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CitrusArmsAs Mae got into range the edge of her blindsight brushed against Gammaton snapping to attention, no doubt having been occupied by some crucial task. Unable to nod her confirmation to the question posed to her, the headless horror replied, “Yeah, I got it. Head’s takin’ care of it. I figure we can set up some sort of exotic ranch with some o’ your critters an’ get a renewable meat supply up ‘n runnin’. We might not have any beast tamers ‘round, but if anyone’s gonna make it work, it’s Head.”
That matter could wait, though, so both Mae and Gammaton prioritized their joint assignment instead. Their order to repel the human incursion through intimidation rather than butchery did seem to imply what Gammaton suggested. “Uh huh, looks that way. Not a problem though! I can be one hell of a monster when I’ve got a mind to. We’ll scare ‘em but good!”
With Gammaton’s weapons collected, the pair began their mission. Despite her size Mae’s excitement lent wings to her feet, and she plodded at deceptively brisk pace away from the dilapidated collection of factories and toward the tightly-packed, murky woods whose jagged-branched trees clung to the mountain slope like flies to a rotting corpse. Gammaton did not hesitate to start work on a plan of attack, and though Mae had to respect both her colleague’s abilities and ideas, there was one problem: Canology Mae wasn’t in them. “Hey, hey, hey, hold on a moment,” Mae rumbled. “If we just used your illusions, what’m I here for? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good idea, but the boss wanted me ‘n mine for this job. She must’ve had a reason. Hmm...”
She scratched at the pallid flesh of her chins. “Well, zombies ‘n skeletons are good and all, but they’re pretty common, right? What if they’re ol’ hat? And retreatin’ only a li’l while to get the right gear ain’t as good as retreatin’ forever.” She raised a flesh hook, let it fall until the chain went taut, then yanked it up to grab the hook again. “I’m thinkin’ we show ‘em some real nightmares. Somethin’ they’ve never seen before, too horrible to make any sense of.” With her other hand she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder back at the Gorging Trough. “My Maneaters’ Jubilant forms are just the ticket, an’ I’m no slouch myself! Lemme grab a couple. Your illusions as the seasonin’, and us as the main course to make it real. We’ll scare the lights outta these schmucks together!”
“Hmm…? Oh, right,” Gammaton hadn’t considered that she was leaving Mae out of her planning. Gammaton had assumed that Mae would be happy to not have to do anything...and there it was again; laziness, this unusual feeling that was responsible for Gammaton’s boredom earlier. So strange to not want to do anything while wanting to do something. Snapping out of it, Gammaton considered that there must be some wisdom to Faetalis assigning the both of them to this task. Was it simply because of Mae and her minions’ appearances? It surely couldn’t be as simple as that. “Yes, you have a point. If nothing else, illusions rely on subtlety, the more grandiose the illusion, the easier it is to get found out.
A Cyber Skeleton soon arrives and elaborates on Faetalis’ orders. “Our assumptions are confirmed,” Gammaton commented, then reiterated, “Do not harm them, though we are free to take any stragglers captive.” As for the tunnel, it was an interesting prospect, though there was no need to discuss it at present. “Very well, I will support you and your maneaters with my illusions. Now let’s see how much progress those pesky invaders have made up our mountain.” Gammaton summoned a small insect familiar to scout through the forest, a mosquito, a nocturnal creature that could sense blood was perfect for nighttime scouting. It took an unexpectedly long time for the mosquito to return, and after it had communicated via pheromones what it had seen, the time of travel made sense; the party of humans were moving fairly slowly and were still a good distance away, giving Gammaton and Mae ample time to prepare. For her part, Mae visited her staff’s encampment in front of the Gorging Trough once more, and after a quick inspection returned with a number of her Maneaters in tow.
“It could be a bluff,” Gammaton began, “But these invaders do not seem anywhere near the level of Infactorium’s enemies whom we’ve had to repel in the past.” Gammaton remembered that over time, the strength of their enemies had progressively increased, so this was an unusual surprise.
Although Mae hadn’t considered the possibility of a bluff, there wasn’t a lot she could do differently. With her flesh hooks in hand she was ready to go, and so were the Maneaters at her back. Looking at them right one, it was hard to imagine them as anything other than normal, well-dressed chefs; Rib was sturdily-built and professional in manner, Round seemed pleasant and took after her boss in the weight department, the rather ordinary Flank offered a peppy smile, Tender hid her pale face behind her long black hair, Tongue bore a sourly austere expression, and the pretty Roast commanded a sporty charm. But anyone with even a fraction of familiarity with their accursed kind knew their humanity existed merely as a facade for the twisted aberration within. “Guess we’ll find out,” Mae rumbled in response to Gammaton. She took the first step forward. “Let’s go.”
As they pushed down the mountain through the dark forest, the monsters ruminated on the possibilities. Mae’s underlings offered their own insights and ideas readily, and the group’s brainstorming paid dividends. What began as a grim joke from Flank eventually grew into a plan so cunning that even imagining it filled Mae with glee. “Gahaha, by the Great Ones, this is gonna be delicious!”
Once again, that annoyingly subtle smug manifested itself. “Alas, it would seem that Lady Luck favors me, after all.” He reached over the dice he’d rolled into the empty bowl, whose upturned faces all held four black dots burned into the wooden cubes, and collected the pot. A couple coins didn’t make for much of a reward, but together with his winnings from the last two rounds it added up. Although he couldn’t suppress how pleased he was entirely, the gentleman managed to maintain the appearance of a graceful winner. He held up one of the coins and watched it glimmer, reflecting the cinders of the bonfire, before glancing at his fellow watchman with a slight smile. “Care to go again? What are the odds that I’d win a fourth time, after all?”
