AdorableSaucer

Repairing the World - A Solarpunk Nation RP

Btw, I highly recommend checking out the artist linked under the image above. He has some dope art for the occasion.

Repairing the World - A Solarpunk Nation RP

I'm thinking something along the lines of a multispecies vineyard village in Northern Scandinavia. Sort of a regional trading hub for travellers coming from the warm south going north to the more liveable regions along the North Sea.

Repairing the World - A Solarpunk Nation RP

Repairing the World - A Solarpunk Nation RP

”... -n… -ome… in… -one… out there? -nyone out there? If… out there… -ease reply, -er. C-...-lling -nybody to… -ait… Allah b-... -raised! Ijah! We… signal! Hello?!_crackle Hello! Come -n! This… Ashoka Bodh…padyai. Ugh-! Stu-... -d sig-...-al is so… There! Hello?! This is Ashoka Bodhisattvachatopadyai, calling from Basecamp Nusantara in what was once Indonesia. We have done out best to rebuild here after the… Well, I am sure I don't need to tell you anything. I am sure we both agree that, no matter what happened, Allah willing, we can only move up from here. We have a long road ahead, but hopefully we can rebuild a better world than what we inherited. Tell me: Where are you calling from and how many are with you?”

_{Art by Jimmy P. Duda, artstation.com/jimmy_duda.}

The year is 2100. The wounds suffered upon the Planet Earth and its billions of inhabitants by the heritage of the Industrial Revolution has left the world in an unrecognisable state. The scale of destruction wrought during the past century and a half is beyond any method of measurement, and humanity and non-humanity have both paid dearly for the dreams of the few. Great sorrows have swept across every continent: war, famine, thirst, disease, infertility. Trauma lives in every heart.

Yet while time neither an arrow nor a circle but something in between, it is nonetheless impossible to rewind. Global communications are slowly coming back online, and while there are disagreements and bitter hatred over many things, all that remains of humanity agree on one thing: The mistakes of the past exist alongside us as very contemporary entities, and while they may never be undone, we can do our best to correct them.

In that sense, there is hope that the future may yet again improve.

---

In this roleplay, you take on the role of a nation, a community or even an individual and explore their existence in a world very similar and yet profoundly different from our own. Most global institutions, if not all, have collapsed completely, and many countries have become unrecognisable from their contemporary form. Perhaps your community will try to amend the consequences of climate change by returning a much less affluent, but stable way of life for its people? Or maybe you want to explore lives of descendants of the global elite who have isolated themselves in impenetrable bunkers on distant islands, continuing their lives much like before? Maybe your community believes climate change was a hoax and that the world ended because it was God's will? Or maybe you want to explore the life of a lone vagrant, travelling the vastness of the world and witnessing the undergrowth reclaiming the soil that concrete stole from it all those years ago? The world is your oyster (provided it hasn't gone extinct).

The aesthetic of the RP is inspired by solarpunk, but you may dress your community in any way you want, from sci-fi technology to palaeolithic. However, I would encourage everyone to explore the holistic consequences of their community's way of life: How would a coal-powered city be viewed by their neighbours in the wake of climate change? Where would the resources enabling your people's affluence come from? Can radical changes in ways of life take place if the community elders grew up in vast luxury? Lots of ways to conceptualise the future - let's play with them!

DISCLAIMER: As you may already have picked up, this RP will necessarily touch on a lot of political, philosophical and religious topics. All are welcome to join and explore these topics, and are encouraged to work with different angles, but I sincerely hope that we can remain respectful of each other regardless of our views.

Example Nation/Community Sheet

Nation/community name:

Population (optional):

Location: Where are they based and what's the surrounding land, air and sea like?

History: Share a bit about your nation/community’s past and how it came to be.

Culture and beliefs: Share a bit about the culture and beliefs of the people(s) in your nation/community. Feel free to also write about people’s ways of life and their motivations.

Science and technology: Share a bit about what science and technology are available, how they're used and what their roles and status are in everyday life.

Character names (optional): Feel free to share the names of any important characters

Example Character Sheet

Name:

Age (optional): How old is your character, if they know?

History: Tell us about your character’s past.

Occupation: What does your character do? Can be a lot of things.

Personality: What's your character like? What're they like on a good day? How about on a bad day? What's their stance on what's best between cats and dogs? Etc.

Motivation: What does your character want to achieve? Can be broad or narrow, firm or fluid, or completely non-existent.

Companions: Does your character have any friends or family that hang around them? Humans or non-humans? Living or non-living?

Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay)

The Newbie

---

The Runatorium of Bast was a spectacle to behold: The massive ebony black walls pillared to the heavens like an onyx mountain, with coloured glass windows blinking along its sunlit facade. Powers of nature and overnature crackled from behind the facade with thunderous booms and shivering zaps, accompanied with great light shows reflecting off of gray smoke coming out of mighty chimneys. The black citadel was the jewel of the Herring King’s domain, a centre of commerce, science, magic, divinity and – of course – weapons technology. And before the gilded rosewood gates that contrasted the black walls like a flower in a pile of coal, stood the young elf Yost, recently named Quickchisel. He maintained a slightly nervous shiver as the gatesman inspected a clay tablet of his. The purple and white robes of a Syllan Academy Revered Scholar could not imbue him with enough confidence to stand up to a four-hundred pound minotaur beastman – especially not one whose exposure to the written word seemed to agitate him immensely.

“... An appointment, was it?”

“Y-yes!” quivered the elf.

“... Wiff the boss?”

“O-or at least someone who can speak on his behalf!”

The minotaur snorted out a cloud of dusty air and handed the tablet back. “Wait ‘ere.” Then he thundered off towards the gatehouse. Yost permitted himself a brief moment to hope, to pray that he had gotten in. Five minutes past wherein nothing happened. Behind him, the busy city of Oss, capital of the Herring King’s realm, swarmed with all manner of day-to-day nonsense that was all too common in big cities. Yost was a traveled scholar – he had been to Sylann, Arbor, Tricity, the City-States and the Dominion, but Oss had a different air about it from all of the others: The ocean spray left an ooze of salt and moisture wherever one went.

Finally, the gates opened and the young elf hurried inside. As he entered the gates, a rumbling voice thundered:

Saluting: Yost Quickchisel, Revered Scholar of Sylann Academy.

The oppressive greeting shrunk the elf, and it did not help that the long, exposed walkway after the gates overlooked an ocean of scholars below, sitting at workbenches and copying runes. Some cast glances up at the walkway to behold the elf, and Yost felt himself quickening the pace. At the end of the long walkway, the path split into five, each path ascending different staircases. In the middle of the crossroads was a receptionist sitting behind a desk and Yost approached her warily.

“G-good afternoon. I’m here about the–”

“About the job offer, yes? Archmage Draal is expecting you. Main staircase to the top.”

“Uh–”

“That’s the one right behind me.”

The elf obeyed and shuffled up the main staircase with a mighty speed. The coloured glass windows gave the black halls a beautiful crimson tint. The mood resembled that of late twilight, only that Yost could find no nightly peace. Eventually, he reached the top of the stairs, where another pair of gilded rosewood doors greeted him. They opened by themselves on his appearance and inside he saw another elf, one considerably older, but hardly visibly so. He had his eyes of Yost from the moment the doors opened, but his face betrayed nothing but a wide smile and a welcoming gaze.

“Ah, Master Quickchisel! Come in, come in. Oh, at last – to think we are finally able to meet.”

Yost hurried inside and bowed deeply. “Archmage Augustus Draal, it is an honour to–”

“Oh, please,” said the elder and hurried over, “just Gus is fine. In fact, you can call me Uncle Gus! That’s my nickname around these parts.”

Yost was pulled back to a straight stance and mumbled, “Uncle Gus?”

“Yup! Why, with all the courtly nonsense that is demanded of us poor folk chained to His Majesty’s royal council, I prefer to keep a familial profile amongst my lads, y’know. The boys, eh?”

“The boys–”

“So!” Clap! “you’re here about the letter we sent, right?”

“Oh, yes! I–” started Yost and started to pull out his tablet, but fumbled the grip and instead sent it tumbling out of his pack and into the floor. It shattered into sand upon impact and Yost froze. “I am so–”

Gus, however, merely chuckled and waved a hand. The tablet reassembled as if time had rewound and it floated to the hand of the Archmage, who proceeded to look it over and nod. “Yup, this is the letter. Glubina’s handwriting is unmistakable.”

“Again, I am so sorr–”

“Oh, posh!” said Gus with a dismissive wave. “No need to cry over shattered clay – especially not before a mage. Hah!” He then lobbed the tablet out of a nearby window and gestured over to a chair by a massive desk. “Come now, have a seat, son.”

Yost did as told, conquering his nerves well enough to remember to toss out his cape before he sat down. Gus sat down opposite of him and maintained an open stance. “So, you wanna work for the Mages’ Guild, hmm?”

“Yes! It has been my lifelong dream, way before I started at the Academy.”

Gus nodded. “Mhm, mhm. Well, you received our letter for a reason. You have talent, son.” He conjured a parchment out of thin air and glanced it over. “Runesmithing, arcane arts, chaos magic and even dabbles into astrology and greensinging! And top marks across the board. You really pack a punch, kid!”

“O-oh, I’m just lucky I had good teachers.”

“Nonsense – this is innate; destiny, even!” His finger landed on a specific section. “Yet anyone can get top grades in that squip. Glamour-savvy novices fill these halls like mould in a cellar. What got you our attention, son, was your affinity for the dark waters.” Yost nodded excitedly.

“Oh y-yes, my academic assignment was about–”

“–about the prospects and benefits of black water for use in flesh manipulation, yes!” The archmage stood up from his chair and circumvented the desk, ending up next to the young genius. “I take it you are quite familiar with the use of R’kava, then?”

Yost nodded. “Certainly. My family comes from a small village that used to belong to an Octari tribe. They left copious amounts of dark water behind, and many of my friends and family are familiar with the stuff… In all manner of ways, good and bad.”

A cut of sorrow sliced across the archmage’s face. “Oh my, yes. It is powerful magic… Unstable magic. It has neither beginning nor end, and in the wrong hands can mutate completely out of control, risking the lives of everyone around. Truly, the Changing One planned for its use to be a highly exclusive affair. Hence why we would be more than happy to offer you this lucrative chance to join our team.”

Yost felt his chest overflow with butterflies. “I’d– I’d be honoured! What will I be working on?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Gus flicked his wrist and his desk spewed forth light. A diagram showing a humanoid giant with six arms, four legs and an amalgam of jaws appears with a flash that sent Yost flinching. “The current efforts in the war against the Falgini are a losing battle, and His Majesty has commanded that the Mages’ Guild produce new weapons for the front lines. The order has lead to this: the Stone Man Project. These elite soldiers are the product of the mind of your soon-to-be-colleague, Ewon Xand.”

“Oh my Gods, the Ewon Xand? The Sculptor of Sylann?”

“The very same,” said Gus with a wink. “A true erudite within the study of the black waters. Flesh, stone, metal, blood – it does not matter what the substance is: In his hands, they become clay. But, His Majesty’s order has put pressure on the poor mage and he simply cannot keep up with demand. This is why we have specifically asked for you, my boy. What say you? Food and lodgings are included and we will offer a generous stipend of two thousand shwoty a month.”

“T-two thousand?!”

“Oh-ho-hoh, can’t be having our esteemed magicians running around in rags, now can we? You start tomorrow at dawn.”

“Y-yes, Uncle Gus!”

---

The ebon walls of the Runatorium cast a mountainous shadow over the nearby city district as they blocked the dawn of the Black Sun. The chimneys had not yet begun to smoke, but a scent of sulphur still lingered about the place. Yost had hardly caught a wink of sleep, excited as he had been to start. Nonetheless he had managed to groom himself properly for his first day: his robes were well-kept and his hair had been combed into a slick-back style. He had even managed to stop by a physician’s house for a quick shave. He could not face the Sculptor as anything less than perfect.

With his newly acquired medallion of the Mages’ Guild, he glided effortlessly through the gates, even enjoying respectful greetings by the guards. As he walked the walkway overlooking the now largely empty scriptorium below, he produced a map of light with a simple spell. A glowing blue line appeared on the ground before him, tracing a path out before him over to the receptionist desk, then a hard left up the left-most staircase. Yost followed the beam, offering a curt bow to the groggy receptionist who was sipping some sort of steaming liquid. The staircase took him to another small room, but the beam guided him effortlessly despite the nearly identical black facades and complete lack of signs. It was not uncommon for hubs of magic to maintain confusing layouts to dissuade and trap potential invaders. Labyrinthian hallways with few to no indications of position or direction would quickly have non-magical interlopers running in circles. Confident mages, on the other hand – well, there were other ways of dealing with them.

The pathing spell cast by Yost had been provided to him by Gus, castable only by those in possession of a Mages’ Guild medallion. It was not an impossible spell to figure out by outsiders, but it combined elements of runesmithing and arcana, with the runes functioning as ciphers for the correct arcane spell. In many cases, such spells would carry very similar words of power to dangerous counter-spells targeted at the self, with imprecise incantations potentially costing the caster a hand or an eyeball. Still, the field of anti-magic was one highly valued at the Academy, and employers all around Galbar eagerly looked for magicians skilled in thwarting their peers.

