Chapter 37: The Lord's Forest

"Don't get too comfortable."

Music

A harsh rush of brisk air greets you. The smell of grass, a slight rain, and a fine mist covering the rocks and forest beyond hits you with such intensity that you stagger backwards. You look around, bewildered. Behind you lies an extraordinarily tall gap in the rock face. It looks like a natural break in the stone, and the door is nowhere to be seen.

Ray immediately begins barking. His weariness is momentarily forgotten at the sight of water and birds flying overhead. As you suppress a smile (urging him to stay), Celegwen takes the end of her staff and draws a huge circle on the ground. Her voice is lighter than the mist. "I nearly lost sight of the exit, last I entered here."

You scratch behind Ray's ears, looking to the forest beyond. The hue in your eyes is nearly identical to that of the canopy. This place must be ancient. Judging by the height of the boughs at the treeline, even the furthest reaches of the wood are hundreds of years old. Steep rock faces lead out from the winding path before you, as rivulets of rainwater run towards the forest. Within the side of the high, gray mountain you're beside lies numerous caverns. A waterfall can be heard in the distance. The varieties of growth all around are native to Corcaea, but they're in such an abundance, you can't hope to identify it all with just a passing glance.

​

With a surprising amount of force, the elf jabs the end of her staff into the side of the rock. It makes another obvious marker for your exit.

Literally twiddling her thumbs alongside you both, Ofelia grins cheekily. Her hair frizzes slightly from the humidity. Light rain hits her freckles as she looks skyward. "I could get used to this."

"Don't get too comfortable." Slinging off your bag, you take out your waning water skin. It takes a few seconds to give Ray a drink, and to choke down a mouthful yourself before propping the empty flask next to Celegwen's markings. Rainwater begins to fill the canister.

A steady stream.

The trickling of water.

You tense at the acute reminder of collapsing in the darkness.

Of being lanced by an orc chieftain's weapon.

Of tremor, and lightning, and looking upon a God after hours of drowning in the midst of demons.

"Richard?"

Ofelia's tapping on the side of your leg has you snap towards her wide-eyed. Your body jumps, and remains startled with twitching all throughout your arm. You've been clutching onto your holy symbol, and must have redoubled your grip on it.

"Come on, hotshot. We're gettin' outta here soon as we can."

The last of the blood on Ray's face has been washed clean. The rain is picking up. The sound has you on edge, but your dog leans into you. He licks your free hand, panting without any sign of illness or injury.

The rain may be an illusion— but so far as you can tell, it's not hurting him.

It might actually be safe here.

​ Within minutes, the steady downpour has become sweeping sheets of rain. Your water skin is left propped against the wall. Ofelia quickly places several more next to it, and pulls up the hood of her cloak. "Shit. Come on."

It only takes a few moments to find a nearby outcropping of rocks to seek cover under. Clouds grow overhead. Ray gets extremely close next to you as a peal of thunder breaks out.

You kneel down and hold him beside you, eyes skyward. Lightning arcs through the sky, and dances along the trees ahead. Your heart goes out to the God of the Tempest. "It's okay, boy. Storm is with us. There's nothing to fear." ​ Celegwen wrings out her hair and sets her staff aside, while Ofelia tosses her hood back. They both slide down the stone wall and settle next to you. Despite the beautiful shelter, they both seem nervous. The outcropping is large enough that rain courses over the ledge leading to the forest beyond, and within a stone waterfall behind you. A flock of birds passes by, and settles on various stones within the shallow cavern for shelter from the rain. Ray tenses further at the sight of them.

​

On high alert, you keep your gaze to the flock while holding him close. Your steady murmurs demand his attention. "Stay. Good boy, Ray. It's alright. They're not going to hurt anyone. Lay down. Come on now. You're not a puppy anymore, big guy. What's gotten into you?"

Your companions both speak to each other in low voices as you work to reassure your terrified dog. After what feels like a half an hour (or maybe more), his shaking and nerves finally settles down.

Ofelia whispers to you only once he finally nestles into the crook of your arm, and drifts off to sleep. "Scared of storms, huh?"

"Ray's always hated Him." Settling further next to your boy, your whispers drop even further in volume.

"It's been at least a year since I've seen him so worked up over thunder, though."

It's hard to not think back to your time with the God. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"I never had the chance to ask you both before—"

Both women look to you earnestly.