From head to toe, Iago Floeres was an eccentric. As the third son of a petty noble family he stood to receive nothing in the way of honor or inheritance as he walked the path of knighthood through which so many sought glory. A brief stint of actual military service, however, convinced him that he’d much rather learn from other nations’ peoples then kill them, and though his hair went gray early in his middle age that passion never waned. Hedge knight, scholar, teacher, vagrant--his occupation changed by the day, and though he clothed himself in other cultures’ sophistications most just called him strange. Still, a sword was a sword, and anyone who could swing one half-decently was a good hire when short of hands. If the expedition’s leader thought him a good candidate for a first watch, however, he didn’t account for Iago producing a dice game to pass the time.
Szilard Wentham, an unkempt looking old man with a scraggly grey beard grunted in disgust. “We’ve wasted enough time with silly games when we should be keeping watch,” he said, trying to veil his desire to quit behind some pragmatism. He swore Iago was cheating, but now wasn’t the time to accuse a nobleman of foul play. Szilard wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and turned to stare out into the darkness and sulk, signaling that the game was over. Szilard was a narrow-minded, sour old man who worked as groundskeeper for the mayor. His son had left town a few years ago and established himself as a merchant. When he returned, Szilard’s son took his mother and siblings away. Turns out Szilard’s family couldn’t stand him. Szilard was handy with a crossbow, but mostly he dealt with pests using traps and poison. Despite his protestations on the matter, the mayor had voiced full confidence in Szilard’s abilities to investigate the disturbance on the mountain, so here he found himself, losing a dice game to some fancy fop. Despite giving his eyes time to adjust, the darkness of the forest was nigh impenetrable, but he wasn’t going to admit it lest Iago poke fun at his eyesight. So he continued to stare, as if he was actually being vigilant, hoping he wouldn’t have to socialize any further.
With an accommodating nod the eccentric put away his game and resumed his vigil in silence. Lucky streak or not, it was in poor taste to press the matter with his fellow watchman, whose bitterness suggested he didn’t need any more grief. It surprised him that Szilard accepted his offer at all, in fact, but he supposed that boredom could be rather persuasive. He stifled a yawn and settled down, making sure his position wasn’t too comfortable. Sleep could come after he did his job, or he might not get another one. Besides, as the night got deeper and its shadows darker, who could say what might come drifting down toward the camp from the mountaintop?
Iago lost track of time before too long, weathering each minute as it came and went. First watch ended when he and Szilard could stay awake no longer, but sleep didn’t come too easily to the pair. Even if he couldn’t see anything, he could at least keep his ears busy, and in that regard the forest could offer a great deal. The brush of wind against the leaves and between the branches, the intermittent noises of insects and animals, and the snores of the slumbering expeditioners made for just the usual ambiance. Here and there he heard sudden one-off noises, nothing too alarming, but mystifying enough to provoke intrusive thoughts of ill-intentioned men and hostile wildlife. He did not actually expect to hear the thump thump thump of increasingly loud, fast-paced footfalls, nor the gasp of heavy breath. After another moment of listening he felt confident that it was too much to belong to just one person. Once certain he tapped Szilard to make sure he heard it too, then stood and readied himself with a hand on the hilt of his sword.
A moment passed before the pitch black coughed up two figures, who spotted the lookouts a moment later and slowed down, panting. Both were human women in dirtied servants’ attire, unarmed. The older of the two had a motherly air around her, with glasses and a bun of black hair, and red eyes that caught the light. Her younger companion looked ordinary, although ‘plain’ was the wrong word to use, with voluminous brown hair tied back and a little heft to her. Neither seemed hostile or threatening in the slightest. Still, Iago kept his eyes narrowed. The presence of these women here invited a veritable heap of questions, and he given the circumstances he felt justified in taking precautions. He opened his mouth to address the two, only for the younger woman to burst into speech.
“Oh my gosh, thank goodness, we’re saved!” She babbled, collapsing to her knees as she approached the men. Behind her, the other woman bent over, her hands on her knees. “Please sirs, please, you’ve got to help us! We just barely got out, the others, they all...ohhohohh, please, save us, they’re coming!”
Szilard tried to pretend that Iago’s shoulder tap had not just woken him up from having dozed off. Turning to face where Iago had focused his attention, Szilard slipped a bolt into his pre-cocked crossbow and pointed it towards the darkness. Seeing the maids raised Szilard’s hackles; he never liked maids, he always felt that they used their feminine wiles on the mayor to get better treatment and forgiveness to shirk off work, leaving Szilard to attend to what he felt were their chores. He stole a glance at Iago, wondering if they were from his estate, given that he did not recognize them from the bunch that worked at the town hall, but their ominous words drove such thoughts from his mind as they referenced unseen terrors. “S-save you? From what?” Szilard asked, trying to hide the tremble that clung to his throat, waving his crossbow into the oppressive blackness, expecting at any moment for some monstrosity to jump out. From the forest, a strange unearthly hum began to rise in volume. The sound was a perfect sine wave, A440 to be precise, but to a civilization that had not technologically advanced far enough to produce such pure tones, a note without timbre or fluctuation was truly alien. “Wh-what’s that god-awful sound?” Szilard asked, the panic becoming apparent in his voice.
Iago desperately wished that he could answer, but even if he hadn’t been choked by fear, he couldn’t for the life of him guess what that ungodly noise might be. Chills ran down his spine, the hair on his neck stood on end, and his sword hand locked around his weapon’s hilt in a death-grip. Cold sweat streaked across his face as his eyes danced across the wall of absolute darkness.
Above the undulating murmur came the closer woman’s voice in reply. “The horror, those lurking, mangled things!” she cried, vying to be heard over the rising tone. “Bone and blood and teeth, too many, too many arms and claws. It’s a nightmare made real!” Wild with fear she grabbed the watchmen’s arms, her fingers digging into their clothes. “But please, don’t just stand there! You can save us!”