Yost had never been particularly interested in anti-magic. To him, magic was the physical and spiritual manifestation of potential, virtually infinite in scope and possibilities. He had seen with his own eyes on multiple occasions how R’kava could help people: The dying were brought back to life; the limbless could walk again; blindness and deafness became mere temporary afflictions. Of course, the dark waters could take, too, and took quite often. In the presence of such pools, the foolish and uninitiated were famous for speaking the final words: “Did it work?” Yost was confident that he would maintain his mastery of the dark waters. He had done so all his life, and in the apprenticeship of Master Xand himself, he would be in better hands than ever.

The light eventually brought him to a large mahogany door, barely visible against the black walls. Upon his arrival, the frame of the door lit up with faint blue light and the doors opened slowly. The room inside was cylindrical, a great circle lit by a beam of light shining through a single hole in the very top of the ceiling. The beam centered on a small island of scroll-covered desks, besieged by a number of small sitting pillows and, in the very iris of the room – Yost could hardly believe it – a spawning pool. His footsteps echoed loudly against the domed ceiling as he entered.

“H-hello?” he called. There was a clunk! followed by a muttering groan. Yost blinked and stopped in his tracks. It was easy to catch that something was moving underneath the shadows of the tables, but against the singular beam of light, it was harder to make out what. Eventually a form emerged, humanoid at first but then clearly growing into an increasing number of feet as it approached. As it entered into the light, Yost saw that it was indeed an octari in the flesh: Nearly two metres tall, the tentacled creature towered above the young elf, multiple appendages probing the air in Yost’s direction inquisitively. A boney hand reached up and massaged the back of his tentacled hair.

“Oof, that table gave me a rude awakening. Sorry you had to see that.”

Yost blinked. “A-are you alright, Master Xand?”

The octari offered a small sigh. “Would that Vak’thuum had given me the strength to evolve out of the need to sleep, but alas. Until then, these all-nighters will continue to prey on me like the mites in my mattress. Oh, but where are my manners…” The opposite hand, equally boney, reached out. “Ewon Xand, principal investigator of the Stone Men project.”

Yost grabbed his hand eagerly. “I-it’s a huge honour, Master Xand – or, or should I say Sczar Xa–”

“Oh, there’s no need,” replied Xand with an almost venomous politeness. Yost shut up instantly. The octari seemed to make an effort to smile. “Considering that we will be working very closely together on this project, you may just call me Ewon. There are those that call me Ewe, too, if you prefer single syllables.”

Yost nodded slowly. “O-okay, then, uhm… Ewon.” There was a second of silence. “I-I am Yost, by the way. Of Hollowbeck.”

“Hollowbeck, huh? Would that be the name that your tribe gave to Thuu’zoj, the Folly of Sczar Thuu?”

Yost blinked sheepishly. “That, that is what the elders surmise, at least.”

The octari nodded. “So I wasn’t mistaken. Good. It is not often that I am lucky enough to encounter someone who have been in direct contact with my people and their remnants. There are not that many of us in this world, so I grasp at any straw of familiarity I can.” The octari squeezed Yost’s hand again. “I am truly glad to have you here.”

Yost smiled. The pair then took a tour around the room, beginning with the desks. “Here’s your desk. You’ll have to forgive the mess.” A quick wave of a hand sent all the scrolls, tablets and books floating from this desk to another. “I forget how much space I tend to take up when I work alone.”

“O-oh, it’s, it’s no matter, really.” Another hand wave saw a comfortable pillow fluff itself up and situate itself snugly against the desk.

“Please let me know if you find your pillow uncomfortable. The house physician has contacts in the Tailor’s Guild that can fashion you whatever pillow, chair or seat you need for a comfortable workspace.”

“I-I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Ewon winked. “Alright, but let me know. Now this–” he patted a small bookcase, “–is your case. You may store whatever literature you would like in it. If you find that you need more space, let me know and I’ll give word to Uncle Gus.”

“Aha, so you call him that too, huh?”

Ewon shrugged. “He seems to prefer the laid-back tone.”

The pair then turned to the bubbling black pool in the centre of the room. “And here – the star of the show.”

Yost’s eyes were wide as saucers. “A genuine spawning pool. I haven’t seen one since the Black Swamp back in my home village.”

Ewon smiled proudly. “Oh yes. I made it myself, I’ll have you know. Take a look around the rim.” The edge of the pool gleamed faintly with strings of runes, magical incantations forming an array around the dark well. The octari waved his hand over the waters and the pair watched it foam over in a mirrored movement. “Through years of taming, training and testing, I have calibrated the R’kava in this well to spawn warriors for His Majesty’s war effort. A decade of relentless pursuits of knowledge, searching for every written and oral account of Octari shamans, combined with the vast and expansive knowledge of the Arcane, the Runic and the Astral provided by the Mages’ Guild, have all culminated in this magnum opus.” He knelt down and seemed to caress the black soup, which almost seemed to return the gesture affectionately. Ewon rose back up and cleared his throat. “Forgive me – it’s not a common occurrence that I get to show off my darling to someone who… Well, someone who cares.”

Yost gleamed like an evangelised child. “Cares?! Ewon, this is bigger than anything I could have imagined! When do we start? Can we start now?!”

Ewon grinned from eye to eye. “Hah! I knew we’d get along! Alright, since you are so eager, I say we take her for a test just so you can see how she works.” The pair continued the tour over to the walls. Quickly, Yost realised that there were in fact multiple entrances to the room, five in total, but only the main door had been decorated to match the aristocratic theme of the Runatorium. The other four doors were worn and beaten, resembling the gates of a besieged castle. Ewon walked over to one of the gates and gave it a knock. “Ready!” The gates swung open quickly and there was a small yelp followed by a tumble and a smack. As Yost looked down, he felt his smile begin to fade. At his feet was a small, starved goblin, chained and dressed in what could hardly even be called a loincloth. He lifted his head and looked at Ewon.

“Wh-what am I missing?”

The octari blinked. “O-oh! My bad, sorry. Instructions! So, we’ll be taking turns in–”

“N-no, no. I-I mean, what is the goblin for?”

Ewon furrowed what little brow he had. “For… For the test run. We could get a furfolk instead, if you’d like.”

The whimper at his feet seemed to intensify the feeling twisting around Yost’s guts. “Could… Could you explain to me what the test run entails?”

Ewon’s face frowned with understanding. “Oh, now I see…” A boney hand once again scratched at his neck. “Shoot. Uhm, this… This didn’t go quite as I had in mind. Look, I’m very sorry, son – I thought Gus had given you the details on the project.”

“Wh-what details?”

“Well… You know how R’kava works, right? The waters are alive and, well, the batch that seemed to produce the highest quality soldiers just so happened to have a bit of an… Appetite, so to speak.” The octari deflated a bit as he beheld Yost’s expression. “Look, I don’t like it either. I really wish there was another way, but… You know as well as me that when His Majesty wants something, he gets it. With this project, we have funding: You got your job; we get stipends to spend on research. We can help people, Yost!”

“But these…” The elf looked down into the goblin’s mortified eyes. “... These are people.” A boney hand settled on his shoulder.

“Not people, Yost – convicts, prisoners of war. I made sure this project would not put any innocents at risk. I trust Gus to keep his word on that.” Yost’s head shifted right to peer into the concerned eyes of Ewon. “We’re turning the scum of the streets into loyal soldiers which will keep the people of Oss safe and sound and let our troops hang back from the front. If that isn’t a good cause, I don’t know what is.”

Yost swallowed. His mind was a storm, and it was hardly stilled by the grip about his shoulder and the prisoner at his feet. This was wrong. He knew the R’kava gave and could as easily take away, but this sort of exchange – a life for a life; a soul for a soldier – how could he justify that? Even in the name of science, of research and magic, it was insane. It was filthy. It was immoral. It was… It was…

Eventually, he took a deep breath. He held it for a moment before sighing softly. He then cleared his throat and said, “You, uhm… You said you had instructions?”

Summary!

The young elf Yost has just graduated from the Sylann Academy with a specialisation in R’kava, the manipulation of the soupy dark waters of Vak’thuum (see link on his disc tab). This has gotten him a job offer at the Runatorium of Bast, a magical factory in the Herring King’s capital of Oss in the Sibling Kingdoms in the southwestern Iris Sea (island group in the centre sea on the map). He gets a job on the Stone Men project, which produces super soldiers for the Herring King’s war against the rival Falgini. On his first day, he meets his mentor and idol, Ewon Xand, an octari who has created a spawning pool in the Runatorium which he uses to produce the super soldiers. The two hit it off and Ewon takes Yost for a test run, but the mood sours when Yost realises that super soldiers are produced by feeding mortals to the pool. Ewon explains that they only use criminals and POWs and that no innocent soul would ever be sacrificed. Yost is skeptical, but his curiosity gets the better of him and the post ends with his wanting to do his part for the war effort.

Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay)

To Become a Warchief

Part 2: The Curse of the Bull

---

The victory of Zlot over the tribe of Snop had sent ripples of fear and awe throughout the Striped Lands: A true boarzerker, a chosen of the Killer of Killers and the antagonist of every horror story and wicked legend, walked the soil of Galbar. Worse yet, the vile Zlot was nothing less than a Voot, and the many mortals calling the south of the Land of Origins their home, recalled with terror the oppressive reign of the Voot warchiefs before the tribe was undone by the Black Sun. Yet while Zlot was a threat, he was as much of a threat as an arrow was; he could kill any living thing, but only if drawn and aimed by an archer of the right caliber.

And Zlot was loyal to his cousin Draznokh, and as long as his blood hunger was sated, he would remain as such. At least for the time being.

As the weeks passed, it became clear to Grand Agricultist Krang that Draznokh had long since surpassed him in terms of popularity. Ever since he had convinced the vile bull to get rid of the Blood Swarm, the frightening visage of Krang had met more resistance, more backtalk, than before. The tribe of Pate, Krang’s tribe, was slowly turning away from him, many remembering the legacy of the Vootlands with increasingly more awe than shock. Krang had one last chance before the ultimate price; if he was not to challenge him outright and lose his life in single combat, he would choose to rely on one final quest - one that would surely do away with him.

Draznokh made the trip up the giant hill several times per day now. He had not idly let the time pass since his moral victory of Krang: his political opportunity had seen him force Krang to accept him as a high laysnouter of the Agricult, a position not equal to Krang’s, but one where he effectively functioned as his lieutenant. He thus held office at the temple atop the giant hill, ruling alongside the seething priest. In fairness Krang had had no choice; the Pates did not number enough snouters for his Agricult to hold all the power by themselves anymore. The Voot clique, backed by Draznokh’s will and Zlot’s muscle, managed to strike much harder than their tiny size would seemingly allow for. Any hidden attempt to murder Draznokh would immediately draw attention to him; his hatred for the hesnouter was brighter than Itzal. Any murder, even the basest misdemeanour, would be traced back to him.

It was thus at one congregation of the Agricult atop the giant hill that Krang gathered the innermost circle of the group and said sourly, “Brother Draznokh… In the name of the Vile Bull, I address you as his highest servant.”

Draznokh, like the rest of the innermost members, had been sitting on pillows fashioned from the pelts of enslaved beastmen. He stood up and entered the centre of the circle, where he kneeled and spread his arms out to the side with immersion. “Voice of the Fields, Brother Krang - what does the Taskmaster have in store for me?”

Krang squinted angrily. Draznokh smeared on thick with titles when he was mocking him. With a voice like poison, he replied, “Your efforts against the Snopans, while crude and disproportionate, have offered us temporary respite from their senseless attacks. As the descendent of Krooshus Pate, I thank you on my ancestors’ behalf for your loyalty to the tribe.”

Draznokh bowed his head. “Be it in the name of Pate or the Horned One himself, I submit to your will.”

Krang sneered. “... Your sense of duty is admirable...” The hesnouter collected his hands behind his foldy back and walked over to the edge of the temple platform. “Come. Gaze across the fields with me.”

Draznokh rose and followed him. The rest of the council, understanding that this looked to be a conversation for four eyes, decided to leave. With the two of them alone, Krang snarled, “Do not think for a second that this is your doing.” Below them sprawled a vast plain, starry with torches and campfires. Trees had been chopped down by the score and the place where there had once been forest were cleansed of every stump and plowed by armies of snouters. The humble garden that weeks ago had just kept the Pates scraping by, was expanding every day, eating up the overgrown lands like an inferno. Draznokh couldn’t help but smirk.

“... But it kind of is, isn’t it?”

Krang drew a knife, but stopped short of Draznokh’s ear. “Oh, come now, Krang, I’m just teasing you.”

“Know that it takes every fiber of my being to not bleed you dry whenever I lay eyes on you.”

Draznokh didn’t even pay him a glance. He merely stared out towards the horizon with a grin one could punch. “Your squeal better than you threaten, Krang. It is times like these when I truly wonder why I was ever afraid of you.” He finally turned and looked into the diverging eyes of the other hesnouter, neither eye affixed on him, but both equally filled with rage. “Now are you going to kill me or are you going to tell me what mess I need to clean up for you?”

