this?!¡± He insisted, fear taking root behind the sorrowful embers of his eyes. She shook him by the branch, breaking his spiraling thoughts.


    ¡°It has to see if it¡¯s going to parry. I¡¯m going to take its eyes out.¡± Her voice was as cold and steady as stone. ¡°And when I do, you and Mosstache need to take it down.¡±


    Weavebriar grabbed her wrist, holding it close. ¡°No! You can¡¯t! You¡¯ll be crushed! Or worse!¡± He knew his mistake the moment he brushed out the words against her foliage. The builder cried out as he felt his hold suddenly reversed, his balance tipped in a terrifying moment of vertigo as he saw the rushing ground beneath Mosstache¡¯s stampeding roots. Then he was slammed against the Mangrove¡¯s bark, the warrior of his heart crouching over him in all of her furious glory.


    ¡°Idiot builder!¡± She growled. ¡°Did you forget?¡± He had no time to ask her what she meant. His faculties fled him as her smooth lips pressed against his own. In a daze he heard her conclusion. ¡°I¡¯M the warrior.¡±


    With a powerful leap she sailed backwards, trying to oppose the mangrove¡¯s momentum as best she could. Even still, the ground came up to meet her like a wall of PAIN. It almost felt deserved. If she died today, Weavebriar might still make it out. She doubted he would ever forgive her for leaving him behind, but at least he¡¯d be alive to resent her. She managed to dig her claws into the earth, slowing her mad tumble, and by the time she got to her feet a large figure was closing the distance. The familiar, lopsided form of Scout.


    ¡°Are you alri-¡° his question was cut short by a dismissive swipe of Bushwhacker¡¯s hand. They had no time!


    ¡°Fine!¡± She lied. ¡°Your whistle!¡± she turned her palm upward in an implicit demand. Scout detached his intricately carved signal whistle off of the bandolier on which it hung, passing it over without a word. She slipped the woven loop around her hand, winding back and throwing the whistle out to the full length the tether allowed. A snap of the wrist started the dance. Three long, low notes in wide orbits signaled for the the Javelineers, then she pulled the tether inward for a staccato trill that signaled a charge, followed by three alternating notes they had practiced but never used. It was a call for a disabling strike, rather than a fatal one. Scout stared at her as though she¡¯d gone mad.


    ¡°A melee attack? And you want it ALIVE?!¡± he asked, clearly shocked.


    ¡°Leave the killing to Mosstache! Go for the eyes! Tell the others!¡± Bushwhacker called back, already charging forward. Clarity settled over the large leshie¡¯s leaves, stilling his misgivings and smoothing them into a dauntless grin.


    ¡°Understood!¡±


    The eldest daughter pulled a spear from her back, holding it aloft as she ran. In her off hand, the whistle spun in a tight circle at her side, screaming out a painfully shrill note. As she leapt over a slithering crevasse, a squad of her fellows closed in beside her. Harrier and her ambushers, their leader giving Bushwhacker a firm nod. Then came Sharpshooter, leading a band of village warriors, falling into position at her roots. All around her the scattered forces of her grove joined her charge, forming a chartreuse wedge as the rallied army drove toward either victory or destruction.


    Leaping in a wave over the last muddy cliff, they came at last to the final stretch of unbroken ground before the sinkhole that held the beast''s cloven hooves in a muddy grasp. A crimson eye, larger than she was tall, swiveled downward, locking onto her. She held her breath, waiting for the magic that had stolen away Igore¡¯s mind¡­ But it never came. Bushwhacker¡¯s feral grin spread, her leaves rattling in derisive laughter.


    That¡¯s right, flesh beast. We¡¯re coming for you.