The sudden pain jolted Iago into action, somehow pulling him back from the brink. “You...you’re right. We have to warn everyone!” Still shaking, he lunged for the burnt-out campfire and seized the cookpot. When he beat the ladle against its bottom the clamor stirred the sleeping camp to life. “W-wake up! Up! We’ve got enemies incoming, we’ve got…”
As the sleepers rose from their bedrolls in a muddle, grabbing for weapons and torches to light, Iago’s nerves went slack, and with a final clonk the pot hit the ground. Behind him formed up the gruff, black-bearded expedition leader Vorst Zwartmeer, the beanpole huntress Riny Verloren, and the grubmaster Orsolya Kelte, but their words too died on their lips. They stared, trembling, into the woods. It wasn’t pitch black out there--at least, not anymore. Through the trees there came the glow of a thousand little lights, greenish-yellow like fireflies, but why had they all flared up at once? That phenomenon lost all its mystery, however, when he beheld what their light revealed.
Between the trees were silhouetted things he could not describe. Inhuman things that twitched and swung, gnashed and writhed, gelatinous masses and excesses of twisted limbs, tendrils and masses that swayed and bulged as if to to the tune of that otherworldly resonance. And whether they staggered, lurched, crawled, or oozed, they were closing in on the camp, from seemingly every direction.
A croak rose and died in Iago’s throat. The girl gave a strangled yelp and stumbled behind him for shelter, as if he could move a muscle to protect her. When the older woman tried to follow, however, she stumbled and fell to her knees, coughing blood. Averting his eyes from the more distant horror, Iago looked down to see a blade sticking out of her gut, soaked with red.
He didn’t remember seeing that before; when had she been stabbed? Before his lingering eyes, the woman convulsed, and a second blade appeared, pushing its way out of her flesh and through her dress--an outcrop not of steel, but of bone. The men could only stare, paralyzed, transfixed by the inexplicable horror, as she staggered to her feet. From inside her there came a sickening crunching and cracking, and her torso started to twist upward. Her clothes and flesh burst apart in a shower of blood-soaked shreds, loose entrails flailing about as ribs extended outward like blades, or branches. Higher and higher the hapless victim’s lolling head and arms rose, spinning like a top above the grotesque tower of bone-pierced viscera, until the thing loomed above the men like a nightmarish tree, swaying in the wind. From its zenith came a gurgling moan. “Help...me…”
“BAHAHAHA!” A booming laugh echoed through the woods, accentuated by heavy crashes that no sane mind would have dared to call footfalls. The vivid yellow-orange radiance of a blazing fire approached the campsite, but no torch produced it. Instead a burning, melted husk of fused bone and ash stalked the expedition’s way, a ghoulishly live brazier, and in its light the wretched humans could see the horror to end all horrors. A mountain of engorged flesh in an absurd set of chef’s whites, with an apron-clad belly that hung down to her knees and no head, the horror was a mockery of the female form. Just looking at her planted the seeds of insanity, causing Madness to build. Her ghastly merriment resounded from the neck where her head should have been, and as she stomped forward every inch of her was in motion. “Thought you could get away!?” She raised an arm and sent a flesh-hook flying into the terror-stricken crowd, where it snagged around the other maid’s waist. With a cry the woman was yanked through the air and sailed, screaming, into the abimination’s waiting hand. “Bahaha, gotcha! Now, become my flesh!”
The girl’s shrieks suddenly cut short as her body began to change. Her upper body started to swell, bloating out to more than twice her original size, and from her waist erupted leg after leg until a couple dozen bloody, branching limbs writhed a few feet above the ground. With another raucous laugh the woman tossed the malformed woman aside to roll along the ground.She clanged her flesh hooks together, activating Monitor and Abuse to kick things off with a heaping helping of Fear. “Who’s next!?”
A dark crimson ooze seeped towards the camp from between the roots of the trees; a veritable broth of eyes and teeth and fingers. It crept slowly, lest it actually touched one of the humans and spoiled the illusion. Some of the teeth flowed together into what could pass for a mouth and said, “...Szilard...join us…” In spying on the camp, Gammaton’s mosquito had heard the names of some of these humans being spoken, and felt that adding a ‘personal touch’ would accentuate the fear. Szilard, who up to this point had been paralyzed by fear and indecision, fired his bolt at the mouth in the ooze, his projectile having obviously no effect.
“N-NoOo! FUCK THIS!” Szilard screamed, before tossing his crossbow on the ground and bolting away from the camp, ready to abandon his party. In an act of instant karma, his foot caught in an upturned root, causing him to fall to the floor with a sickening crunch. “MY LEG!” the old man yelled, and despite having intended to leave his fellows to their fate, cried out, “HELP ME!”
The ooze continued to advance, “Iago...VoRrst…” it called out, before the voices mixed into the muddled gibbering of madness. The pure tone of A440 began to modulate in pitch, reminiscent of schlocky, synthesized, sci-fi horror music. The sound played from Israfil’s Hammer applied the ‘Harmonic’ status. Though the status by itself was harmless, the humans could feel some resonance deep within their bones and gut. As the music continued, the Harmonics would stack, and a new debuff would be applied, ‘Interference’. Like Harmonics, Interference was harmless by itself, but it gave to the humans an almost imperceptible but uncanny feeling that some fundamental aspect of themselves had become ‘perceived’ by some antagonistic force, that their weaknesses had become exposed, that they felt suddenly, very, very brittle; like a delicate glass of wine about to shatter.