Krang breathed sharply through his teeth and lowered his quivering knife-hand. “You should be thankful that I value my own life over my ambition…”

“Honesty, at last.”

“However... I will ask that you do one last thing for me.”

Draznokh raised a brow. “Last, you say?”

Krang sighed. “I tire of this game, Draznokh. ‘High laysnouter’ my rump… I haven’t been in charge of this tribe ever since the swarm disappeared. Do this one thing for me, and I will in the sight of gods and mortals declare that the line of Pate will step down from leadership in favour of the line of Voot.”

Draznokh temporarily failed to contain his excitement and turned a little too fast. Krang felt the hairs on his skin tingle with anticipation.

Hook…

“Do we have an agreement?”

Draznokh curled and uncurled his fingers. “What is it you need?”

Line…

“Our metalworkers have complained about the rising price of copper. The merchants from the sea say it’s due to a production shortage somewhere by the Western Falls. I want you to go there and settle this matter.”

Draznokh mellowed out and cast a distant gaze across the horizon. Krang pursed his lips. “... As you know, securing the flow of copper is essential for ensuring proper maintenance of tools, armour and weapons. Bone is strong, but we should not place all our eggs in one basket.”

“The Western Falls are quite far from home,” Draznokh said quietly. Krang nodded.

“Oh yes,” Krang assented. “But a diverse array of resources at hand will ensure a strong and well-prepared tribe.” He leaned in. “A strong and well-prepared Vootland, chieftain.”

Draznokh slowly turned to face him, a smirk on his snout. “You know that I know what you’re trying to accomplish here.” Krang shrunk ever so slightly, but regained his composure with a nod. Draznokh continued, “Do you expect me to go off somewhere far away again to die so that you won’t have the blood on your trotters? Hah!”

Krang snarled. “... Alright, fine. If honeyed words are not enough, perhaps you will respond to action.” He took his knife and carved a rune in his palm with a quiet wince. Draznokh did not know its effects and felt himself harden his stance. Krang raised his knife-hand calmingly. “Not to worry – this is only an insurance for you.”

“What is it?”

“Shake my hand,” said Krang, “and you will force me to make good on my promise. Come home alive after accomplishing your task, and I will surrender the tribe to you under pain of death.”

Draznokh furrowed his brow. “And if I don’t?”

Krang withdrew the hand and shrugged innocently. “Then there won’t be much of an agreement anymore, will there? Now, do we have a deal?”

Draznokh pondered thoughtfully. “You sacrifice quite a bit for such a simple mission. What is it that you are not telling me?”

“Nothing that you do not already know. I am just hoping that my luck will turn and that I will be rid of you forever. No one in this tribe can kill you; no one outside of the tribe can kill you. At this point, I am praying that a rockslide will rid me of both you and your blood-bloated cousin.” He shook his bleeding hand. “Do we have a deal?”

After a moment more of reflection, Draznokh squeezed the hand. A small light flashed from the cracks between their fingers and disappeared as quickly as it had blinked. Draznokh smirked and looked into his palm: a rune just like Krang’s had etched itself into his skin, but not in a way that caused him any harm. Krang shook his palm, which still bled, and Draznokh snickered. “You have just dealt yourself a shit hand, Krang. I will be expecting a feast upon my return. Prepare a good speech and clean that tongue – you will be licking my trotters soon enough.” As he stepped down the stairs of the temple, Krang rubbed his bleeding hand. He could not help but snicker, too.

“... And sinker,” he giggled.

---

The next day, Draznokh, Zlot and ten others set off westwards, heading for the trading post of Ralhu, situated safely on the opposite side of the peninsula from the cursed river Lick. The trek wasn’t long - the group maintained a quick trot of fifty paces walking alternating with fifty paces jogging. They stuck to the beaten path, passing through Pate and Pate-loyal territory for the most part. Yet it would not be a scot-free journey. On the second day, when passing through rival Nu-Voot territory, Draznokh and the rest had to downright wrestle Zlot to the ground to keep him from assaulting a bypassing host of farmers working the floatato paddies. While Zlot could kill them with a flick of the wrist just like he had the Snopans, the Nu-Voots were many – more than even Zlot could handle. They eventually managed to calm him down. The mood maintained an uneasy tension ever since. Draznokh could feel it just as everyone else felt it: They were leaving the Vootlands, and their bodies – their very souls – were screaming at them to turn back. Snouters weren’t meant to leave home, and with every step, the knot in their hearts tightened. This felt wrong.

“But Draz… Who will tend my fields when I’m gone?” Zlot asked maniacally. It was the fourth time in an hour. Draznokh was starting to believe he had gone senile.

“Like I’ve said,” he squeezed through his teeth, “you told Jura to take care of them – she will take care of them.”

The giant hog, who most people thought had no concept of fear, quivered like a newborn puppy. “B-but she’ll never manage to tend to all of them! And, and my wives! They’ll be unfaithful in my absence, I just KNOW it!”

“They won’t, Zlot, calm down–” Draznokh choked, or rather, a hand the size of his head nearly crushed his windpipe in a single grab. The monstrous boarzerker dragged him up into the sky by the neck, eyes aflame with instinctual panic.

“YOU KNOW NOTHING! I NEED TO GET HOME!”

“... lot! … Z… lot!” Draznokh stuttered. The others tried to wrestle him back down. Draznokh felt his eyes roll back and his breath falter, but just before he lost his conscious, the boarzerker regained his sanity. He immediately dropped him, Draznokh crashing to the ground like a sack. The snouters swarmed him and tried to breathe life back into him. Droog, a competent shaman, started chanting healing spells and casting dried moss powder over his body. Slowly, Draznokh came to. Zlot pushed everyone else aside and held his cousin in his arms.

“Draz! Draz! Oh, Draz, I’m… I’m so sorry!”

“Think–” A cough. “... Think nothing of it…” Draz wheezed and massaged his bruised throat. With weak eyes, he looked around at the faces of his comrades. “... Look at us. Hardly two days away from home and we’re completely losing ourselves.” He snorted sharply. “The curse runs thick in our veins, brothers, but for an instant – a wink, is all – consider that you are leaving home, for the sake of home.” Variegated nods hopped from head to head. “The bull granted us means to till and fight,” he patted his bony snout, “but times change. Already our enemies are adapting to our tactics with pikes and armour. Zlot can piece mail with his tusks, but he is alone in such a feat. If we are to survive, we too must adapt.” He gestured a hand to the direction they were going in. “And adaptation is that way and that way alone. Yet I realise this quest may be beyond some of you.” Eyes shifted away and Draznokh’s frown deepened. “I will grant you a chance to turn back. This will be the only time I do so peacefully. Turn around now before we reach the Iris Sea, and there will be no consequences.” He studied the stoney faces of his companions. “Think hard about this. Know that even if I do not make it home, should any of you turn on me after we have left the shores of the Striped Lands, not even death will stop me from haunting your miserable existences. It’s now or never.”

A moment longer passed. Then Zlot stepped forward. Draznokh, despite his strict demeanour, could not dismiss his disheartened frown at the sight. “... Of all people…”

“I’m sorry, cousin,” Zlot sighed, “I do not belong this far from home. Without the firm hand of a hog, how will the sows at home behave? My crops will not grow without my governance – that little which grows will rot a-root.” He gestured down the path they had come from. “An empty death on foreign soil, where no Voot has ever set its trotters – I will take a lifetime of shame rather than abandon the hearth and the field.”

Draznokh grit his teeth. “... Very well. A promise is a promise. Anybody else?”

Out of the eleven he had brought with him, seven ended up leaving with Zlot. Draznokh and the remaining three hesnouters stood in the clearing for a small while until the others had passed beyond the line of sight. Draznokh then turned to the others and snorted quietly. “... I will admit: I had expected more to remain.”

“A betrayal, I say,” mumbled the shaman Droog.

“Maybe, but one that is my fault. I put too much faith in their will to resist the curse. Without the full party – without Zlot – we can no longer rely on strength as our primary tool. We were not exactly a raiding party before, but now we are hardly a beastman hunting team. From now on, our first weapon of offense is wit.” He tapped one of his tusks. “Save these for when negotiations go sour. Until then, stick to your tongues.” He surveyed the faces of his companions and sighed. “... For what they’re worth.”

---

By the afternoon of the following day, the considerably diminished party finally reached the harbour town of Rhaam, a middling settlement ruled by the Herring King, one of the seven fabled monarchs of the Siblings, the sprinkle of islands situated in the south-west of the Iris Sea. The Siblings numbered eleven islands in total, home to all manner of mortals and beasts who descended from or themselves were people who had been drawn to the sea and decided to make it their habitat. Here were croakers, beastmen, snouters, dwarves, goblins, goatfolk, even humans. The many cultures of the islands lived intertwined with one another, connected by the water and the things that traversed them. Some were boatbuggers; some were swimmers; some sailed boats drawn by aquatic beasts – the sea welcomes all modes of transport that float. Rhaam was far from the biggest settlement under the Herring King, but it had its specialty.

“UGH! Gods, what is that stink?!” growled Vadym, a fat-bellied grain farmer and the largest remaining in the group.

The shaman Droog sniffed and grimaced. “Garum...” he remarked sourly. “I have heard the goblin merchants tell nightmarish tales about the ‘rank of Rhaam’. Plug your nostrils, lads.”

“What’s a garum?” whined Shtook, a root farmer and an ardent acolyte of the Agricult. He clutched his talisman, a bone necklace that resembled a little rake, as though prayer would save him from the ungodly stink.

“It’s a condiment that the seapeoples are quite fond of, supposedly,” Droog continued. “A product of fermented fish innards, salt and time, I believe.”

“Innards?!” squealed Shtook in disbelief.

“Indeed. The rest of the fish is used for different purposes.”

“Bull’s loins,” swore Vadym and threw the sky a glance. Sundown was luckily approaching – only a little extra sweat coalesced on his forehead. As the group entered into the town, they were greeted by bustling streets, more languages in minutes than they had heard their whole lives, and smells and noises completely foreign to the Vootlands. Spices and herbs, sweets and sours, burnt and rotting – the familiar scent of black soil seemed like a distant memory. Buildings of wood and mud flanked the dirt road streets on all sides, winding along the river of people that kept the afternoon alive. After an initial stroll, the streets began to snake their way down a hill which eventually dove into the sea; there, at its feet, was a bustling harbour and a grand market. Their descent through the city down to the harbour below was accompanied by yells and hoots by nearby merchants pushing fish, seaweed, salt, shellfish and fancy rocks in their faces. Stalls selling pearls, pretty shells, coral art and fishing equipment were as densely packed as carrots in a bunch, forming a labyrinth that the snouters had to laboriously traverse.

“Pig-bro! Pig-bro! Pearls for sow, yes?! Pearls for sow?!”

Vadym pushed the little half-hyena aside with a snort. “Back off, pup!”

“Oils for cheap! Ooooooiiils for cheapy-cheap!”

“Shrimp kebab for a shwoty! Shriiiiimp kebab for a shwoty!”

“Gaaaarum! Gaaaarum! No meal complete without gaaaarum!”

Droog muttered. “All this noise is making me nauseous.”

“It’s more likely the garum,” Shtook pointed out. Draznokh sighed.

“We’ll be at the harbour soon,” he said and pointed ahead. Rows of piers, boatbugs, boats and beasts stuck out of the crowds of fishermen, divers, cooks and merchants like stiff hairs out of a scalp. The snouters halted, trying to get their bearings. “Alright, brothers… We need to find a skipper who can take us to the Western Falls. Droog, do you have the payment?”

Droog extracted a small pouch of cowries from his pack, carefully collected from all the trade the Pates had engaged in with foreign merchants. “Three hundred shwoty, eager to find their future owner.”

“Alright, not too loud now…” Draznokh cautioned. “... Remember, we need to pay for the return journey, too. Be frugal, but respectful. Get us a good deal.”

Droog nodded and went off. Draznokh turned to the others and said, “While we wait, I suggest we see if we can boost our numbers some. Go out and find us some foolish souls who are willing to accompany us to the Falls. I don’t care who they are – if they are gullible enough to come along, we will find a use for them.” The two nodded and spread out. The rest of the afternoon was spent recruiting, scouting and haggling.

The shaman patrolled the docks with an idle trot, drinking deep in the selection of vessels docking at the pier. There were floats pulled by boatbugs, large bugs with carriages on their backs, oarboats with crews of goblin slaves, and many more. He approached one shovelling dried kelp into the trough of a large boatbug and said, “Good brother, would you be willing to take me and my three hesnouter companions to the Western Falls? We will pay handsomely, for certain.” Droog poured his soul into a courteous bow to seal-faced humanoid, who turned around and eyed him up and down. The seal then burst into a guffaw and thumbed over his shoulder.