    Tentacles as thick as tree trunks pulled back, preparing to strike. Her laughter only grew. Too slow! The whistle was already screaming out the order to scatter. When the blow landed, shaking the earth like the hammer of the gods, most of her fellows had already gotten out of its way. The gelatinous bulk shifted, slithering back to try again before the tiny plants could finish closing the distance, but Bushwhacker wasn¡¯t about to let that opportunity pass. With a wet squelch, her spear jammed into the blubbery black hide, and she felt the ground fall away from her grasping roots. The world was a blur, the huge monstrosity swinging her faster than she had ever moved before, but then came the apex. Just as the tendril curled to try and smash downward once again, it slowed. Leagues below her, she saw the goat-like hourglass of one huge eye.


    The wind howled through her branches, singing to her of glory and an end well met as she fell. She had a moment during her plummet to spot Saboteur astride his creation, looking at her in awe. She couldn¡¯t see Mosstache from this angle, but if this failed, she hoped Weavebriar couldn¡¯t see. Then the sharp tips of her fingers and roots plunged into the pale skin, and pierced into a wet jelly beyond.


    Scraps of pale skum flew from her claws as her frenzied attack shredded the delicate surface. The humid air vibrated with otherworldly howls of anguish, as she grabbed the lower eyelid and swung herself downward towards a smaller orb just below. Javelines thumped into the wrinkled flesh providing her with convenient anchor points. It was working! She could do th- With a moist slapping sound, the beast shook itself like a wet dog. A towering monster, dwarfing even the trees, and she, only a foot tall. She was cast off like a bothersome insect. As she passed the edge of the summoned muck, she took solace in the fact that this would at least be a swift end.


    A flash caught her eye, in the lingering moment before oblivion. A bolt of yellow, rocketing towards her, like harnessed sunlight. A spell? Weavebriar? She closed her eyes, accepting that she could do nothing either way. Then came a jarring twist in her trajectory, cushioned by something cold and damp. What followed wasn¡¯t the sudden halt of impact, but the steady force of deceleration. Her eyes opened once again as she felt grass and soil beneath her, rolling onto her back to try and see just how in all the worlds she was alive. What greeted her was a broad, smooth, yellow striped face. As she stared, a pink tongue lolled out and licked the large, amphibious eye. The energetic salamander stamped its feet, wriggling playfully as she spoke its name.


    ¡°WILEY?!?¡±

 The Purview of Ravens

    The thumping bass thundered into the emptiness, thrumming off of the concrete like the pulse of muses. Shifting lances of pinks and blues pierced into the darkness through the open door, stabbing into the pocket of midnight contained within the echoing garage.


    ¡°HA!!¡± Liv¡¯s inelegant laughter reverberated as she shut the door to the club behind them. ¡°Gods, his FACE! That was priceless!¡± she cackled. Skye¡¯s hand slid seamlessly into her own, with a smile that threatened to turn Liv into a puddle.


    ¡°I tried to be nice!¡± the darker woman insisted as they stepped out into the parking garage. ¡°But he wasn¡¯t taking the hint! How many ways are there to politely say ¡®NOT GONNA HAPPEN, DUDE¡¯?!¡±


    Liv snickered, spinning on her toe and walking backwards for a few steps as she pressed her lips against her kindhearted partner in a brief kiss. ¡°You¡¯re nicer than I am.¡± she said with a smirk. ¡°I-¡°


    The darkness around them seemed suddenly less empty, causing the rave-ready punk to pause. The soft swishing sounds of her own leather and denim echoed oddly off of the concrete pillars, warping into a wet slithering that sent inexplicable shivers down her spine. It was almost a blessing when the slick whispers were drowned out by the heavy footfalls of a graceless man.


    ¡ª


    The earth shook, sending many of Bushwhacker¡¯s fellows stumbling. She didn¡¯t have the luxury of a dazed stupor at her own survival. Far above them all, the mother¡¯s radiant scarlet light had already dimmed too far, drained by the monster that gripped her by the neck. Bushwhacker touched her empty quiver, then spun about until she spotted the shattered remains of one of her kin. The arm and shoulder that were left were not enough for her to guess who it may have been, but the spear in its loose grip would do. Snatching it, she crawled onto Wiley¡¯s back.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t done.¡± She urged, her rustling voice sluggish with exhaustion. ¡°Go, Wiley. Run!¡±


    ¡ª


    The black coat and balaclava made the man look like something out of a bad movie. Watching the comic book style approach might have even been funny, if she wasn¡¯t about to be on the receiving end of whatever this idiot had in mind. The guy kept one hand firmly gripped around something in his jacket pocket as he stalked up to them from where he had been hidden beside Skye¡¯s car.