The combined Harmonics and Fear, plus the sheer horror of everything the ill-fated night had in store for them, hit the breaking point for Iago. He screamed, a wordless, toneless noise straight from the soul, and fled. Vorst turned as well, and then like leaves in autumn the rest fell in line. The humans dropped everything, forgot everything, and ran. Without a single thought of Szilard in his head as anything but an obstacle, Iago leaped over the fallen man and sprinted the opposite direction. He pushed straight through those any less swift than he, which included the huntress Riny. “Guh!” Too tall and thin to resist the unexpected force, the storied adventurer could only swear as she stumbled into one of the tents. “Damn you, Iago, you bast--ugh!” It collapsed beneath her and tangled up her gangly limbs, leaving her hopelessly ensnared as her fellows abandoned her one and all. Rather than struggle she lay still, playing dead, hoping against all odds that the monsters wouldn’t detect her, or would think she was already a corpse. Biting her tongue she waited as the tramp of terrified feet faded into the distance, leaving only the agonized breaths and guttural, despair-fueled groans of Szilard amidst the hideous, otherworldly cacophony.
This went on for at least another minute. Then, abruptly, the noise went away. It didn’t trail off, or die out. One moment it was full volume, resonating deep within her soul. In the darkness of her confines she blinked, dumbfounded. After a few moments there came that booming laugh again, but somehow it sounded different. “Bahahahaha, oh, we got ‘em, we got those poor suckers! Scared the livin’ daylights outta ‘em!”
A fiery lightsource drew near, and in its illumination Riny could see an opening in the tent canvas. Still in shock, she tentatively reached for the opening and peered through, only to flinch at the sight of the monsters from before. For a moment she had wondered if this was somehow an elaborate magical prank, but true terror once again clawed at the huntress’s heart.
“Didja see the way a couple of ‘em were runnin’?” the biggest one echoed. In a crude pantomime the obese abomination raised her arms, flailing them wildly. “Just, SHOO, didn’t even touch the ground! I tell ya, there’s never been a finer...ugh!” The horror fanned an arm in front of where her head should have been. “Sugi almighty, at least one of ‘em musta up ‘n soiled themselves. Well, there ain’t a better sign we did our jobs ‘n that, I suppose. Proof’s in...bahaha, proof’s in the puddin’, as they say!”
“Yuck! That’s so gross, Mae,” the blazing husk sputtered in a very not-monstrous fashion. As Riny watched, the fire coalesced and disappeared, leaving behind a pretty young woman with what looked like dyed gray hair in a partially undone chef’s uniform. The smile it wore made it clear she was joking. “And what was with that line? ‘Become my flesh’? That wasn’t scary, and it didn’t even make sense.”
The headless horror shooed her off. “Aw, can it, you. And hey, Rib? You can come down now.”
“Oh, yes ma’am.” A familiar voice came down from on high. The blood-spattered tree of bone untwisted herself, undoing the visceral transformation, until all that remained was the same professional-looking cook who’d run into camp a few minutes ago. “By the way, ma’am. You should turn off Monitor & Abuse to conserve mana.”
“Huh? Oh, right.” With a flourish the abomination performed some sort of magic, and just like the noise from before the fear that still clung to Riny’s heart vanished. Utterly overloaded with confusion, the huntress could only lay there in the remains of the tent, failing to process it all.
“Truly a magnificent performance,” Gammaton said, clapping slowly and approaching the firelight, having holstered her acoustic weapon. However, her gait suddenly changed. As a parasite, Gammaton could sense the pulse of living blood flowing through veins.
As if to confirm her suspicions, Szilard spoke up, “Wh-what is this…?” He looked around, curious that the strange unearthly music had abruptly stopped and the black ooze had likewise vanished into motes of mana. It was clear that there was a mental disconnect between the terror that he had just experienced and the sight of these monsters joking it up.
”It seems we have unwittingly exposed our ruse to these two poor souls,” Gammaton said menacingly as the violet glow of her vertical visor swept from Szilard to Riny. With a wave of his hand, the dire mosquito that Gammaton had used to scout the party out previously zipped over and jabbed Szilard in the neck with its proboscis, injecting a powerful paralytic, before darting over and doing the same to Riny. ”I regret to inform you that, given what you have just seen, we cannot permit you to leave the premises. Levitate.” Gammaton waved her fan towards Szilard and Riny, using wind magic to lift them into the air. ”What do you think, Mae? One for you, one for me? Though I suppose you did do most of the work, so if you want a more proportional split, I could spare the limbs, since all I’ll need is the head.”
“No! You monsters! What are you doing!” Szilard began protesting loudly.
Gammaton sighed, and unsheathed her weapon. ”Noise Cancel,” Gammaton said with ennui. The Hammer of Israfil began vibrating inaudibly but a strange ‘static’ could be felt, which rendered Szilard mute. ”Noisy creature.”
The headless horror reached out one of her great, grubby hands and took hold of Riny, slinging the huntress over her shoulder like a sack of flour--or in this case, a rolled-up curtain, maybe. “Nah, we were just goofin’ off,” Mae told Gammaton. “Keep that one, all of ‘im. Boss said not to hurt ‘em, right? And we can use all the help figurin' out where we are, right?” She was unaware of exactly what her comrade planned for the poor watchman’s brain, and more focused on her own captive, anyway. The archer was so slight that Mae needed to double-check that she was even there. “Gosh, I thought I lost ya for a sec. You’re practically skin ‘n bones.” She patted Riny on the back a little too heavily, much to the woman’s displeasure. “That can’t be healthy. I betcher fixin’ to keel over from our little show too. Tell ya what, I’ll whip ya somethin’ up when we get back to base.”
Having also turned back from her Jubilant form to her Placid one, Round gave a laugh. “That’s Mae for ya! Might look like a pigsty after a tornader but the meanest she gets is makin’ a mean stew!”