“HAH! Oinky, you alone would break my Esmeralda’s back! Hooey!” He slapped his knee with a flipper hand and waved him away. “Gave me a good laugh, that. Good day to ya.” Leaving Droog momentarily dumbfounded, the selkie returned to the shovelling, the boatbug tapping the pile eagerly with a pair of antennae. The shaman then quietly moved on, trying to hide the pink hue in his cheeks.

A distance away, Shtook dejectedly walked away from a cackling gang of dwarven buccaneers. “FOR HOW MUCH?! HAH!” they spat after him in between the squeals. The spectacle was drawing quite a number of eyes, and Shtook’s rosy cheeks showed through his fur and turned them a blacking red.

Vadym didn’t have much luck either, though instead of laughter, he was met with threats: “Fakkin’ grunty, I’ll smack yo shit, I swear on me mum!” He ended up running away from the tide of shiv-wielding goblins he had proposed should join them. By the end of the day, the three of them returned to Draznokh empty-handed.

“Nothing?” the leader grunted.

“Nothing,” the three lackeys echoed.

Draznokh groaned. “... To reemphasise – we need a vessel and a crew. We absolutely cannot do this on our own.”

“... Yes, we are aware,” Vadym grumbled.

“So then do it again,” Draznokh growled. “And find me someone before–”

“Honourable tusklords,” came a voice. The four snouters turned to face a robed and bejeweled elf, her hair tied in a crescent knot that pointed skywards like the erect tail of a cat. Draznokh took the lead as usual and stepped to the front.

“Yes?”

The elf bowed deeply. “Blessings of the Ox, the Triple-Goddess and the Green Mother upon you all. I come bearing a message from Her Excellency Tidelady Arsantahl, mistress of the Little Brothers and Minister of Terrestrial Affairs under his Majesty the Herring King.” The snouters exchanged looks to see if any of them were wiser than the others. The elf ignored their ignorance and continued, “Her Excellency bids you welcome to her demesne of Rhaam, a humble speck of the mighty realm of the Greatest of the Seven. She apologises for the sorry state of the village and hopes that its amenities prove sufficient for your cultured beings.”

Draznokh furrowed his brows at the comment, allowing his eyes to once again gaze around the metropolis. “... We thank Her Excellency for the concern.”

The elf bowed again. “Your gratitude means everything to her. In fact, Her Excellency would like to invite you all to her humble abode for tea and a meal. Should you accept, it would be my honour to guide you along the way.”

Draznokh probed the expressions of his companions. Shtook pursed his lips. “Well, I have been feeling a little peckish for a while now.” Vadym concurred with an mhm. Droog was silent, but did not seem to protest. Draznokh shrugged and eventually said, “Very well. After you.”

“No, after you,” the elf insisted and the five of them ascended from the docks and back into the town. After what felt like an eternity swimming through the masses in the streets, the number of people eventually faded as the surrounding buildings fancied up something fierce. Mud huts and wooden shacks gave way to skillfully cut sandstone foundations topped with wooden mansions with curved roofs and colourfully painted walls. Greens, reds, whites, blues – rainbows of colour unimaginable in the Vootlands. After a while, the group crossed onto a great white plaza, dotted with small, isolated forests and flower beds. In the centre was a tall marble foundation that seemed to spike the sky like a lonely mountain. Atop was a large palace with a roof of jade and walls of fine coral. The snouters stood dumbfounded as the elf ascended a staircase. “Come now,” she encouraged. After stepping upwards and upwards for what felt like hours, the five all eventually reached the top, where they were greeted by an eagle-like fowlfolk dressed in beautifully patterned silks. She threw out her arms in greeting and bowed courteously.

“Honoured tusklords of the Lands of Voot, be welcome,” Tidelady Arsantahl greeted and straightened herself back up. “I trust the journey was comfortable?”

“So much stone,” whispered Shtook in what almost felt like discomfort. The lack of forests and fields around them intensified the homesickness. Draznokh swallowed as much as he could of the torturing sensation and bowed back.

“The Tidelady showers us with undeserved riches by presenting herself. We are honoured.”

Arsantahl giggled. “Oh, a charmer – how fun! Come in, come in. You must be famished!” The group entered the palace through a hallway of pillars and came to a scene of five small tables arranged in a horseshoe with the middle one being slightly larger. The tables were set with steaming dishes and bowls of all sorts of meats, seafood, vegetables, salads and stews meticulously prepared for their arrival. The snouters licked their lips gluttonously, but even Voots and Pates knew to wait for the elder to eat first. Arsantahl gracefully stepped over to the middle table, which had been positioned on a small platform above the other four. When she walked, her dress hardly showed it – she seemed to almost hover. Once she had sat down, she beckoned invitingly. “Please, sit.”

The snouters did as they were told and the fowl regarded them patiently. “Now…” she said and picked a morsel between her claws, “... What seems to have brought four snouters to want to sail the Iris Sea, hmm?”

Summary!

A billion years ago, this post started with Draznokh and Krang arguing over shit. Krang knows he cannot get rid of Draznokh without making him a martyr, so he sends him on a suicide mission to restore the copper mines in the far west, faaar away from the Vootlands in the vain hopes that he'll find some way to kill himself. Draznokh agrees and travels off towards the port city of Rhaam, situated on the southern end of the big middle sea, called the Iris or the Iris Sea by the Vootlands snouters. They decide to split up to try to get a ship and a crew, but quickly realise the people there are woefully overpriced. Just as all hope is lost, the gang is summoned to the Tidelady Arsantahl, the local governour and servant of the Herring King - one of the big shots in the Iris Sea island kingdoms - and she starts asking them questions about their business.

Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay)

A Month of Doubt

---

Life in the house of health proceeded as normal. Well, for the most part. The customers came and went. The shelf that had been ripped down had been replaced; the items on it, too. The incense smoked as usual. The tea was just as warm. The pillow under the counter was just as soft.

Yet Roja could find no peace.

Not since the day the visitor came, the mushroom man, had Roja felt calm. The atmosphere of the house of health, which had caught her emotional fall like a bed of cotton, grew spikes out of its walls. The incense filled her nose like a poison and choked her; the tea tasted bitter and stale.

Initially, talks with Jezzy had helped a lot.

“What we're doing…”

“Mhm?” the goblin had replied.

“... I know it's for a good cause, but… Then why does it feel so wrong?”

“Oh Roja,” had the goblin said with the familiar vanilla in her voice and flowers on her breath. “You have a good heart, a pure heart. Like a true and trusty devotee of Allianthé, you see value in all life. And all life does have value, of course.” A pause. “But some life is more valuable that other. Like those of the people we're helping.”

For the first few weeks, this reasoning had formed a shield around her conscious. Yet no matter how much Jezzy consoled her, the elf would be reminded of the alien guest every time she was asked to gather more of the mushroom. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many times she opened the hatch and descended the ladder, no matter how many mushrooms she ground up, she could not overpower her senses and shut out the burning glare of the two fiery red eyes of the creature in the rune cage. Every rung on the ladder, every chop of the knife, every grind of the pestle–it was as though she was grinding down her own spirit. With time, she couldn't help but feel that Jezzy grew tired of her.

“Jezzy, nothing feels right! I, I can't keep doing this!” Roja kept saying.

“You can! I have faith in you,” Jezzy would always promise, but never more than that. The conversation would never survive for much longer after that. As the days became weeks and the weeks became months, the pair talked less and less. Jezzy went on longer errands more often. It was as though the shop had become Roja’s, as Jezzy would disappear for weeks at a time, only to come back with a curt greeting and a demand for a report over the past few days. Roja began to feel old, but familiar thoughts return:

You're worthless.

You don't deserve to be happy.

It should have been you, not them.

The one day, as she reached the final rung of the ladder and turned around to lock eyes with the mushroom creature, it was as if something within her snapped. The red hot eyes were inside her head; she no longer perceived them with her eyes, but with her mind. She felt her breathing accelerate and whimpers escape her mouth. The tunnel–the black canal under Arbor. She had escaped, but she heard the monster, the spawn of Egrioth. It was here, with her, in the cave. She wasn't in the cave anymore, she was in that tunnel. Her arm was bleeding–it was still attached, if only barely. She was limping, escaping as fast as she could from the chasing horror. There, ahead, she saw the door into the inner trunk. If only she could reach the activation runes. Then she would escape inside and be safe. Just a little longer, just a little further! She tripped and fell forward, her hand landing perfectly on the rune. YES!

Then the image faded, the room faded. She saw brown wooden walls melt away and that all-too-familiar light of the mushrooms radiate into her vision. Only one light was missing. She lifted her hand quiveringly and noticed iridescent stains on her fingers. Her breathing turned to panicking sobs. She looked up and saw the mushroom creature standing above her, eyes like an inferno waiting to swallow her up.

She didn't have time to scream, the mycelium was too quick. White roots burst out of the ground and covered her mouth, ears and eyes and lifted her up by the legs, her one arm swinging wildly in the air. She struck nothing but the wall, bruising her hand sore with every hit until it eventually drew blood. She neither saw nor heard anything, and only her nose hinted at the close and moist presence of the creature, the stink of dampness thick on the air. A million thoughts raced through her head, her wild imagination playing a hundred thousand reels in her mind of her death at that hands of this thing. However, then–as though she fell into water–her head went cloudy and thick, her senses dulling and struggling against a viscous medium.

There. Peace and tranquility.

Roja couldn't believe herself. This was anything but peaceful. Then the dulling sensation redoubled its efforts and she felt sedated.

The parasite struggles. I will take pleasure in unraveling the fabric of her being thread by thread.

Was it the creature casting these thoughts into her?

It is denser than bedrock. Every moment I suffer its existence is a sin graver than each cut she has dealt to the colony.

It was! The creature spoke into her mind! But how? How was this possible?!

There was a pause. Then the mycelium unwrapped itself from her eyes. Before her, she beheld the upside down view of the creature in a squat, its cone-like forearms crossed over its chest in what she would consider to be an indecisive manner. It showed no expressions beyond that that she could even begin to interpret, except that the eyes showed no sign of love.

“HMPH! MMMPH! MUHMPH!”

The viscous sensation intensified once again and she felt close to passing out. Even the voice in her head felt cotton-wrapped. However, something in her brain told her that she no longer had a reason to be afraid. At least not at the moment. Consider yourself lucky, parasite. The Council believes you can be of use in laying a trap for the antithesis. You will help us or be destroyed. Choose.

She felt the presence loosen up her mind again and her thoughts became nimble. “H-h-h-help or die?! W-with what?! What's the antithesis?! Wha–” The cloudiness returned and she felt her brain go limp.

Her thoughts are like a storm in a pond. I see not how she can be of anyone's assistance, even the antithesis’s. She is more harmless than a fly and less useful to the life chain.

There came another pause. In her stupor, the elf didn't even know how to even think of a response. Then came an elation, like the presence relented. The mycelium roots loosened their grips and dropped the elf on the floor, where she sloshed about like a confused slug.

As the Council commands. She will guide the antithesis down here where it will be ground down into dust and spread to the Teacher's astral winds.

“He… Hey! What's, what's the antithesis?” demanded Roja as she staggered to her feet. The creature barely acknowledged her with a small glance.

To you, this thing is known as “Jezzy”. It has been declared the eternal enemy of the colony and the Council demands it be disposed of completely, down to the smallest speck of Lumen.

“Jezzy? Lumen? What?"

Please, Council, see reason. She cannot possibly–... Yet another pause, one which shifted the tone in the room and even seemed to make the creature uneasy. Roja couldn't make sense of much, but there was an unmistakable thumping on the air, physical like the deep notes of a horn.

Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

She noticed the creature deflated a little. Yes, of course. I will… Respect the Council’s decision. The mushroom walked over to the elf. Roja suddenly felt herself levitate off the ground and be spun around, cast into odd angles by an invisible force.

“Hey! HEY! Let, let me down!” Then she quieted down as the creature leaned in.

You have been granted amnesty by the Council. You will not think another thought unless I command you to do so. She felt the creature sigh. Every day, every minute, every second you have been down here, your doubts, your self-hate and your urge to please this “Jezzy” have oozed out of you like pus from a wound. I did not want to listen; I wanted to shut you out. However… The creature picked up the knife, spotted with the iridescent spores of its kind. ... You have consumed Lumen. Your resulting affinity for accessing the Astral Plane, however weak, forces me to hear your thoughts as though you were yourself a cantar. You would think watching your own kin be systematically hacked apart to be eaten was a cruel fate, but being imprisoned in this cellar, forced to hear hundreds of frail minds trot around above thinking about the most miniscule, minute, unimportant details like they are world-ending threats–I can scarcely think of a worse punishment. A thousand years of rot upon you and all your kin!

The mental assault thundered through her head like a migraine. Roja was already dizzy from hanging upside down, but the headache intensified the nausea. She felt something bubble from below and a throatful of bile exploded out of her mouth. The cantar recoiled and dropped her, letting her once again fall onto the ground torso first. Roja flabbed about in her own vomit and noticed that her nose was running. As she swabbed a finger underneath, she noticed its crimson colour. “I… I'm not well…”

The cantar hissed and slapped off the bits of vomit that had doused it's leg. Disgusting. Yet oddly fascinating. I will make a note that your kind also vomits up your stomach fluid for extratestinal pre-digestion. A valiant last effort to exercise your hate towards my kind, but alas… The creature waved a hand over the small burns. They healed near instantly. ... A failed one. Now, is there anything else that you want to do to me before you finally obey and assassinate the antithesis?