    ¡°Wallets. Now.¡± He growled, his words clipped with nerves. ¡°On the ground.¡± The hand in his jacket jabbed, as if Liv needed further reminder of what the guy might be packing. She felt Skye¡¯s iron grip on her arm, shaking. Liv knew she had to keep her head on straight. She knew what to do in this situation, she just had to keep it under control. A few bucks wasn¡¯t worth the risk of a fight.


    ¡°Woah¡­¡± Liv drawled, keeping her voice as slow and calm as she could manage and putting her hands up before her. ¡°No problem, buddy. All yours.¡± She kept her movements slow and steady as she drew her flat metal wallet from where it had been clipped to her belt. Gently tossing it toward him with one hand, she moved her off hand slightly back to indicate Skye. ¡°My girl doesn¡¯t have pockets, and tonight was on me. That¡¯s all we¡¯ve got.¡±


    She held still, waiting for the man to grab her wallet and leave. When he didn¡¯t immediately go for his prize, her skin prickled with goosebumps. Then she felt Skye yank at her arm, and heard her muffled cry of distress from behind her. Her stomach lurched as she realized that this wasn¡¯t about money. Fuck.


    Turning her head to the side, she kept both assailants in her peripheral vision, sparing only the briefest glance at her lover. The gloved hand covered Skye¡¯s mouth, but her wide hazel eyes were focused and intent. Skye sucked in a deep breath through her nose, and Liv knew she had remembered what to do. The darker woman¡¯s hand clenched and snapped downward as she twisted her body in the man¡¯s grasp. Liv felt her heart hammering against her ribs as her entire world narrow down to a pinprick. A moment in time in which every body in her tiny universe was moving all at once.


    ¡ª


    The world blurred around Bushwhacker, smearing into shapes and sounds and colors as Wiley dashed. She felt as though reality was flickering. A massive tentacle would slam into the ground, then disappear into a black streak as Wiley changed direction. A fellow warrior would be snatched up in his jaws and saved from certain doom, only to disappear again as the salamander dropped them off and continued along.


    ¡°TOWARDS THE BEAST!¡± She susurrated as loudly as she could, her words lost in the howling torrent of air. Wiley rolled one large eye back to look at her, uncomprehending, so she hefted her stolen spear under one arm so the point was ahead of her mount. Using it to point towards the lumbering giant, she leaned towards the enemy. With a burst of overexcited understanding, Wiley scrambled into a sliding high speed turn and made for the pool of muck surrounding the abomination.


    ¡ª


    Terror faded into cold and calculating precision as Liv¡¯s thoughts moved in time with every orbiting body trapped in this moment with her. The man holding Skye was tall, broad, and brawny. She knew at a glance that she couldn¡¯t overpower him on an even field, to say nothing of his friend. There was no room for slow escalation here. This was going to be quick, ugly, and probably painful. Wallet man was already moving, with both hands out and legs tensing to spring at her. Skye¡¯s fist was hurtling downward. Liv knew the opening that could make would be brief. She had one shot, and it meant turning her back on someone in a fight.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    She felt gravity pull at her as she spun, her right hand sliding up past her hip to grab the other item she¡¯d kept clipped there and hiding it in her fist. The first footfall landed behind her as she pulled her fist back for a haymaker. The larger man¡¯s eyes bulged as Skye¡¯s fist smacked into his groin, autonomic instinct causing him to hunch forward slightly. Liv¡¯s fist flew in a wide arc towards his nose. Even startled as he was, the blow was too telegraphed and slow to be effective. The second footfall pounded the pavement behind her as the man holding Skye ducked right, trying to put his captive between them. Liv¡¯s arm snapped out straight then, passing over Skye¡¯s head, rushing past the man¡¯s jaw in what looked like a near miss. Then a metallic click popped the spring loaded blade from its handle, sheathing itself briefly in the man¡¯s neck before sliding out again as cleanly as it went in.