“Shut your yap, ya li’l lardball,” Mae ribbed good-naturedly. “We need a fresh set o’ buds anyhow.” She conducted one final sweep of the ruined camp with her blindsight before declaring, “If those poor schmucks show up ‘round these parts again I’ll be mighty surprised. Alright folks, let’s hit the road.” With her cargo as comfortable as she was going to get Mae stomped in the direction of the guild, her entourage right behind and very interested in the hapless humans along for the ride.
That matter could wait, though, so both Mae and Gammaton prioritized their joint assignment instead. Their order to repel the human incursion through intimidation rather than butchery did seem to imply what Gammaton suggested. “Uh huh, looks that way. Not a problem though! I can be one hell of a monster when I’ve got a mind to. We’ll scare ‘em but good!”
With Gammaton’s weapons collected, the pair began their mission. Despite her size Mae’s excitement lent wings to her feet, and she plodded at deceptively brisk pace away from the dilapidated collection of factories and toward the tightly-packed, murky woods whose jagged-branched trees clung to the mountain slope like flies to a rotting corpse. Gammaton did not hesitate to start work on a plan of attack, and though Mae had to respect both her colleague’s abilities and ideas, there was one problem: Canology Mae wasn’t in them. “Hey, hey, hey, hold on a moment,” Mae rumbled. “If we just used your illusions, what’m I here for? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good idea, but the boss wanted me ‘n mine for this job. She must’ve had a reason. Hmm...”
She scratched at the pallid flesh of her chins. “Well, zombies ‘n skeletons are good and all, but they’re pretty common, right? What if they’re ol’ hat? And retreatin’ only a li’l while to get the right gear ain’t as good as retreatin’ forever.” She raised a flesh hook, let it fall until the chain went taut, then yanked it up to grab the hook again. “I’m thinkin’ we show ‘em some real nightmares. Somethin’ they’ve never seen before, too horrible to make any sense of.” With her other hand she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder back at the Gorging Trough. “My Maneaters’ Jubilant forms are just the ticket, an’ I’m no slouch myself! Lemme grab a couple. Your illusions as the seasonin’, and us as the main course to make it real. We’ll scare the lights outta these schmucks together!”
“Hmm…? Oh, right,” Gammaton hadn’t considered that she was leaving Mae out of her planning. Gammaton had assumed that Mae would be happy to not have to do anything...and there it was again; laziness, this unusual feeling that was responsible for Gammaton’s boredom earlier. So strange to not want to do anything while wanting to do something. Snapping out of it, Gammaton considered that there must be some wisdom to Faetalis assigning the both of them to this task. Was it simply because of Mae and her minions’ appearances? It surely couldn’t be as simple as that. “Yes, you have a point. If nothing else, illusions rely on subtlety, the more grandiose the illusion, the easier it is to get found out.
A Cyber Skeleton soon arrives and elaborates on Faetalis’ orders. “Our assumptions are confirmed,” Gammaton commented, then reiterated, “Do not harm them, though we are free to take any stragglers captive.” As for the tunnel, it was an interesting prospect, though there was no need to discuss it at present. “Very well, I will support you and your maneaters with my illusions. Now let’s see how much progress those pesky invaders have made up our mountain.” Gammaton summoned a small insect familiar to scout through the forest, a mosquito, a nocturnal creature that could sense blood was perfect for nighttime scouting. It took an unexpectedly long time for the mosquito to return, and after it had communicated via pheromones what it had seen, the time of travel made sense; the party of humans were moving fairly slowly and were still a good distance away, giving Gammaton and Mae ample time to prepare. For her part, Mae visited her staff’s encampment in front of the Gorging Trough once more, and after a quick inspection returned with a number of her Maneaters in tow.
“It could be a bluff,” Gammaton began, “But these invaders do not seem anywhere near the level of Infactorium’s enemies whom we’ve had to repel in the past.” Gammaton remembered that over time, the strength of their enemies had progressively increased, so this was an unusual surprise.
Although Mae hadn’t considered the possibility of a bluff, there wasn’t a lot she could do differently. With her flesh hooks in hand she was ready to go, and so were the Maneaters at her back. Looking at them right one, it was hard to imagine them as anything other than normal, well-dressed chefs; Rib was sturdily-built and professional in manner, Round seemed pleasant and took after her boss in the weight department, the rather ordinary Flank offered a peppy smile, Tender hid her pale face behind her long black hair, Tongue bore a sourly austere expression, and the pretty Roast commanded a sporty charm. But anyone with even a fraction of familiarity with their accursed kind knew their humanity existed merely as a facade for the twisted aberration within. “Guess we’ll find out,” Mae rumbled in response to Gammaton. She took the first step forward. “Let’s go.”
As they pushed down the mountain through the dark forest, the monsters ruminated on the possibilities. Mae’s underlings offered their own insights and ideas readily, and the group’s brainstorming paid dividends. What began as a grim joke from Flank eventually grew into a plan so cunning that even imagining it filled Mae with glee. “Gahaha, by the Great Ones, this is gonna be delicious!”
Once again, that annoyingly subtle smug manifested itself. “Alas, it would seem that Lady Luck favors me, after all.” He reached over the dice he’d rolled into the empty bowl, whose upturned faces all held four black dots burned into the wooden cubes, and collected the pot. A couple coins didn’t make for much of a reward, but together with his winnings from the last two rounds it added up. Although he couldn’t suppress how pleased he was entirely, the gentleman managed to maintain the appearance of a graceful winner. He held up one of the coins and watched it glimmer, reflecting the cinders of the bonfire, before glancing at his fellow watchman with a slight smile. “Care to go again? What are the odds that I’d win a fourth time, after all?”