“K-... Kill Jezzy?” Roja pushed herself onto her one elbow and slowly brought her buckling knees up under her torso.

She listens at last. But she doubts. Always with the doubts.

“I… I couldn't! She saved me! She's been there for me all this time!”

A murderer. A thief. Her crimes against my kind, crimes you too have perpetrated, are innumerable. If you refuse to obey, I will hollow out your husk and seed your flesh bag with new spores. Your meat will feed the colony for years.

“But why?! Why do you need me?! What good am I to you if you just wanna find Jezzy?! You found this colony, right?!”

The Council called out to me for all these years. As their Pilot, I am attuned to its voice at all times, listening to it, feeling it. Its burning glare grew cold. It is a bond a million times stronger than any sort of “friendship” your kind can hope to achieve. I feel their joy, their fear, their pain. Every cut, every chop. But… There was a long pause as the creature paced around the kneeling elf. Roja felt as though it was undressing her with its eyes, but in the most analytical way imaginable. I do not know what she looks like.

Roja blinked. “That's–”

... unexpected, is it? Really? Is that so? Tell me, did your knife feel any different when you cut Node-Zhyk as compared to when you cut Node-Waym?

Roja fell silent, but she felt her cheeks flush with guilt. “I… They…”

Oh but of course. They were just mushrooms, weren't they? Perhaps that will be the start of the eulogy we will sing after you're gone: “Roja, just a goblin…”

“But, but I'm an elf!”

Long ears, frail mind, nothing but doubt and ambition in those tiny excuses for heads… Frankly, I do not care what you think you are. All I see is meat and mental issues packed around a small speck of Lumen, and all I want you to do is to accomplish a single, menial task. Is that so hard to understand?

Roja was at her wit’s end. “B-but why me? I-I don't want to hurt her, I–”

Because she knows, you stupid thing! She knows everything! She knows I am looking for her; she knows I want her dead; and she knows that as soon as she comes back here, she will not leave alive. And you know how she knows that?

“Wh-wha…?”

Because she is attuned to the Lumen! She has studied it. She knows how to manipulate it. She listens to the colony. She knew I would be coming, so she was gone when I came.

“You, you lie!”

She didn't care for what happened to you; she would have locked me away when she had come home and cleaned up your mess, or better yet, let the colony take you and feed on your corpse for the next year! What, you thought you were her first assistant?

“She, she wouldn't!”

Then she felt the migraines again. Once again, her head was being forced open like a heavy tome and she felt the cantar flip through her memories. Your vision–your friends all gather before you to forgive you for your mistakes. Convenient for a first time high, isn't it?

“Th-that’s–”

Porchina the shesnouter–told to leave her husband for her lover as though it was preordained! Isn't it funny how she came to Jezzy with doubts, only for her second vision to tell her to go back to her old husband again?

“That's not fair!”

Jezzy feeds off of doubt, parasite. Her business isn't to help people; it's to keep people coming!

“Shut up! SHUT UP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

The presence faded, but the scenery remained the same. Roja’s face was grimy with vomit, sticky with blood and wet with tears. Before her, the mushroom stood unbreathing, unmoving, unrelenting in its glare. “I… I need to find Jezzy.”

Be quick about it. My vengeance cannot come soon enough.

“... I need… To find Jezzy…” Roja crawled towards the ladder and slowly ascended with shaking movements. The mushroom followed her ascent with analytical interest, the same sort one might watch a wounded insect live out its final minutes. Then it turned to the mushroom grove with elation. It lifted its arms and the cave slowly filled with glowing, iridescent spores. From the pool of vomit and drops of blood, small red and blue nubs began to grow, mycelium eating into the goo with patient gusto. From deep within the grove, rotund little cantars the size of cats came waddling out and started digging new channels into the wood of the Tree of Life for new mycelium roots to grow in. Some climbed up the ladder to harvest whatever they could find in Jezzy’s shop to take down to the colony for consumption.

Finally… After all these years, I can return to my duties.

Then the grove slowly began to heal.

Sumsum

After the arrival of the mushroom man, Roja is really anxious. Nothing feels safe anymore in the house of healing and everything feels off. She talks to Jezzy about it, but after a while it's clear that Jezzy doesn't like her nagging. They lose contact and Jezzy leaves on longer and longer trips more and more often. When it's pretty much just Roja in the shop, she goes down into the mushroom cave one day and has a vision of herself being chased by an Outer Beast. She manages to escape by pressing a button, but it turns out that the button is one of the runes of the rune cage that holds the cantar imprisoned.

Once released, the cantar immediately ties her up in mycelium and starts berating Roja mind for all the damage she has caused to the colony. Then she tells her to find Jezzy and bring her back home to face justice, on pain of death. This goes back and forth until Roja snaps and caves after the mushroom tells her that Jezzy has been manipulating the visions of her customers because she can manipulate the Lumen inside the mushroom. After Roja has left, the cantar begins restoring its colony.

Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay)

The Fruit of the Gods

_{Proud sponsor of the Cave Games}

---

Background music

“My name is Zepwad Loof, and I am a wheeler.”

Vroomvroom vrooooooooom!

“Being a wheeler’s tough work.”

BRRRRRRRROOOOOOM!

“The desert’s a cruel mistress. She takes, takes and then takes some more.”

RRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEM!

“... But when she gives…”

”I GOT IIIIIIT!

A grin. “Heh... Then she just won’t stop giving.”

”WE’RE RICH! WE’RE RICH, BOYS! YEEEE-HOO!”

LOOF’S WHEEL FRUITS

2.99 a wheel. Exclusive 2 for 1 offer for the next week and a half.
Discount for pillbuggers. Snouters pay double.

Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay)

An Hour of Fright

---

After visiting the house of healing for the first time, Roja went back again and again. She had stopped drinking at the tavern and felt herself grow braver, stronger. She took initiative during her odd jobs and got more opportunities as time went on. The money she made, she saved to make more trips over to Jezzy, where they would sit down for tea and chats. She would share stories from before her time in the militia, of the people who had been around her growing up, of boyfriends and girlfriends, lovers gained and lost. The two of them shared in laughs and tears, and eventually, the shop became Roja’s second home. She would watch the store while Jezzy was out on errands and whenever she had to wait in line with other customers, she would chat them up and learn about their lives. People of all species came in with heavy hearts and left elated, their clothes always carrying that familiar scent of earthy smoke. They were never many, but so the shop was mostly empty, but the odd person would stroll in every now and then–often they were regulars–and ask for Jezzy. After a time, there came an evening just before Jezzy was about to close that Roja had finally worked up the courage to ask something that had been weighing her heart ever since she had come here for the first time.

“Jezzy?” she asked.

“What is it, Roja?” replied that familiar flannel voice as she took stock of the shelves.

“Could, could I please start working for you?”

Jezzy balked slightly and turned around. “Come again?”

Roja swallowed. “I… I want to work here. For you.”

Jezzy stood dumbfounded for a blink. “R-Roja, I’m very happy you feel that way and that you’ve come so far, but… I could never pay you. I don’t make enough money to pay myself, almost. Y-you have been one of my best customers, I couldn’t possibly–”

“I’ll work for free!” Roja insisted. Jezzy sighed.

“Then how will you eat, dearie? No, it just wouldn’t work.”

“Please! Please, I beg you. You are the most important person in my life and, and I want to make it up to you for saving me. Please.”

There was a pause, within which Roja dared step a little closer. Jezzy took a deep, contemplative breath. “Alright.” Before Roja could skip into the air with joy, she added, “But you eat what I give you, got it? See if you can fit under the counter. If you can, you’ll sleep there.”

Roja was beside herself. “Oh, thank you, Jezzy! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” She rushed over to the goblin and hugged her tightly. Jezzy chuckled and hugged her back. They stayed like that for a minute before Jezzy pulled away and flicked a small tear out of her eye.

“Oh my, ‘scuse me,” she said with a sniff. “Sorry, it just… It really makes me happy knowing my treatment actually helps people.” She beamed with pride at the elf, who blushed with a small smile. Jezzy clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “Well, newbie! Guess I ought to show you around.” She paused. “Well, you already know most of the shop, but a little repetition won’t hurt.” Jezzy thus showed her in detail all the items on the shelves, from floral oils to foot ointments. She pointed out each item’s specifications, its producers if it wasn’t herself, and ideal price range.

“If the customers start haggling, play along. As long as this goes for over five, you’ve made a profit.”

She then took her into the neighbouring room where they would drink tea. She showed her the cupboard with the different kinds of incense and explained in detail which she liked to burn at what times of day. The energising, citrusy incense sticks would be burned early in the day, then in the afternoon she would switch to deeper herbal notes, sometimes in combination with different spices. She showed her how to brew tea and how many leaves she would need per cup. She taught her how to make ointments at her workbench, how to grind with the pestle, when to make a poultice and when to make a salve. Finally, they arrived at the hatch in the back of the room.

“And for the grand finale, let me show you the most important room in this building.” She lifted the hatch and descended a small ladder. Roja followed right after and immediately smelled the musty odour of a dank basement. It was a pocket in the world tree, no larger than the room upstairs. The walls looked pocked as though worms had eaten into the wood, only that it had been no worm. The immediate sight that greeted her upon descending, was a miraculous marvel of red and cyan light. Mushrooms as tall as bar stools and as wide as shields filled the room with a dim, but radiating light. The cave had a draft, but it blew away from the hatch above–it was as though there was an unnatural wind in the room. The iridescent glow brushed over the both of them, and her nose filled with an almost oily air that immediately ticked off a reaction in her head. Memories, emotions and dreams all began to circle in her mind, a weaker but still potent version of the vision she had had the first time she had come here. Jezzy noticed her dazzled expression and chuckled. “You feel it too, huh? Yeah, these are the mushrooms that gave you your visions.”

Roja stepped over to one and brushed her hand over it. The mushroom expelled a gentle rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. The surface was slick and moist, and when she pulled her hand away and looked at it, a dim glow remained in the mucus in her palm. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered as she wiped the mucus off on the pant leg. Jezzy nodded proudly.

“Yup! They’re my most important asset. Just a pinch of this in a bowl and some heat, and the customer can meet their dead friends and family, see themselves as gods, experience what it is like to be someone.” She gave Roja a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Then they can put their efforts into making that dream a reality.” Roja nodded and grinned from ear to ear. Jezzy, meanwhile, went over to a small table and took a large knife. She picked up a sharpening stone and gave the knife a few good rubs before she walked over to one of the mushrooms which seemed to have been cut a little before. It glowed a little weaker than the rest. “So,” Jezzy said, placing the knife just over the edge of the cap, “should I ever need to send you down here to prepare a poultice, you will take this knife, make sure it is nice and sharp, and cut a piece no bigger than your thumb–like so.” With expert movement, she cut a finger’s worth of mushroom and caught it in her hand. “Make sure to always cut from the top, as that way, you smear the cap mucus on the inside of the piece. It has a floral smell and intensifies the visions.” Roja paid the utmost attention, taking mental notes with gusto. “After that, you take a pestle,” she made a twisting motion with her hand, “grindgrindgrind and then you tap the side of the bowl, and it’ll begin to conjure heat. It really is that simple.”

After that, Roja took to her tasks quickly. She cleaned and stocked the shelves, took care of the customers while Jezzy tended to her patients. At night, she slept under the counter and for her meals, she drank and ate what Jezzy served her, which was, perhaps not unsurprisingly, much better food than she had been eating up to that point. Vegetable broths, porridges, pottages and stews–Jezzy was a magnanimous host to her, and Roja kept taking mental notes of all the kindnesses she could never repay.

One day, many weeks after she had started, Roja was manning the shop alone. Jezzy was out on an errand, but at this point, this was quite routine. She expected that maybe one or two customers would come by to check in, see if Jezzy was in, but she would just tell them to come back later unless she could offer them any assistance herself. Jezzy had began to teach her simple runes, so to pass the time, Roja would read the modest selection of scrolls on the matter that Jezzy kept in her shelves, practicing how to draw runes with charcoal on the floor. Sometime around noon while she sat behind the counter drawing, she heard the familiar patter of footsteps in the alley outside–a little heavy, perhaps, but it was likely just the shesnouter who was coming back for a second vision. Her first one had encouraged her to leave her current husband for her lover, and Roja couldn’t help but snicker to herself thinking about what it could be this time.

“Welcome to Jezzy’s house of healing,” she presented in a sing-songy voice as she arose from her squat. “How can I assis–”

Her eyes fixed on the shadow opposite of the bead curtain. Against the outside light, it looked like nothing she had ever seen. A pair of round, radiating eyes glowed through the curtain, and the creature entered. It looked like an enormous cylinder, wearing as it did from head to toe a drape. Its eyes were in the middle, so it looked like a walking tent. In all her years, it resembled nothing she had ever encountered, but the eyes awakened within her an uncanny and gradually more panicking vision of the last time she looked into a pair of viciously glowing eyes.