    ¡ª


    Her spear plunged into yet another swollen eye, birthing pale jelly from its depths before Wiley hit the shifting muck again with enough speed to skim along its surface. Above them, the mother was flickering, and Bushwhacker imagined her own strength waning in time with the crimson glow. She couldn¡¯t keep this up much longer. A shrill whistle pierced the growing fog of exhaustion, then. On the shore, such as it was, Saboteur stood astride his tamed creature. The bow was nocked and ready, the tip held a vial of swirling orange liquid. Slowly, the meaning of those pulsing whistles came to her. Opening. He needed an opening. Just a little bit more. A little bit longer and then she could rest¡­


    ¡ª


    Liv barely had time to register that the larger man had released Skye, bringing his hands to his throat and gurgling out inhuman sounds as he staggered. Then the world lurched, turning into ringing white shades of pain as a meaty fist landed on the back of her skull. When the sickening spinning of the world came to a stop, she felt an iron grip around her waist and nothing but air touching her hands and feet. She¡¯d dropped her knife. She flexed her core, arching her back to try to slam her already aching skull into his nose, but only ended up with her cheek pressed against his own. In a panic, her legs flailed, trying to find anything that could grant her purchase. With a guttural scream she reached up to grab at his head, first yanking off his mask, and then gripping onto thick, tight curls of hair. His cries of pain bounced ethereally off the dim shapes in the darkness as her teeth closed on his ear. His blood tasted wrong. Bitter and salty, like stagnant, brackish water.


    Her boots returned to the ground as the man reeled back, wailing as she spat the disgusting meat onto the ground. Now on firm footing, she pivoted and prepared to raise her guard when another blazing jolt of pain lanced through her jaw. She saw her slim chances of winning this fight fading fast as a third man¡¯s fist sent her spinning to the ground. Her blurred view saw Skye¡¯s sandaled feet, a pool of blood, a pale and lifeless man on the ground, and one of her own teeth bouncing across the concrete. The shattered white molar landed wetly in the crimson, right beside her knife.


    ¡ª


    The spear slipped from her grasp, caught in the black flesh of the beast¡¯s eyelid. The verdant warrior found she lacked the strength to pull it free again. Slumping down against Wiley, she prayed it was enough. It had to be enough, for she could do no more. A distant whistle shrieked against the dull gray of her periphery, a signal meant for a mangrove. She was still trying to remember what it meant when the groaning bass of Mosstache¡¯s wooden voice preceded the rushing sound of cleaved air. A clod of earth, broken by the beast itself but wielded by friendly forces, slammed into the creature like a hammer from the gods above. Slowed by muck, and half blind, the abomination tottered. Two stubby, hoofed legs tried to regain their footing while massive tentacles flailed for equilibrium. The field held its breath, going eerily silent for a moment as Wiley reached solid ground and came to a stop. Then a single voice, broke the stillness of the moment. Saboteur¡¯s voice was firm and cold.


    ¡°Fire.¡±


    ¡ª


    Liv scrambled to grasp her blade, trying and failing to shout to Skye to run through the coppery blood that was filling her mouth. Snatching the handle, she rolled over to see this newest attacker. Too slow. She saw the tire iron raised over his head, and she knew with absolute finality that she was too slow to stop what came next.


    The shrieking made her want to cover her ears. A hundred voices screamed like the damned as the vile tentacle around her neck loosened, and the ground began to rush towards her limp body.


    The tire iron swung downward, slowly whistling towards her forehead. Over the crunch of bone, and the static haze of oblivion, Skye¡¯s desperate pleas fell on deaf ears.