From head to toe, Iago Floeres was an eccentric. As the third son of a petty noble family he stood to receive nothing in the way of honor or inheritance as he walked the path of knighthood through which so many sought glory. A brief stint of actual military service, however, convinced him that he’d much rather learn from other nations’ peoples then kill them, and though his hair went gray early in his middle age that passion never waned. Hedge knight, scholar, teacher, vagrant--his occupation changed by the day, and though he clothed himself in other cultures’ sophistications most just called him strange. Still, a sword was a sword, and anyone who could swing one half-decently was a good hire when short of hands. If the expedition’s leader thought him a good candidate for a first watch, however, he didn’t account for Iago producing a dice game to pass the time.
Szilard Wentham, an unkempt looking old man with a scraggly grey beard grunted in disgust. “We’ve wasted enough time with silly games when we should be keeping watch,” he said, trying to veil his desire to quit behind some pragmatism. He swore Iago was cheating, but now wasn’t the time to accuse a nobleman of foul play. Szilard wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and turned to stare out into the darkness and sulk, signaling that the game was over. Szilard was a narrow-minded, sour old man who worked as groundskeeper for the mayor. His son had left town a few years ago and established himself as a merchant. When he returned, Szilard’s son took his mother and siblings away. Turns out Szilard’s family couldn’t stand him. Szilard was handy with a crossbow, but mostly he dealt with pests using traps and poison. Despite his protestations on the matter, the mayor had voiced full confidence in Szilard’s abilities to investigate the disturbance on the mountain, so here he found himself, losing a dice game to some fancy fop. Despite giving his eyes time to adjust, the darkness of the forest was nigh impenetrable, but he wasn’t going to admit it lest Iago poke fun at his eyesight. So he continued to stare, as if he was actually being vigilant, hoping he wouldn’t have to socialize any further.
With an accommodating nod the eccentric put away his game and resumed his vigil in silence. Lucky streak or not, it was in poor taste to press the matter with his fellow watchman, whose bitterness suggested he didn’t need any more grief. It surprised him that Szilard accepted his offer at all, in fact, but he supposed that boredom could be rather persuasive. He stifled a yawn and settled down, making sure his position wasn’t too comfortable. Sleep could come after he did his job, or he might not get another one. Besides, as the night got deeper and its shadows darker, who could say what might come drifting down toward the camp from the mountaintop?
Iago lost track of time before too long, weathering each minute as it came and went. First watch ended when he and Szilard could stay awake no longer, but sleep didn’t come too easily to the pair. Even if he couldn’t see anything, he could at least keep his ears busy, and in that regard the forest could offer a great deal. The brush of wind against the leaves and between the branches, the intermittent noises of insects and animals, and the snores of the slumbering expeditioners made for just the usual ambiance. Here and there he heard sudden one-off noises, nothing too alarming, but mystifying enough to provoke intrusive thoughts of ill-intentioned men and hostile wildlife. He did not actually expect to hear the thump thump thump of increasingly loud, fast-paced footfalls, nor the gasp of heavy breath. After another moment of listening he felt confident that it was too much to belong to just one person. Once certain he tapped Szilard to make sure he heard it too, then stood and readied himself with a hand on the hilt of his sword.
A moment passed before the pitch black coughed up two figures, who spotted the lookouts a moment later and slowed down, panting. Both were human women in dirtied servants’ attire, unarmed. The older of the two had a motherly air around her, with glasses and a bun of black hair, and red eyes that caught the light. Her younger companion looked ordinary, although ‘plain’ was the wrong word to use, with voluminous brown hair tied back and a little heft to her. Neither seemed hostile or threatening in the slightest. Still, Iago kept his eyes narrowed. The presence of these women here invited a veritable heap of questions, and he given the circumstances he felt justified in taking precautions. He opened his mouth to address the two, only for the younger woman to burst into speech.
“Oh my gosh, thank goodness, we’re saved!” She babbled, collapsing to her knees as she approached the men. Behind her, the other woman bent over, her hands on her knees. “Please sirs, please, you’ve got to help us! We just barely got out, the others, they all...ohhohohh, please, save us, they’re coming!”
Szilard tried to pretend that Iago’s shoulder tap had not just woken him up from having dozed off. Turning to face where Iago had focused his attention, Szilard slipped a bolt into his pre-cocked crossbow and pointed it towards the darkness. Seeing the maids raised Szilard’s hackles; he never liked maids, he always felt that they used their feminine wiles on the mayor to get better treatment and forgiveness to shirk off work, leaving Szilard to attend to what he felt were their chores. He stole a glance at Iago, wondering if they were from his estate, given that he did not recognize them from the bunch that worked at the town hall, but their ominous words drove such thoughts from his mind as they referenced unseen terrors. “S-save you? From what?” Szilard asked, trying to hide the tremble that clung to his throat, waving his crossbow into the oppressive blackness, expecting at any moment for some monstrosity to jump out. From the forest, a strange unearthly hum began to rise in volume. The sound was a perfect sine wave, A440 to be precise, but to a civilization that had not technologically advanced far enough to produce such pure tones, a note without timbre or fluctuation was truly alien. “Wh-what’s that god-awful sound?” Szilard asked, the panic becoming apparent in his voice.
Iago desperately wished that he could answer, but even if he hadn’t been choked by fear, he couldn’t for the life of him guess what that ungodly noise might be. Chills ran down his spine, the hair on his neck stood on end, and his sword hand locked around his weapon’s hilt in a death-grip. Cold sweat streaked across his face as his eyes danced across the wall of absolute darkness.
Above the undulating murmur came the closer woman’s voice in reply. “The horror, those lurking, mangled things!” she cried, vying to be heard over the rising tone. “Bone and blood and teeth, too many, too many arms and claws. It’s a nightmare made real!” Wild with fear she grabbed the watchmen’s arms, her fingers digging into their clothes. “But please, don’t just stand there! You can save us!”