You settle your eyes on the water pouring overhead, as nervous as it's making you feel. "Back in the waterway, I was certain— I was certain that I had drowned. Ray managed to escape, but I— I have no idea how long we were apart for, or what had happened to him." Another peal of thunder cracks across the sky, shaking the stone behind you all. You don't flinch, though the tremor seems to startle both Ofelia and Celegwen. "...I still am not entirely certain what happened to me."

Realization dawns on Celegwen. "He was badly wounded. I was able to heal him to the best of my ability, but he was so hostile I could not do so with his cooperation. It is as I told you before. I had to place a charm on him to keep him from attacking us."

Ofelia's voice is still quite low, and the apology that creeps into her voice is more gentle still. "We didn't hurt him or nothin'. Was weird as shit seein' a dog in the ruins, to be honest. No way we coulda' thought he was a demon, but he sure seemed like he'd dealt with 'em. We figured his owner had to be around somewhere, but it was— well, it was awhile before we found ya'."

You remain silent, listening to the cascade of water as it flows down the stone around you all, and take a hand off of Ray to hold your own form steady. Though you're hardly shaking with fear, the tremor in your limbs hasn't left you in weeks. It's only seemed to worsen.

Celegwen leans in further, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. "The way you fought against the demon beneath the waterway..." Her eyes are shining. It's hard to not look her way given the tone in her voice, but you don't want to meet her gaze. Instead you merely catch a glimpse of her worry, and a hint of strain. "No sorcerer could have rivaled the power you exhibited, Father. We suspected the effort would have killed you. Yet—"

A nearby bolt of thunder utterly deafens Celegwen's next words. Ofelia clings onto her with a white face, and her bushy hair practically standing on end. She huffs, "this is bullshit."

You don't jump, and preemptively hold onto Ray as he stirs in his sleep. Only once you're certain he's alright do you pay any mind to the two women in your company.

They clutch onto each other as another clap of thunder erupts.

At least another hour passes in near silence. You can't help but murmur your thanks to Storm as you all regain your supply of water.

There is no need to invoke the God. He's looking upon you all.

Though the rain has yet to fully subside, and the sky overhead remains gloomy and full of mist, the clouds gradually part. The itch to keep moving has you on your feet before long, yet Ofelia is sound asleep in Celegwen's arms. She must have been far more exhausted than you realized.

The elf looks up to you with a slight smile. It's strained, but you manage to offer her one back. "We should keep moving." You murmur with a glance to the tree line, "do you suspect we'll have better luck in the woods...?"

Her smile breaks out fully. "I would hope so. I will have a far easier time navigating the forest than this storm and stone."

You gently rouse Ray from his slumber. "Hey, boy. It's alright. He's giving you a break. Consider yourself lucky."

A great deal of anxiety parts from Ray's eyes as soon as they drift open, and he recognizes that the thunder has stopped. He licks your hands, getting up of his own volition and pacing around you.

A terrible pang of guilt hits you. He's hungry. "Ofelia. Ofelia, wake up."

The halfling's eyes flutter open, grinning sheepishly at you as she pries herself off of Celegwen. "Isn't that a nice change of pace? Wakin' me up for a change. Whaddid I miss?"

"Storm has departed. He's seen fit to bless us but, Ofelia— you said we— you said that we had enough food for another day at least?"

"Oh. Right. Right! Yeah. About that: we can ration it, but it's gonna be tight. I can go without for a while, and I know Gwen can too. I'm more worried 'bout you two. Hold on a sec—" With a skip— pulling up her hood— Ofelia dives out from the cover you're all under. She swipes up the full water skins and flasks you've all set out. Looking a little nervous, she skips back quickly and offers one of the containers to Celegwen. "Checks out?"

The elf scrutinizes the water, and takes a sip. "This..." The face she makes is entirely not what you'd expect. It's almost as if she's had a stiff drink. "This is potato liquor."

You and Ofelia simultaneously balk at her statement. "What?"

She takes another sip. "Very, very strong liquor. Even I can feel it. Strange."

Ofelia looks to you skeptically. "Storm, eh?"

A nauseating blend of confusion and indignation worms itself into your drying robes, your damp hair, and the steady trickle of the rain. "Mercy."

"I suppose you won't be having any, then?" Ofelia frowns while obviously scrutinizing your thin, long limbs and gaunt face.

"This is the last thing we need right now," you frown in return. "I would like to ration some food for Ray, but I can do without." The halfling moves to get her supplies, but the face that she gives you has you putting your hands up to reassure her. "I promised you. I want to take care of myself. I won't invoke the Gods unless it's absolutely necessary. I'll be fine. Perhaps we'll— perhaps we will find a stream or a— or a better resource within the woods."