    ¡°NO! DON¡¯T! ERIC, NO!!!¡±


    Gasping in a breath she didn¡¯t actually need, Liv coughed and heaved. She brought her hand to her incorporeal throat, she thought for a moment that she could still feel that THING¡¯S mucosal slime on her. She felt infected. She blinked, looking all around her in shock. The towering horror was flailing madly, engulfed in flames and screaming in countless agonized voices. The eldritch being was already trying to roll and extinguish itself. Then her eyes drifted over the marshland around them, taking in the utter devastation. So many bodies. So many of her friends. They lay scattered and broken, splintered pulpy masses.


    Rubbing her throat, Liv sat up onto her knees and made a strangled sob. It was too much to hold. Too much to process. The cold, slimy, unwanted touch. The grief of her lost life. The fear for Skye. The loss of so many friends. The violation of her own memories. Doubling over, Liv curled inward, shaking, before taking a deep, shaky breath. Clenching down with every part of herself, the crimson specter¡¯s features twisted into a mask of agony and rage. The air pulsed, flowing around her like the first trickle of water from a broken dam. The howl that escaped The Manglegrove¡¯s lips was awash with fury, and hate, and pain. Carried by a torrent of wind, shaped by tree and stone, nature itself made an unmistakably human wail of anguish.


    The horror blazed hotter, flames fanned by the torrent of wind, as it lumbered out of the edge of the muck. Charred, cracking, and oozing vile pus, the beast fled back into the mist and shadows beyond her vision from whence it came.

 Healing

    Logan stepped softly, boots weaving between leaves and other detritus in the shadowed loam, more out of instinct than necessity. The dark circles beneath his eyes told a tale of several sleepless nights, though the smile he wore held genuine warmth. There in the shadows, a few strides from the wooden wall surrounding the core, he could see the children in the dim light of gently glowing mushrooms. The flytrap leshies, less opposed to dark places than their fellows, were working to assemble homes for themselves. Dagny grinned happily, trundling back into the light with an armload of twigs and small branches, while Marla worked with a pair of the carnivorous plants to set a post into the ground. The girl was coated in dirt and grime, but when the post thunked into place she threw up her hands and spun about in an excited dance. Watching the ¡®mighty warriors¡¯ of the grove mimic her movements and join in her celebration was enough to bring a chuckle out of him, despite his exhaustion.


    Stepping up to the wall, he paused. The normally social specter of this dungeon had barely said a word in the three days since the battle. He¡¯d come here with every intention of checking on her. Only now did he realize he had no idea how. Should he knock? That felt somehow silly¡­


    ¡°Oy¡­¡± he croaked. Then, clearing his throat, he tried again. ¡°Oy, uhh¡­ Manglegrove¡­ are you in there?¡± He waited, now feeling just as ridiculous for seemingly talking to empty air. He was just raising his hand to try knocking on the bark of the nearest tangled mangrove trunk when a crackling, groaning, cacophony nearly made him jump out of his own boots. The shaft of red light that flooded out from between the parting trees might have been ominous, were it not so familiar in its hue. That seemed as good an invitation as any he was likely to receive, and in truth he was desperately curious about what lay within this section of the grove that was normally closed to him. Holding a loose bundle against his chest, he turned sideways and took a long step over the roots of the living wall, entering the space beyond.


    ¡°Watch your step.¡± the familiar voice of the core pulled his eyes downward. ¡°If you step on a relay, it¡¯ll be a bitch to replace.¡± Logan blinked against the light, adjusting until he could make out his surroundings. The large, circular room was baffling to behold. A central pillar held up a jagged chunk of glowing jasper bigger than his head. All around it, pulsing like some great, alien thing, were mats of assorted mushroom caps. Small gaps lay in bizarrely straight lines between certain sections, blocking them off into angular patterns that flickered almost imperceptibly against the radiance of the central stone. There, laying perhaps a few cubits from that jagged rock, lay the proverbial lady of the house. The strange woman was on her back, arms crossed beneath her head, looking lost in thought as she stared up at the core.