The sudden pain jolted Iago into action, somehow pulling him back from the brink. “You...you’re right. We have to warn everyone!” Still shaking, he lunged for the burnt-out campfire and seized the cookpot. When he beat the ladle against its bottom the clamor stirred the sleeping camp to life. “W-wake up! Up! We’ve got enemies incoming, we’ve got…”
As the sleepers rose from their bedrolls in a muddle, grabbing for weapons and torches to light, Iago’s nerves went slack, and with a final clonk the pot hit the ground. Behind him formed up the gruff, black-bearded expedition leader Vorst Zwartmeer, the beanpole huntress Riny Verloren, and the grubmaster Orsolya Kelte, but their words too died on their lips. They stared, trembling, into the woods. It wasn’t pitch black out there--at least, not anymore. Through the trees there came the glow of a thousand little lights, greenish-yellow like fireflies, but why had they all flared up at once? That phenomenon lost all its mystery, however, when he beheld what their light revealed.
Between the trees were silhouetted things he could not describe. Inhuman things that twitched and swung, gnashed and writhed, gelatinous masses and excesses of twisted limbs, tendrils and masses that swayed and bulged as if to to the tune of that otherworldly resonance. And whether they staggered, lurched, crawled, or oozed, they were closing in on the camp, from seemingly every direction.
A croak rose and died in Iago’s throat. The girl gave a strangled yelp and stumbled behind him for shelter, as if he could move a muscle to protect her. When the older woman tried to follow, however, she stumbled and fell to her knees, coughing blood. Averting his eyes from the more distant horror, Iago looked down to see a blade sticking out of her gut, soaked with red.
He didn’t remember seeing that before; when had she been stabbed? Before his lingering eyes, the woman convulsed, and a second blade appeared, pushing its way out of her flesh and through her dress--an outcrop not of steel, but of bone. The men could only stare, paralyzed, transfixed by the inexplicable horror, as she staggered to her feet. From inside her there came a sickening crunching and cracking, and her torso started to twist upward. Her clothes and flesh burst apart in a shower of blood-soaked shreds, loose entrails flailing about as ribs extended outward like blades, or branches. Higher and higher the hapless victim’s lolling head and arms rose, spinning like a top above the grotesque tower of bone-pierced viscera, until the thing loomed above the men like a nightmarish tree, swaying in the wind. From its zenith came a gurgling moan. “Help...me…”
“BAHAHAHA!” A booming laugh echoed through the woods, accentuated by heavy crashes that no sane mind would have dared to call footfalls. The vivid yellow-orange radiance of a blazing fire approached the campsite, but no torch produced it. Instead a burning, melted husk of fused bone and ash stalked the expedition’s way, a ghoulishly live brazier, and in its light the wretched humans could see the horror to end all horrors. A mountain of engorged flesh in an absurd set of chef’s whites, with an apron-clad belly that hung down to her knees and no head, the horror was a mockery of the female form. Just looking at her planted the seeds of insanity, causing Madness to build. Her ghastly merriment resounded from the neck where her head should have been, and as she stomped forward every inch of her was in motion. “Thought you could get away!?” She raised an arm and sent a flesh-hook flying into the terror-stricken crowd, where it snagged around the other maid’s waist. With a cry the woman was yanked through the air and sailed, screaming, into the abimination’s waiting hand. “Bahaha, gotcha! Now, become my flesh!”
The girl’s shrieks suddenly cut short as her body began to change. Her upper body started to swell, bloating out to more than twice her original size, and from her waist erupted leg after leg until a couple dozen bloody, branching limbs writhed a few feet above the ground. With another raucous laugh the woman tossed the malformed woman aside to roll along the ground.She clanged her flesh hooks together, activating Monitor and Abuse to kick things off with a heaping helping of Fear. “Who’s next!?”
A dark crimson ooze seeped towards the camp from between the roots of the trees; a veritable broth of eyes and teeth and fingers. It crept slowly, lest it actually touched one of the humans and spoiled the illusion. Some of the teeth flowed together into what could pass for a mouth and said, “...Szilard...join us…” In spying on the camp, Gammaton’s mosquito had heard the names of some of these humans being spoken, and felt that adding a ‘personal touch’ would accentuate the fear. Szilard, who up to this point had been paralyzed by fear and indecision, fired his bolt at the mouth in the ooze, his projectile having obviously no effect.
“N-NoOo! FUCK THIS!” Szilard screamed, before tossing his crossbow on the ground and bolting away from the camp, ready to abandon his party. In an act of instant karma, his foot caught in an upturned root, causing him to fall to the floor with a sickening crunch. “MY LEG!” the old man yelled, and despite having intended to leave his fellows to their fate, cried out, “HELP ME!”
The ooze continued to advance, “Iago...VoRrst…” it called out, before the voices mixed into the muddled gibbering of madness. The pure tone of A440 began to modulate in pitch, reminiscent of schlocky, synthesized, sci-fi horror music. The sound played from Israfil’s Hammer applied the ‘Harmonic’ status. Though the status by itself was harmless, the humans could feel some resonance deep within their bones and gut. As the music continued, the Harmonics would stack, and a new debuff would be applied, ‘Interference’. Like Harmonics, Interference was harmless by itself, but it gave to the humans an almost imperceptible but uncanny feeling that some fundamental aspect of themselves had become ‘perceived’ by some antagonistic force, that their weaknesses had become exposed, that they felt suddenly, very, very brittle; like a delicate glass of wine about to shatter.