The paltry amount of greens that Ofelia sticks your way— and her lack of protest— stresses to you just how low supplies have dwindled. She doesn't need to say anything, but you appreciate the sincere look that she gives you. She seems to take your words to heart.

Once Ray has been fed— and you've consoled him that you'll find something in the way of steak as soon as possible— you all set off into the mist.

Music

Now that you're aware of the heavy atmosphere bearing liquor, you are even more reluctant to linger. Alcohol is hardly forbidden to members of the clergy. (It's safer than most water, after all.) The fact remains that you're terribly light, and concerned about the effects that this place may have on you all in the long term. You simply can't afford to let your guard down.

The slightest break in the branches, the crunch of the grass underfoot, and the chirp of birds off in the distance all would be soothing— were you not so wary of what may lie in wait for you all.

Conversely, Celegwen seems utterly unfazed. She practically skips ahead as you all proceed towards the forest. Descending away from the slick rock and stone is slow going after the heavy rain. It takes nearly another hour (by your best estimates) to reach the tree line.

The elf among you takes a deep breath in, looking about you all with childlike wonder once you reach the timbers. Taking her staff in one hand— placing the other to one of the colossal branches before you all— she beams. "This will only take a moment. It will be far easier to get the scope of the woods from the canopy."

You let out a small shout as she jumps up, and deftly climbs onto one of the higher branches. The elf looks down to you all with an enormous grin, before vanishing into the leaves up above.

A hand is put to Ofelia's temples while she sighs, "she would. We'd better take the ground, eh, Richard?"

With a mutual sigh and a nod, you gesture towards Ray to follow you.

​

The three of you cut into the dense underbrush, overgrown trees, and the gray fog. There's an abundance of resources to scavenge. Ofelia immediately unsheathes a dagger— but as she cuts into a patch of moss, she lets out a gasp.

You rush to her side, clutching onto your holy symbol. "What's wrong—?"

There's blood on her hands, but it's not hers. She's staring wide-eyed at the patch of greenery that's been cut. It contracts and writhes as if it were something alive. Shaping and twisting from a harmless patch of greenery comes a shrieking bundle of flesh-colored sponge.

The halfling stares at the red liquid pooling down her dagger, and flicks it with extreme distaste to the soil beneath your feet. "Fuckin' bullshit—!" She calls to the canopy. "Hey! Gwen!"

You cringe at her calling out when you have no idea what could be in the woods, but you can't imagine any other way to quickly get the elf's attention. It takes a moment, but Celegwen reappears quickly enough. A few twigs are sticking out of her hair as she drops down next to you both, her face flushed. Elation and something more sinister graces her expression as she looks to you both— yet her delight falls as soon as she sees the crimson across the floor.

"You've seen it, too, then?"

Ofelia nods, grimacing.

The elf looks around the woods, settling on you both with a little less enthusiasm. "The canopy stretches outwards almost indefinitely. It looks as though a fine mist covers the reaches of the horizon. Ofelia, you may be able to see further— but I suspect that would be unnecessary. There is a large cavern near the center."

You tighten your hand around your holy symbol. "The demon is surely using the forest to wear on anyone that enters his domain."

Ofelia glances down to her dagger, making a slight sound as she cleans off the rest of the blood. "So it's alive, Gwen?"

"In a way. It is ancient, and imbued with a potent sorcery. It is at least a day's march to the center." The sorceress makes a broad gesture with her staff for you both to step back. "I could not dissipate this effect on more than a small area at a time."

With a call Ray to your side as you oblige, the sorceress strikes her staff down on a bed of moss beneath her feet. A dust of starlight bursts forth, rapidly retracting back into her weapon and taking in all light with it. In the darkness that remains, the greenery draws into itself. It morphs before your eyes from plant life, to flesh, to decay.

Only a desiccated patch of rotten flesh remains. Celegwen frowns. "It is as I feared, then. Something is actively controlling the illusion."

Your grimace could not be any deeper. "Someone."

The thought of being surrounded by screaming, deadened flesh has your skin crawling— and your hands itching for a torch. Fiddling with your holy symbol brings you some comfort, but it's not enough. "We need to keep moving, but I'd like to burn what we can. These woods are our enemy— so long as it can bring any harm to us—"

Ofelia interjects your statement by tastelessly driving her dagger into another pile of moss. The same shriek as before ushers forth, along with a pool of blood, and violent thrashing.