“C-c-can I help you?”

The creature said nothing. It simply walked up to the counter and stared at her. Roja felt herself shrink. The eyes drilled through her skin and into her soul–it felt literal. It was as though her mind was laid out on the table and the creature flipped through it like a book. She grabbed at her head, her hands pressing against her skull to level out the pressure of an oncoming migraine. It was as if her heart was in her ears, a thundering drum thumping through her mind and rummaging around in search of something. Then the sensation lessened considerably. The creature turned away, the drape now concealing its eyes. It stormed for the tea room next door. Roja was still recovering, but managed to shout, “H-hey, you can’t go in there! Hey!” The creature ignored her completely and stormed through with such vigour that it tore the bead curtain separating the rooms and knocked over a shelf. Vials and jars of oils and ointments shattered against the floor and panic set in for Roja. This creature–she had to subdue it somehow. In the neighbouring room, the creature seemed to squat down to the floor and look around frantically. It had come to steal the mushrooms!

Instinct overtook her. Roja grabbed a large jar of dry beans and sprinted into the neighbouring room. The creature hardly had time to notice her coming before she hurled the jar at its eyes. The jar pulled the drape off and shattered against the place where the eyes had been. The creature stumbled back in a daze, tried to recover its balance and then tripped. It fell onto the hatch which, being built out of thatch and twigs, snapped under its weight. It tumbled down the ladder and Roja heard a dunk at the bottom. She ran over to look, but stopped halfway as she noticed something familiar among the jar shards and the dry beans on the floor. Were those… Mushroom fibres? She continued over to the hatch and looked down. She could barely keep herself from gagging. There, at the bottom of the ladder, laid some sort of amalgam between a mushroom and a humanoid. It was glowing, just like the mushrooms in the cave, and its glowing eyes had been shut close. Roja descended quickly and inspected the body. The creature had no mouth, but it did have a round spot on its stem on which its eyes sat, giving it an almost face-like feature. Its body plan seemed lithe between the joints, then thick towards the end of the limbs, like it was wearing cones for gloves and shoes. Then there was the cap, which grew out of its head for an additional meter almost, and nearly twice as wide as the body. No wonder it had looked like a barrel under the tarp.

Roja felt her breathing accelerate. She had just killed someone again. Or something. Either way, the Deathguard would come for her soon. For ten minutes straight, she laid curled up on the ground, trying to control her breathing just like Jezzy had taught her to. After that, she paced around, using every fraction of her mind to think of a plan. She eventually got some linen sheets and tied up the creature just in case it would spring back to life. After a while longer, she pushed and pulled it into a corner of the cave. Then she sat down opposite of it, armed with a sharp shard of crushed pottery.

After what felt like half a day, she heard frantic footsteps upstairs. “Roja?! ROJA?! Roja, are you downstairs?!”

“YES!” she shouted, “AND THERE’S A MONSTER!”

Jezzy came down swiftly and said, “A monster?! What do you–WOAH!” The sight of the mushroom person made her nearly jump her own height into the air. As she moved over to inspect it, Roja began to cry.

“I, I didn’t know what to do, and, and, and it just came in and it was covered and, and then it just stared and me and then it, it just ran into the tearoom and I didn’t–” He broke down when Jezzy came over to console her.

“Oh, Roja, it’s okay. It’s okay.” She pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank the Gods you are alright. When I saw the shop, I worried something awful had happened, and…” She cast a glance over at the creature. “... It seems that it did. I am so sorry, Roja.”

Roja shook her head. “No… No, it’s my fault, I–”

“No. No, this isn’t your fault. This… This is mine.”

Roja blinked and wiped her swollen eyes. “Huh?”

Jezzy let her go and walked over to the creature. She scraped a palmful of dim mucus off a nearby mushroom and drew a set of runes in a crescent around the unconscious creature. “... I have encountered this creature before.” When done, she twisted her hand and bars of light shot up from the runes. “There… That should keep it from escaping.”

Roja furrowed her brow and frowned at her. “Wait, so you’re telling me you know this thing?”

“No, not… Exactly. I don’t know what it is, but… I know what it came here for.” She gestured around to the mushrooms in the room. “This is its home.”

Roja balked. “What?”

A sigh. “Years ago, I had just opened my shop here in Arbor, but back then it was a leatherworker’s shop. See, my father–Voi preserve him–had a shop in the Underground, making all sorts of tunics, vests, aprons and whatnot. He taught me the trade ever since I could hold an awl.” She glanced to the side. “But here in Arbor, well… Leather comes from animals and that means that at some point, that animal must have died. Now it’s not illegal to work or wear leather, but you know as well as me that it’s a bit… Unsavory.” Roja conceded a nod. “So that’s why I set up shop here in the alley, where only clientele who knew who I was, would ever think to look.” She then pointed to the hole over which the hatch had been laid. “Then one day, in that exact spot, I stepped on a moist part of my floor. Before I knew it, the floor gave in and I fell down into this hole. It was here that I, uh, found the colony.”

She took in a deep breath and walked over to sit down next to Roja. She patted the ground for her to join her, which she did in a sheepish manner. “I remember the exact moment I fell. I held a length of linen in my hand–part of a tunic I was reinforcing–and as I fell down, the air was just greasy with this earthy musk, the very same that you smell when making the mushroom poultice. This place must have been overflowing with spores. That’s what the grease on the air is, I think: spores.” As if to demonstrate, she shook one of the nearby mushrooms and they both watched it release a dimly glowing cloud. “Then came the visions, oh the visions. I saw my birth, then a hundred different lives, then a thousand different deaths. I was a queen, a beggar, a warrior, a leatherworker. I was a priestess of Allianthé, I fought alongside Jaxx, I rode rolly pollies in the desert. And in one of my lives, I was a mighty runescribe.” A pause. “At the time, I suppose I must’ve found the vision interesting, because I delved deeper into it and learned of all my inventions and contraptions: I made runes for heating homes, obelisks that formed shields around settlements, self-moving carts, and so much more! Then the memories stuck around and when I woke up, I suddenly knew–I knew!–rune magic!”

Roja recoiled in disbelief. “What?!”

“Yeah, it’s crazy! I woke up and all of a sudden I could make stones produce light, clay boil water–”

“No! I mean–what about the story about your apprenticeship as a novice of runescribing?! About your lover who went off to fight with Jaxx?!”

Jezzy frowned sheepishly. “Well, I had to make something up! I couldn’t just say ‘I snorted a ton of spores and suddenly knew rune magic’, now could I?”

“Y-you could have just said that you had learned it!”

Jezzy sighed. “Those kinds of stories don’t work, Roja. If you tell people you’ve learned rune magic, they start asking questions like ‘oh, from whom’ or ‘oh, what for’. No, if you don’t want people to pry, attach the lie to another tragic story, like a heartbreak.”

Roja chewed on her words and couldn’t help but agree, though her nod was reluctant at best. “Well… Then how did you meet this thing?”

Jezzy cast it a glance again. “It lived here when I came in. After I came to, I had already seen me and was approaching. When you said it had stared at you, I immediately understood what you meant, for I still remember those eyes. I remember the terrible headache they gave me. I did not feel welcome in the slightest. However…” She held up a finger. “... The creature hadn’t accounted for my newfound ability, and luckily, it seems it didn’t know what rune magic was. So I drew up a trap for it as it approached. As soon as the creature touched me, I had it transported to a far off place, never to be seen again.” She frowned at the creature behind the bars. “Or so I thought.”

Before Roja could follow up with questions, Jezzy added: “After that, I experimented some with the mushrooms and realised what we both know: that they have potent hallucinogenic potential, and that these hallucinations are not just in the head–they can manifest in reality itself. So I refurbished my shop and opened a house of healing. I wanted to share this gift with the needy, the people whose world had come crashing down, those who needed to realise that salvation was just a dream away.”

Roja furrowed her brow. “Then… Why are you taking money for it?”

“Well, I couldn’t just give it away, could I? To my knowledge there are no substances like this in the known world–this could be the only colony of these kinds of mushrooms! If I told everyone about it, it would be chopped down and snorted in an hour–not to mention how the Deathguard would react to Arbor’s populace exterminating a rare species!”

Still, Roja couldn’t wrap her hand around it. “B-but… This is wrong! This, this is this creature’s home, isn’t it?”

Jezzy nodded with a sad frown. “Yes, it is, and what I am doing is terrible to this one individual, but… Roja, think of all the people we are helping! Think of where you were before your vision! These mushrooms, they improve lives, they heal broken souls. I… understand if you think I am a monster, but please know that all I’ve ever wanted was to help people. The visions I saw, the lives I could have lived–they showed me that nothing in the world matters more than being there for someone else. Out of all my thousand deaths, the ones that haunt me in my sleep are the ones where I died alone. I would not wish a lonesome existence upon even my worst enemy.”

There was a silence. Roja’s eyes shifted between the mushroom creature and Jezzy. The silenced reigned for a while longer before Roja said, “I don’t think you are a monster.”

The next day, they opened the store as usual.

SummaREE!

We return to the house of health! Roja has become a regular and eventually works up the courage to ask if she can work there. Jezzy is like “alright, but I can’t afford to pay you” and Roja is like “sure, as long as we can hang out!”. And that’s what they do. Roja is shown the ropes and the cellar, where Jezzy keeps a mushroom colony. This is where the mushrooms that give the weird visions come from. They are her most valuable asset.

Some time later, a mysterious creature shows up when Jezzy is out and starts harassing Roja. It storms into the tearoom and Roja knocks it out before it can reach the mushroom cellar. This reveals that the creature is a cantar, a myconid who has come home to its colony. Roja panics over having potentially killed something again and curls up on the ground.

Jezzy later shows up and Roja freaks out. Jezzy explains that she has seen the creature before and that this shop used to be her old leatherworking shop, but when she one day fell through the floor and into this cave, she immediately snorted years of built-up cantar spores. Having gotten a huge dose of Lumen, she had a vision of herself as a runescribe and thus became one in real life. With her magic, she teleported the myconid away and turned the workshop into a house of healing, using the mushrooms to give people visions that can help them improve.

Roja freaks out over the fact that she lied to her, but Jezzy points out that while it’s wrong to deny this myconid its home, she is also helping people, including Roja. Roja relents and the two open shop as usual the next morning.

Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay)

The Pike of Southbank

Humble Beginnings

---

“Dear reader,

Before you continue, I gotta warn ya: I am not a nice lady. This will not be a story of a pretty little princess who grew up in her little room up in the Paint Caves, who had the mommy and the daddy and the fat-ass inheritance. Ain’t gonna be any magic school, no little ponies in the meadows, no handsome prince, none of that! Nah, this here’s a story from the real Tricity, the real oh-gee snoutahumpin’ Southbank, baby, my humble lil’ alma mater. A brief introduction, of course: I–yours truly–am the Mama Zazah Chipotle (that’s ribbit for “bad ass”). Between myself and my fellow greens, ain’t nobody had this much moolah this side of the Belt. See, I am what’s known on the streets as an “ahntreyprehnuhr”. I run a business, a little something-something I call the Guild of Green. Whenever there’s trouble in the Bank, people come to me. Why? ‘Cuz I get problems solved, dearie.

Now, you might be asking: What problems you got, luv? To which I answer, which don’t I? The Southbank is a jungle, a beast-eat-beast world. It is just across the river from the bloody paintos, yet the difference here is night and day. The Council? They don’t care about us.

And we, hehe, don’t care about them.

So, you’ve probably already got me figured out: Mama Zazah, rich goblin bitch and one of the top bugs of the Bank. Think again: I might be rich, dearie, but I ain’t alone. Like I said, this is a battlefield. Whot’s a little lady to do against big’uns like the Tuskless Cartel, the Nighthowlers or the Rolly Boys?

Whatever I can do to get rid of ‘em, that’s whot.

So, where does that leave us? I suppose I oughta tell you how I got here. Well, it’s kind of a long story, but–”

---

SPLASH!

Zazah woke up with a start. Her face and torso were ice cold and soaked. She gasped for breath, snorted and coughed. Her vision was blurry, but she could tell the room was dimly lit. It reeked of fish, which indicated that they were somewhere on the World Belt River, but she had no idea where. Only thing she knew was that she was bound to a chair and could hardly move. Before her stood three shadows, the girth of which determined that they could only be snouters, large goblins or some kind of bearlike beastfolk.

“She’s awake, boss.”

A furry hand clasped around her cheeks, squeezing her lips into a funnel. Zazah squealed and focused her eyes into the clearing face of a tiger. Fuck, she thought, it’s Pozan. Ten-Stripes Pozan, a bulky beastman with orange fur, round eyes and, contrary to his name, a lot of black stripes, leaned in close until they were less than an inch apart. His breath rank of smoked fish.

“The rat awakens… Finally…” He released his grip with a twist that nearly snapped a neck tendon and started pacing in front of her. Zazah coughed some more and struggled to remain stone-faced.

“... Look, Pozan…” The tiger growled in response. “I did not squeal.”