The combined Harmonics and Fear, plus the sheer horror of everything the ill-fated night had in store for them, hit the breaking point for Iago. He screamed, a wordless, toneless noise straight from the soul, and fled. Vorst turned as well, and then like leaves in autumn the rest fell in line. The humans dropped everything, forgot everything, and ran. Without a single thought of Szilard in his head as anything but an obstacle, Iago leaped over the fallen man and sprinted the opposite direction. He pushed straight through those any less swift than he, which included the huntress Riny. “Guh!” Too tall and thin to resist the unexpected force, the storied adventurer could only swear as she stumbled into one of the tents. “Damn you, Iago, you bast--ugh!” It collapsed beneath her and tangled up her gangly limbs, leaving her hopelessly ensnared as her fellows abandoned her one and all. Rather than struggle she lay still, playing dead, hoping against all odds that the monsters wouldn’t detect her, or would think she was already a corpse. Biting her tongue she waited as the tramp of terrified feet faded into the distance, leaving only the agonized breaths and guttural, despair-fueled groans of Szilard amidst the hideous, otherworldly cacophony.
This went on for at least another minute. Then, abruptly, the noise went away. It didn’t trail off, or die out. One moment it was full volume, resonating deep within her soul. In the darkness of her confines she blinked, dumbfounded. After a few moments there came that booming laugh again, but somehow it sounded different. “Bahahahaha, oh, we got ‘em, we got those poor suckers! Scared the livin’ daylights outta ‘em!”
A fiery lightsource drew near, and in its illumination Riny could see an opening in the tent canvas. Still in shock, she tentatively reached for the opening and peered through, only to flinch at the sight of the monsters from before. For a moment she had wondered if this was somehow an elaborate magical prank, but true terror once again clawed at the huntress’s heart.
“Didja see the way a couple of ‘em were runnin’?” the biggest one echoed. In a crude pantomime the obese abomination raised her arms, flailing them wildly. “Just, SHOO, didn’t even touch the ground! I tell ya, there’s never been a finer...ugh!” The horror fanned an arm in front of where her head should have been. “Sugi almighty, at least one of ‘em musta up ‘n soiled themselves. Well, there ain’t a better sign we did our jobs ‘n that, I suppose. Proof’s in...bahaha, proof’s in the puddin’, as they say!”
“Yuck! That’s so gross, Mae,” the blazing husk sputtered in a very not-monstrous fashion. As Riny watched, the fire coalesced and disappeared, leaving behind a pretty young woman with what looked like dyed gray hair in a partially undone chef’s uniform. The smile it wore made it clear she was joking. “And what was with that line? ‘Become my flesh’? That wasn’t scary, and it didn’t even make sense.”
The headless horror shooed her off. “Aw, can it, you. And hey, Rib? You can come down now.”
“Oh, yes ma’am.” A familiar voice came down from on high. The blood-spattered tree of bone untwisted herself, undoing the visceral transformation, until all that remained was the same professional-looking cook who’d run into camp a few minutes ago. “By the way, ma’am. You should turn off Monitor & Abuse to conserve mana.”
“Huh? Oh, right.” With a flourish the abomination performed some sort of magic, and just like the noise from before the fear that still clung to Riny’s heart vanished. Utterly overloaded with confusion, the huntress could only lay there in the remains of the tent, failing to process it all.
“Truly a magnificent performance,” Gammaton said, clapping slowly and approaching the firelight, having holstered her acoustic weapon. However, her gait suddenly changed. As a parasite, Gammaton could sense the pulse of living blood flowing through veins.
As if to confirm her suspicions, Szilard spoke up, “Wh-what is this…?” He looked around, curious that the strange unearthly music had abruptly stopped and the black ooze had likewise vanished into motes of mana. It was clear that there was a mental disconnect between the terror that he had just experienced and the sight of these monsters joking it up.
”It seems we have unwittingly exposed our ruse to these two poor souls,” Gammaton said menacingly as the violet glow of her vertical visor swept from Szilard to Riny. With a wave of his hand, the dire mosquito that Gammaton had used to scout the party out previously zipped over and jabbed Szilard in the neck with its proboscis, injecting a powerful paralytic, before darting over and doing the same to Riny. ”I regret to inform you that, given what you have just seen, we cannot permit you to leave the premises. Levitate.” Gammaton waved her fan towards Szilard and Riny, using wind magic to lift them into the air. ”What do you think, Mae? One for you, one for me? Though I suppose you did do most of the work, so if you want a more proportional split, I could spare the limbs, since all I’ll need is the head.”
“No! You monsters! What are you doing!” Szilard began protesting loudly.
Gammaton sighed, and unsheathed her weapon. ”Noise Cancel,” Gammaton said with ennui. The Hammer of Israfil began vibrating inaudibly but a strange ‘static’ could be felt, which rendered Szilard mute. ”Noisy creature.”
The headless horror reached out one of her great, grubby hands and took hold of Riny, slinging the huntress over her shoulder like a sack of flour--or in this case, a rolled-up curtain, maybe. “Nah, we were just goofin’ off,” Mae told Gammaton. “Keep that one, all of ‘im. Boss said not to hurt ‘em, right? And we can use all the help figurin' out where we are, right?” She was unaware of exactly what her comrade planned for the poor watchman’s brain, and more focused on her own captive, anyway. The archer was so slight that Mae needed to double-check that she was even there. “Gosh, I thought I lost ya for a sec. You’re practically skin ‘n bones.” She patted Riny on the back a little too heavily, much to the woman’s displeasure. “That can’t be healthy. I betcher fixin’ to keel over from our little show too. Tell ya what, I’ll whip ya somethin’ up when we get back to base.”
Having also turned back from her Jubilant form to her Placid one, Round gave a laugh. “That’s Mae for ya! Might look like a pigsty after a tornader but the meanest she gets is makin’ a mean stew!”
“Shut your yap, ya li’l lardball,” Mae ribbed good-naturedly. “We need a fresh set o’ buds anyhow.” She conducted one final sweep of the ruined camp with her blindsight before declaring, “If those poor schmucks show up ‘round these parts again I’ll be mighty surprised. Alright folks, let’s hit the road.” With her cargo as comfortable as she was going to get Mae stomped in the direction of the guild, her entourage right behind and very interested in the hapless humans along for the ride.