    He hadn¡¯t known what he expected to see in here, but it certainly wasn¡¯t this. Glancing down at his feet, he lifted one and checked for a safe spot to move it to. He nearly lost his balance when one of the larger mushroom caps proceeded to stand up out of the dirt, step aside, and point to the space in which it had sat not a moment ago. Two beady little eyes stared up at him expectantly.


    ¡°What in all the gods realms¡­?¡± he muttered, baffled, only to be caught off guard when he received a response.


    ¡°I made them. They help me tend to my network.¡± the dungeon replied. Just what the world needed. Even MORE leshies¡­ Logan bit back the comment, deciding to do as he was bid, and step in the space provided. The soft little creature then trundled forward to another spot, pointing it out to him. Bit by bit, he hopped carefully among the fungi until reaching the clearer space near the center of the room. The Manglegrove waved distractedly up at him from where she lay. ¡° ¡®Sup?¡±


    Logan lifted an eyebrow. It was all the communication needed between the pair at this point, she knew when she needed to explain her strange idioms.


    ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s a greeting. What do you need, bro?¡± she asked, eyes finally settling firmly onto him. Logan checked for more mushrooms and, seeing none, sat down on the ground beside her.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been in here a while.¡± he said softly, his voice disturbing the silence of the space in a way hers somehow did not. ¡°I came to check on you. Brought you a gift to lift your spirits.¡± He set the bundle down between them. She glanced at it, but then turned back to him.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked, her voice sounded tremulous, as though she was holding back a flood of emotions. Was that guilt he saw in her eyes?


    ¡°Me?¡± Logan exclaimed. ¡°I¡¯m worried about YOU.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m f-¡± she cut herself off. ¡°Well, no. I¡¯m not fine. But I will be. I¡¯ve just had a lot on my mind.¡± The fiery woman pulled herself up into a seated position beside him, sighing heavily. ¡°When I had to send you away, I was so scared that something was going to happen to you.¡± she explained. ¡°Those kids out there need you.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve been hiding away in here?¡± He asked, keeping his tone gentle.


    ¡°Partially. I¡­ I remembered some things. When that creature grabbed me, it made me relive some things I¡¯d somehow forgotten up until now.¡±


    Logan nodded, making a deep hum of confirmation, unsure of what to say for fear of prying.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°You are such a dude.¡± the spirit chuckled.


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°Nevermind. The point is, I remembered it. The night I died.¡± She finally met his gaze. ¡°And who killed me.¡±


    ¡°Feck all.¡± he breathed, mind turning over the notion as he tried to imagine what she was feeling. To have the knowledge now, in this place that was so far from her home, unable to act on it. For all he wanted to help, what was there to do besides listen. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°I had a-¡° she trailed off, looking for a word. ¡°A lover.¡± Logan¡¯s eyes widened at the thought.


    ¡°And he killed you?¡± He asked, aghast.


    ¡°No. Her brother did.¡±


    Logan leaned back against the pillar, letting that sink in for a moment.


    ¡°Gods below¡­ Murdered by kin.¡± he shook his head in disbelief. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°For exactly what you¡¯d expect.¡± she answered with a wry smirk that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. Logan must have looked as lost as he felt, though, because when she caught sight of his face, she seemed surprised.


    ¡°He was super ho-¡° she paused, rethinking her words. ¡°He didn¡¯t like-¡° she stopped again, apparently stuck.


    ¡°I have trouble imagining that you didn¡¯t treat his sister well.¡± he offered up, supportively.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t that. Sorry, gotta find a way to say it that wouldn¡¯t just be confusing.¡± she explained. ¡°He hated that his sister was with another woman. Doubly so for a woman like me.¡± That gave him another pause, fumbling to imagine what that meant. He¡¯d heard some elvish folk could get into a proper snit over intermarriage¡­


    ¡°Like you? A human?¡± she actually laughed, though it was brief and muted. Still, it warmed him to see.