“Ho-ho-ho, much too late for that now, little Zazah. The time for excuses is over!” he crescendoed. He reached out a hand and one of his lackeys gave him a sharpening stone. The tiger flexed the claws on his left hand and began to sharpen them slowly and menacingly. “Only way you’re getting out of this now is to squeal more.” He squatted down in front of her. “Names.”

“Look, Pozan, I–AH!”

A hot sear pumped out of her right cheek, where three fresh, bloody stripes now wept forth tears of blood. The act had been almost too fast for eyes to see, but Pozan’s eyes were bloodshot and unblinking. He looked like he could see through her very soul.

“Names.”

A few seconds passed and then Zazah nodded slowly. “... Ch-Chinny.”

“Good, good,” said the tiger softly while one of his lackeys noted it down. “Keep going.”

“... L-Lem.”

“A lot of Lems here, Zazah.”

“Wetfoot! Wetfoot.”

“Wetfoot, too, huh…” The sharpening stone switched hands and the tiger took a moment to study the claws on his right hand. “A shame. I liked him. Give him a swift death, make a note of that.” The lackey complied and the tiger’s eyes settled on Zazah once more. “Did I say to stop?”

Zazah shook her head and pressed her lips together. Her eyes dared look around for an exit–any exit, but the tiger stopped her in her tracks. “Eyes here, little rat, or you’ll get a matching scar on the other side.”

“Okay, okay… Hmph…”

The tiger pouted. “Oh, come now, you still have so much more to give! I know there are two more at least and, hey, if you can surprise me, I might just cut your jugular vein before I start spreading your rib cage open just like the lids of that pretty little box your friends stole from me.” He tickled the underside of her chin with his claws, drawing blood. “Come on, comeoncomeoncomeon, come out and play, little secrets!”

“D-D-Descindi!”

The tickling immediately stopped. The tiger’s maniacal smile immediately turned to a stone-cold frown. His lackeys quickly exchanged nervous looks. The tiger leaned in close again and whispered, “That’s a lie.”

“It isn’t.”

“That’s a filthy FUCKING LIE!” He picked up a nearby chair and smashed it against the wall. “DON’T you slander my blood-brother’s name like that.”

“IT’S TRUE!”

“I WILL CARVE A FUCKING REGENERATION RUNE INTO YOUR HEART SO THAT IT KEEPS BUMPING WHILE I FLAY YOU IF YOU DON’T FUCKING TAKE THAT BACK!” He grabbed her by the throat and squeezed so hard that Zazah was certain this was the end. However, little by little, the grip loosened. This was it–he knew. He already knew.

Zazah swallowed through the pressure and managed to squeeze out, “Ask him where he was during the attacks.” With that, the tiger let her go completely and stepped back. He paced in frustration, fingers alternating between massaging his chin and running over his scalp. He eventually turned to two of his lackeys.

“Find him. Find him right now and do not fucking rest until you find him.” As the other two sprinted out of the hut, he turned to the last one. “You. Kill her.” The lackey unsheathed a dagger.

“H-HEY! I helped you, gods damn it!”

“And now you’re useless to me. Make it quick and then come look for him.” With that, the tiger sprinted out too. The remaining lackey, a fat shesnouter with no tusks shifted her glance over to the goblin and approached with a quick pace. She shifted the grip on the hilt before settling on an upwards stabbing motion.

Then he went around her back and cut the robes holding her. Zazah immediately pulled them off her and patted her cheek. “Fuck, that was close.”

“That’s an understatement,” mumbled the shesnouter and sheathed the dagger again. “I haven’t seen him that angry in, well, at least a month.”

Zazah patted some dust off of her tunic and hurried over to a nearby table where most of her stuff still remained. “How far do you reckon they’ve gotten?”

The shesnouter stealthily peered out the doorway. “I’d say to the market, just about.”

“Perfect. Stuff me in that sack.” The shesnouter did as told, but not before they had thoroughly smeared the bottom with as much fish guts from a nearby corner as they could. They added some of the guts to the sack, giving it a mouldy-looking colour. The shesnouter sighed at the shabby presentation, but shook her head.

“Fuck it, that’ll do. They’ll come looking for me soon.” Zazah held her breath and crawled into the sack and the shesnouter swung her over her back.

“UGH! Disgusting!”

“Sssh! Pretend you’re a corpse,” the shesnouter said before she exited the hut, which proved to be part of a warehouse. They were on the Breaker’s Pier, a small village built on poles in the river between the Southbank and the Northbank of Tricity. Despite copious access to fish, rice and floatatoes, this part of the city just didn't seem to want to grow wealthy. Something would always hold it back, and that something was crime. They passed bugkeepers attending to the many boatbugs along the pier, shoveling wet kelp into waterborne troughs from which the huge insects ate greedily. Fishermen and pondkeepers eyed the shesnouter with shaded glances, mumbling amongst themselves and occasionally spitting. Merchants lined the pier selling the fruits of the river, engaging in a shouting competition with the river birds. She would occasionally pass small bands, typically two-four youngsters, dressed in rags with one or two extremely out-of-place high-value trinkets: a gold ring, a silver earpiece, ruby-covered brass knuckles. These sorts were the source of all the woes of the Southbank. And it wasn't that Zazah necessarily thought herself better than them.

She just wanted to be in charge.

The shesnouter didn't stop until they were way across the river, deep into the rice fields on the Southbank. Here, snouters sat chewing straws in the shade and croakers squatted by the paddies to study the growth rate of the fishes living in them. Goblin merchants stood and haggled with some of the farmers, but other than that, this place was tranquil, almost safe.

The shesnouter entered a small shack by a poorly maintained floatato pond. Once inside, she finally opened the sack and let Zazah out on the floor. The goblin rolled out on the wood and had to keep herself from vomiting. “Blergh… Fucking disgusting.”

“You're welcome,” replied the shesnouter dryly.

“Yeah, right… Thanks.” The goblin stumbled over to a basin of cloudy water and doused her face and body. She unlidded a jar next to the basin and stuck her hand in; when it came out, it was covered in white ash, which she rubbed into her hands and washed off quickly. “I was so close…”

“It was a gamble to begin with.”

“Soooo daaaaamn close!” snarled the goblin and stomped over to a small table and sat down on the floor. The shesnouter was making a small fire in a cracked, bulbous hearth. While she inspected a small clay pot for damages, the goblin continued to fume: “The promotion was mine. Pozan knew I was loyal.”

A chuckle. “You were never fucking loyal, little rat…”

“Well, I kept up appearances, didn’t I?!” She slouched over and crashed her face into the table top. “Where did I go wrong, Hysha?”

The shesnouter Hysha spat into the clay pot and rubbed its insides with a tar-black rag. “Who’s to say? In this business, just knowing too much might be enough. Considering you knew about Descindi’s betrayal, well…” She turned to face her, a knowing look on her face. “You knew too much.”

“He’ll probably be coming for me now, too. Fuck…”

The concave clay pot amplified the noise of Hysha adding a bunch of peas to it then filling it with water from a small vase. “Nah, he’ll have his hands full with Pozan. You, on the other hand, gotta lay low and find some way to start over. I doubt anyone in the Pikes will want to have anything to do with you now. But hey, look on the bright side! Between Pozan and Descindi, one’s bound to kill the other, so when that’s done, you’ll only have to deal with one of them!” She paused. “You’re certain he did it, right?”

Zazah sighed and rubbed her eyes with a groan. “Yeah, pretty sure. Pozan had entrusted the location of the artifact to me, but I figured sharing it with Des was no problem. I didn’t actually expect him to steal it.”

Hysha cut a smirk. “... But you wanted him to, didn’t you?”

Zazah snickered back. “Pffft. And start a gang-wide war between the two highest ranking members?” She winked.

“Maybe.”

SummaREE!

Meet Zazah - the up-and-coming gang boss of the Tricity Southbank. Except not really. She wakes up bound to a chair in an unknown place and gets accused of being a rat. Her gang superior, Ten-Stripes Pozan, tells her to give up the names of all who stole something from him, a box of sorts. She gives up a bunch, one of whom is a fellow named Descindi, blood-brother of Pozan. Pozan is furious, but evidently too suspecting to let it go. He tells his lackeys to go find him except for one whom he tells to kill Zazah. After he leaves, it turns out that the lackey who remained is the shesnouter Hysha, a friend of Zazah’s. She stuffs her in a sack and smuggles her out into the countryside where they shack up in a, well, shack. Here they talk about what happened and it turns out that Zazah may have told the location of the box to Descindi intentionally to start a war in the gang. Woops.

Divinus Mk. 8: The Eleventh Cycle (A God Roleplay)

A Moment of Respite

---

The atmosphere among the commoners of Arbor seemed tenser than usual. Then again, between the wrath of the Egriothspawn, the unclear fate of the Queen of Life, the arrival of the Fairy Goddess, and the construction of the Tree of Firmaments, there was little space left to find calm. Conversations were shorter than usual; eyes shifted groundwards more often; unknown noises conjured skittishness even in braver individuals. The rumour mill ground and ground, whispers in alleyways became conversations in the open.

“I hear she’s actually gotten a big following recently.”

“No, she’s not dead. Get a hold of yourself.”

“You know, there are people you could ask about that…”

“Well, I heard that…”

“... Actually, what Jason told me was…”

“... No password, no entry…”

The quern of conspiracy milled diligently, and one who had recently dabbled in the flour of fear was the young elf Roja. She had served as a scout in a militia band known as the Auburn Dusk, a group of locals who gathered to break the sanctity of killing to rid the island of the Egriothspawn. Their leader and her dear friend, Laethan the Sharp, had gathered them under a secret oath: "We kill the threats to the Tree of Life in the Lifemother's name, so that life may persist". Membership was highly exclusive, but in hindsight it was clear that Laethan had just picked the first ten people she could name and gone ahead with that. Roja had always been a good archer and a better spotter–even at such a young age, she had caught the attention of many for her precision and truesight. She had gotten used to praise and had taken it with condescending courtesy. During the assault of the Egriothspawn, however, she had suffered irreparable damage to her bow arm. Worse yet, her party had been attacked because she had failed in her duty: in the moment when it mattered, she had grown lax and lazy, believing that no wild beast could ever escape her sight. Yet the shadow beasts had been clever, and the whole party had stumbled into an ambush. It had been a massacre, and only Roja had escaped. Tragedies compounded further as she came home: There, constables of the Deathguard waited for her and took her in. Of course the secrets of an amateur ragtag band of commonfolk would leak. Someone had probably shouted their "secret" oath at the top of their lungs in a stupor. Memories of her comrades, some of whom she had grown to love quite dearly, flashed across her mind night and day–sometimes of the nights of drinking and collegial debauchery, other times of the cadavers the beasts had left behind. Now, whenever she could make it outside, she spent the days taking on odd jobs to earn a living–anything to just make time go by. The money left over after covering food and rent went into a small clay jar, and at the end of the month, she would head down to the tavern to spend it on a night of debauchery to drown her anxieties. Nobody knew her name, but everybody knew what she was: a killer. Rumours were quick to rope strangers into others' lives, so people stayed away. Thus, when Roja drank, she was drinking alone.

She had downed a beer in solitude by the time she came to her table. It was a goblin three-quarters her size, with hair like springs of copper and a smile of white chalk. She broke Roja out of her depressive stupor and said, “Hey, are you alright?”

Roja looked up out of politeness, but hesitated to respond. The goblin grinned. “It’s unhealthy to drink alone, you know.” She slammed her own cup down on the tabletop and took a seat. “What’s your name?”

The elf blinked away, not daring to make eye contact. “R-Roja…”

“Roja? That’s a beautiful name. I’m Jezzy. Y’know, I saw you last month and you moped in just the same way as you do now. Is everything alright?”

Roja swallowed and looked into her lap. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in.” When she noticed that the goblin didn’t budge, she at last looked her in the eyes. They were a dark chestnut, filled to the brim with the sort of light that caused hope in some and cancer in others. “If, if you’ve got friends waiting for ya–...”

“No, no, no one’s waiting for me, Roja.” The goblin shrugged. “In truth, I, uh… I came to see if you were here today.”

Roja balked ever so slightly. “O-okay?”

Jezzy nodded. “Yeah, I’m here for you.”

Roja cast small glances left and right. She swallowed and looked back at the goblin. “A-are you with the Guard? Am, am I in trouble? Please, I've told you everyth--”

Jezzy lifted both hands. “Oh no! No, no, no! It’s nothing like that. Gods, I’m so sorry–that did not sound like that in my head.” She clapped her hands together softly and held them under her nose. “I’m sorry, let me start over. My name is Jezzy. I’ve come to you tonight because I saw you last month–well, actually I’ve seen you lots of times–”

“H-have you been spying on me?” Roja said in a cracking voice, confusion overcoming her. Jezzy tried to rein her back in.

“No, no! It’s just–... Oh Gods, I’m making a mess. Okay, see, I work with people who have it really hard, alright? You caught my eye, so I decided to check up on you. Phew, I’m sorry, I did not make a good impression there, forgive me.”

Roja lowered her guard sheepishly. “... I… Caught your eye?”