    ¡°It probably sounds crazy to you, but in my home humans are all there is. At least as far as sentient beings go. The rest all died out.¡±


    ¡°What?! How?!¡± Logan exclaimed in shock.


    ¡°Changing climates and competition from earlier human ancestors, mostly. We even used to have something kind of like you. Homo Floresiensis. Died off about fifty thousand years ago if I recall.¡± the vibrant, if exhausted looking, specter explained. Logan felt his jaw drop open at the sheer volume of questions that statement brought to his mind. How did they know what happened so long ago? How did his people die off? What would a world with only a single people be like? He must have become lost in thought for some time because he returned to reality upon realizing his host had just spoken and he¡¯d missed it.


    ¡°Sorry, what?¡± he asked, distractedly.


    ¡°Liv.¡± she repeated. ¡°Earlier, you called me Manglegrove. My name is actually Liv. Manglegrove was a name I made up to try and sound scary and keep those cultists away.¡± Logan opened his mouth to ask her why she had felt the need to hide that from him back then, but the question died unspoken. She hadn¡¯t known him. Not really. He might have done the same to a suspicious stranger on the road.


    ¡°Right then.¡± he said with a nod. ¡°Well then. It¡¯s nice to meet you, Liv.¡± Finally, her smile seemed to shine through with genuine happiness as she leaned slightly against him. He had a feeling it had been quite a while since someone had spoken her proper name. The moment lingered, carried by warm, companionable silence and twinkling mushrooms.


    ¡°So. You mentioned a gift?¡± Mangl¡­ Liv¡­ asked, pointing to the bundle.


    ¡°I did!¡± he affirmed with a grin, grabbing the rolled papers. ¡°I remembered what you said when we marched out.¡± Liv¡¯s eyes lit up as he rolled out a map. She leaned in excitedly as he pinned down the corners with a few river stones, and he watched as her expression went from energetic enthusiasm, to thoughtful inspection, and then stunned confusion. The large map depicted the whole of the Commonwealth, and even into some of the neighboring kingdoms. He pointed to the great river that snaked along the entire western border, and traced it slowly downward.


    ¡°This long, thin bit that runs along the river? That¡¯s ¨¢st¨®rrl?g. If you follow the river down all the way to where it flows into the sea-¡± he dragged his finger down past several other settlements like Kn?rrhoff and Lagarheim, down to the familiar port. ¡°You¡¯ll find Nj?rvenn. That¡¯s where I come from. Maybe an hour or two from here at a steady walk.¡± He glanced up, expecting her to look less befuddled, but it seemed his explanation had not cured her of the condition.


    ¡°This map¡­¡± she mumbled, only half speaking to him. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± Her eyes finally focused on him. ¡°I know this map.¡±


    ¡°Really? Shite. I thought I remembered you saying you wanted to see one.¡± he apologized.


    ¡°I did. That¡¯s not what I meant.¡± She pointed to a peninsula to the southeast of them. A smaller province Logan had never visited, called Bl¨®mveg. ¡°That-¡± she began, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°That looks suspiciously like Florida.¡± Logan glanced between her and the map, entirely lost. ¡°And up here!¡± Her finger drifted north. ¡°Those are the great lakes! And Maine!!¡±


    ¡°Dunno about any ¡®Maine¡¯, that¡¯s Vinland. But those are the great lakes.¡± he explained, wracking his brain to see if he¡¯d heard any of her strange place names before. Now the normally fierce looking woman was displaying a kind of academic glee he¡¯d only ever seen Magne display until now.


    ¡°So that means this is the Mississippi! And we¡¯re..¡± She trailed off, her expression souring. Then she raised both of her middle fingers to the sky and roared. ¡°Those damned buzzards dropped me in FUCKING FANTASY LUISIANA?!? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU?! HUH?!¡±


    Logan cringed, flinching at her habit of openly taunting the gods. In the momentary silence that followed, he was about to chastise her for risking their anger. Then the deep, metallic cawing of ravens made his blood run cold.