Jezzy nodded. “Yes. These past few months since the attacks, with the Goddess missing and… It affects people. People begin to ask the hard questions: Is Arbor still safe? What can I do about these feelings? Who do I go to? Who can I talk to about this?” She opened her palms towards Roja. “Do these questions feel familiar?”

Roja’s eyes crept back down into her lap. “... Yes…”

Jezzy nodded again. “I completely understand. Well, I have a proposition.” While she stuck a hand into the breast of her robe, Roja took a slow sip of her beverage. The goblin then placed a small wooden coin on the table and gently pushed it over to the other side. Roja picked it up and examined it curiously.

“What is this?”

“This,” Jezzy began, “is a coupon. I run a house of healing down not too far away from here. I specialise in people whose wounds are not of the body, but of the soul. If you ever feel like you need someone to listen, or if you need to listen to your own heart, don’t be afraid to come by.” She pointed at the coin. “That will get you one free treatment.”

Roja’s eyes shifted from the coin to Jezzy and back. A flash cast her out of the moment and into a dark tunnel–a canal underground. A sharp pain shot up her phantom arm and she heard the trickle of blood, of drool, and then a growl.

“-ja…? Roja?”

Roja snapped back to reality. Jezzy offered her a worried frown and reached out to pat her hand. Roja nodded, feeling a sudden cold sweat on her brow. “I’ll, I’ll think about it.”

Jezzy offered her a sad smile. “Alright. Think about it.” Then she stood up. “The backside of the coin has a map. It’s by the clothier’s workshop. The sigil on the door is the same as on the coin.” Roja flipped the coin again–what looked to be an oddly shaped cup adorned its face. Jezzy walked around the side of the table and once again took her hand. “Be well. Until we meet again, alright?”

Roja nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. Until then.” She watched as the goblin exited the tavern, and then began to realise that she hadn’t felt this lonely since before the incident. The creeping sensation filled her like a plague. The joy of being seen, being spoken to, to speak to another person–not just for a job or something, but… Someone who cared. She felt thawed, nimble, like grass at the onset of spring. Yet the emotion was fleeting, like a snowstorm in April. She could not bear this existence for much longer. She needed to improve, to talk to someone, to… To be whole again. In a swift swig she emptied her cup, paid her tab and left. The next day, she would visit the goblin.

---

Could this be it? Roja stood outside a small stump, flanked on both sides by somewhat shabby-looking home-trees, with the clothier’s workshop behind her. She took a moment to look around. The map seemed to indicate that it would be here, but… Where was the symbol?

Then it caught her eye. The odd cup was engraved into the bottom right corner of the stump, but it seemed… Hidden, somehow. Why wouldn’t it have been carved any bigger, or carved it somewhere else? A skepticism overtook her and she began to feel her feet turn. Why did she trust this goblin, whom she had known for less than fifteen minutes? What, what had made her come here in the first place? More and more instincts began to vote in favour of flight, but the heart stood steadfast. She had seen her when no one else had. That was reason enough to go inside. She was already at rock bottom, after all; how much worse could it get? She squeezed into the alley between the trees and eventually found an opening in the back of the stump, covered over by a curtain of threaded beads and stones. As it rustled, it heralded her entrance, and a familiar voice rang out from the room next door.

“Just a moment!”

Roja took the time to take in the sights. Weak lights powered by rune magic dotted the walls. Small chairs fashioned from wood stumps sat neatly around a table, and shelves of fur and wood behind a counter were filled to the brim with all sorts of reagents. Ashen remains of magical circles, slates of wood carved with runes and colourful stones littered the counter and made the whole room look lived in. The air caressed gently at the nose with scents of ointment and incense. A minute later, Jezzy came out, pushing aside the bead curtain of the second doorway. “Welcome to Jezzy’s house of healing! What can I–oh! Oh, Roja, you came!”

Roja felt herself bubble with joy. “Y-you remember me?”

Jezzy offered a dumbfounded grin. “W-well, yes! We just met yesterday, did we not?”

The elf felt herself rush with blushing heat. “Y-yeah, of course! Sorry, it’s just…” Emotion filled her chest. “It’s, it’s been a while since anybody talked to me.” Small tears filled her ducts and trailed down her cheeks. Jezzy pouted and came jogging over, taking her hand in her own.

“Oh, dearest Roja, don’t cry. You’re safe now. You’re in a safe space. Come, comecomecome. Let’s get you something warm to drink.” The goblin guided her into the next door room, which was smaller than the shop, but much cozier. As she brushed aside the curtain, Roja was greeted by warm, dim lanterns. A small fountain inscribed with runes of perpetual motion enchanted the room with the gentle whistle of a stream. The scent of incense was stronger here, but never nauseating; it struck a perfect balance of smells, lifting every breath into a state of calm. The goblin sat her down on a comfortable pillow next to a low table and shuffled over to a small shelf. She picked up a pot of bronze and filled it with water from a small basin, and with a pat of the rune on the side of the pot, the contents began to slowly heat up. While she dabbled with cups and tea leaves, Roja leaned back on the pillow.

“So… You’re a… rune scribe?”

“Only a novice,” Jezzy chuckled. “I quit my classes early to settle down with the man of my life.” She poured the now-hot water of the leaves in each cup and set them on a small tray. “Or, well, so I thought he was. It was a short affair between the two of us. I was a ‘settle down and start a family’ type, and he was more of a ‘move to the Tricity and fight for the legendary Jaxx’ sort of type.” She snickered and set the tray down on the table. “It all seems so much easier when you’re young.” She placed a cup in front of Roja and she took it in her one hand. It smelled of mint and flowers. As she brought her lips to the rim, her mouth was filled with a scorching heat that immediately made her pull the cup away. Jezzy reached out a hand instinctively, but slowly retracted it with a warm smile. “Careful, it’s still quite hot.” Roja nodded and wiped a small spill that had landed on her shirt. As the two drained their cups sip by sip, Jezzy probed Roja about her story and her memories. As time went on, Roja felt the words form more easily and before her cup was half-empty, she was already on the brink of tears, her mouth running non-stop about her hubris, her mistake and all the nights of lying awake in horror, tortured at the whim of the what-ifs. Jezzy listened with patience taking in her words with calm wisdom, probing the points where she seemed to hold back and respecting her borders when Roja felt uncomfortable. When both had had their fill of tea, Jezzy brought her palms together. “So… Here we are.”

Roja wiped away a tear and offered a small smile. “Yeah… Here we are.”

Jezzy smiled back and leaned forward. “So what do you intend to do about your situation?”

Roja breathed in slowly and looked out the bead curtain. “I’ll be honest, Jezzy–before yesterday, I didn’t care much for whether I lived or died. If I had fallen out of a hole in Arbor and crashed into the ground below, I probably would have fallen in silence. But after meeting you… I don’t know–I feel this fire in me that I haven’t felt for months. I, I think I want to go on, but I don’t know how…” She paused and Jezzy nodded for her to continue at her own pace. “I… I keep asking myself: Am I worthy? What right do I have to live when I took that right away from all of my friends, my siblings-in-arms? How, how canI face them in the Afterworld if I just keep on living as though nothing happened?”

Jezzy nodded slowly. “It’s always easy to let the mind sink to those kinds of thoughts, y’know: Am I worthy… I think it’s also important to think about why we ask ourselves those kinds of questions. Like, why do we put ourselves through that, do you feel me?” Roja nodded. “There really is no easy answer to that question, but I think it’s very important to remember that your life is yours to live. If you spend your time thinking about what others would think, you won’t leave any space left for what you yourself think. There are many others and only one of you.” She chuckled softly, but Roja seemed reluctant to join in. Jezzy’s laughter quieted and then she sighed. “Well… I do have a little something we can try to see if you feel any better.” She stood up from her pillow and went to the back of the room, where she lifted a small thatch lid and climbed down into the floor. Roja blinked, but waited patiently for her return, the only sound accompanying her being the running fountain. There was a slight knock from below, or perhaps a chop, and then nothing. A minute later, Jezzy ascended with a small clay bowl, stained along its walls by soot and oil. In the centre laid a small heap of spongey mushroom bits, some of stem and some of cap. She took a pestle from the shelf where she had brewed tea and ground up the mushroom coarsely. She then added some bits of scented wood to the bowl and patted the rune on the side. As she brought the bowl over to the table, its contents began to smoke. “Lean over,” she said softly. Roja was reluctant at first, but eventually slowly leaned forward. Jezzy nodded smilingly and whispered, “Breathe…”

Roja took a series of deep breaths, the smoke filling her throat and lungs. Yet she felt neither pain nor the need to cough; the smoke descended into her chest like a lukewarm oil, settling gently around her heart. Then, slowly, she felt her heartbeat slowing and growing louder. All other noise drowned in a sea of cotton, and the only sound was the gentle pumping in her chest.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum…

Her vision blurred, the dim light brightening and splitting into a multitude of colours, some of which she had never even seen before. Her nose smelled a million scents, traveling all throughout her lifetime from the scent of blood at her birth to when she first set foot in the house of healing. Before long, the light gave way to darkness, but not in a frightening sense–this was a darkness which shrouded her in warm blankets and sprinkled the sky with a whole beach of stars. She saw animals dancing in the stars–no, they were the stars! Great cats, magnificent birds, a regal stag–the sky filled with life and possibilities. Then, for a brief moment, she saw the faces of her friends. They were there, as clear as Jezzy had been mere moments ago. She reached out, and they reached out to take her hand. They touched, and she felt it. She felt it! They were really there, right in front of her. Roja wanted to scream. She wanted to squeal. She was already crying. Then her closest friend Laethan opened her mouth and whispered, “We forgive you.” Roja’s eyes flowed over. She collapsed to her knees and whispered back: “I’m sorry.”

“We forgive you…”

“I’m sorry…”

_{”We forgive you…”}

“I’m so sorry…”

The whisper faded out of earshot and the vision of the night sky dissipated. Slowly, but surely, Roja realised that she was back in the house of healing, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks sticky from dried tears. In the other corner of the room, Jezzy was humming to herself while she cleaned out the bowl with a stiff brush. “They forgive me,” she said with a slack jaw.

“Of course they did,” chuckled Jezzy. “They know you’re not to blame.”

Roja leaned forward onto her knees and wiped her face. Jezzy came over with a cup of something herbal smelling. “Here,” she said, “this’ll ease the nausea.”

“Nausea?”

“Yup. The first time is tough on everybody. You may feel fine for a bit, but come dinnertime, you’ll be spitting out your lunch before you can even begin to think of carrots.”

Roja blinked. “I-I didn’t eat lunch.”

“Oh. Well, better drink it to be safe anyway.”

Roja forced it down as told–it was like taking a swig of a spice rack. If the smoke wouldn’t make her vomit, this certainly would. She pushed herself to a wobbly pair of feet and followed Jezzy out into the shop. She took her spot behind the counter and Roja in front of it. Jezzy grinned and held out her hand. Roja looked into it. “The coupon, please,” smiled the goblin. Roja was dumbstruck for a blink, then immediately fished out the little wooden doubloon and placed it in the goblin’s palm. She nodded her thanks and placed it in a small jar. A wooden clacker suggested there were many more inside. Roja suddenly felt a pang of anxiety.

“I-I can come back here, right?”

“Oh, of course you can, dearest!” said the goblin. “Come back at any time! I’m usually always here.”

Roja nodded erratically. “So, to-today was free, right?”

“Today was free,” confirmed the goblin.

The anxiety gnawed at her still. “But, but next time won’t be, r-right?”

Jezzy offered her a soft smile. “Why don’t we save that talk for next time then, hmm?”

Roja froze briefly, then nodded. She then turned around and headed for the curtain. Just as she was about to exit, she heard, “Oh, and Roja!” She spun around and saw Jezzy’s chalk-white smile. “Remember: It’s your life.”

Roja nodded slowly, then smiled back and left.

---

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

Underneath the thatch lid in the back of the house of healing, there was a gentle pulse.

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

Not gentle in the sense that it was calm, but rather that it was weak.

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

The cellar was dark–not pitch black–but dark. The only lights were a few rune lanterns and what seemed to be a little piece of a starry sky, though torn and ripped like a mistreated painting.

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

The beads of the doorway upstairs rustled to a gentle halt, and the starry sky quivered with fickle light. A brief anomaly of magic brought on by the scent of smoking mushroom converted the thumping into a miniscule strip of decipherable information, audible to no one but gods and exceptional individuals:

... Heeelp… ussss…

SummaREE!

Meet the elf Roja. After failing to spot an ambush of shadow beasts outside of Arbor, she and her friends in the mercenary company she worked for are turned to mincemeat. She gets away with only a permanently ruined arm, but is depressed and down in the dumps. One day when she’s in a tavern, she’s approached by the goblin Jezzy who invites her to her house of healing for some therapy. Roja thinks well why not and goes the next morning.

The house of healing is a lovely place and Jezzy treats her very nicely. When the therapy comes to a slight stalemate, she offers Roja some healing smoke which makes her have a vision of her comrades forgiving her. This refills her resolve and she turns in her coupon. Next time, she’ll have to pay for therapy.

At the very end, it's revealed that something is trapped in the cellar.