Disgust crawls up your spine, causing you to twitch your arm around Mercy's symbol even more tightly. The halfling shrugs. "Fine by me. Gwen? You alright?"

It occurs to you that she's the only one among you with any majorly exposed skin. The elf's flush hasn't left her. She absently picks a few leaves out of her hair, straightening her dress out. There's a slight dew on her arms and legs, and her voice is light as she looks to you both. "Yes. The air here is far lighter than it should be. It should not pose a threat if you wish to destroy the illusion."

Ofelia unclasps her cloak, looking to Celegwen with extreme annoyance. "This demon knows how to party, I guess, but we don't got time fer this." To your complete surprise, the rogue gently hands the over-sized swathe of blue fabric over to her friend. "Cover yourself up, and don't you dare get this caught on nothin'. Mind your face and ears, too."

Sheepishly, Celegwen takes the cloak and clasps the fabric over her bare shoulders. The hood seems to immediately accommodate her long ears and much taller frame. You'd marvel at the sorcery, but your concern for everyone's safety is much more pressing.

Ofelia has taken out a few more handkerchiefs from her pack as you start to work on a makeshift torch. She thrusts one at you with a slight smile. "Hey. Lightweight. Keep yer face covered best as you can, 'kay?"

You frown at her comment, but accept the slip of fabric. It's pocketed for a moment. Practiced use of flint and tinder successfully strikes a spark. The bed of moss and leaves you've gathered flares up screaming. Flame rapidly kindles. You stoke the mixture by plunging another handful of twigs and branches in before working at your torch. Occasionally you nudge Ray away from the flames, reminding him to keep his distance. Celegwen seems mildly uncomfortable, but you make quick work of the illusion.

"Not bad," Ofelia muses.

"Thank you. This is far from— this is far from my first time away from the Church." You stamp out any remaining cinders on the forest floor as best as you can. Taking up the smoldering, softly screaming length of wood, you notice that the flame isn't burning nearly as quickly as it should. The air truly isn't quite right. Mist licks at the bottom of your robes and around your friends as you turn to them all. "Let's keep moving. Celegwen, can you still guide us?"

The elf offers you a light smile out from under the enchanted cloak's hood. "Of course. This way. Take care to not start too many fires, Father. The mist was far heavier, deeper into the woods. I do not trust this place either."

With a nod, you call Ray to your side, and you all set back off. Silently picking your way through the branches and underbrush, you keep close to one another as the light behind you fades from sight.

Celegwen frequently whispers to you all to mind upturned roots, pitfalls and other hazards lying in the increasing darkness of the wood. The pace you keep behind Celegwen strains Ofelia, but not a single complaint falls from her. You make quick work of any large patches of moss you come by without slowing the pace for a moment.

The screaming of your torch has your nerves aflame as well. The fire dwindles after only an hour or two. The wood is untreated, and your skill with the craft is wanting. You discard the item just as the flame threatens to catch on your fingers, leaving the shrieks to fade back into the depths of the forest.

The mist closes in on you all. It coats the trees with a fine sheen of dew, sticks to your robes, and sears your sight. You had nearly forgotten about it, but it's becoming impossible to ignore. You take out Ofelia's handkerchief before long, doing your best to cover your nose and the corners of your eyes.

As the hours climb on, you're on edge to an extreme. Practically jumping at the slightest crack in the twigs and foliage underfoot, it's exhausting to be so on guard. Fatigue wears on you, and your head is light, but you're relieved for your caution as soon as Celegwen's voice rings out.

"Up ahead—" Her comments have grown gradually lighter as you all have proceeded forward, to the extent that it sounds as distant now as she does when in a trance. "—is a clearing. Be on your guard. We are nearly there."

Your hand hasn't left your holy symbol in hours. Though your palm aches, you tense even further, squinting to try and discern the shapes better. It's growing difficult to even see through the mist, as much as your eyes, throat and nose are burning— but you see them clearly.

It looks as though there are three skeletons of fallen soldiers immediately ahead. The clearing beyond looks to have even more. Wooden barricades are lashed together and sharpened into spikes. They jut out around the fallen soldiers. The flesh is long gone from their forms, but their heraldry is still untouched by Time. You do not recognize the emblems, though you assume they are for a long-forgotten King. Many of them are wielding shields, maces, and a few even have swords.

The make of their armor and cloth is odd. You've never seen anything entirely like it before. It's all of far cleaner and of higher grade than anything the church has ever gifted to you. Some of the soldiers even have solid pieces of exotic metal adorning them, in hues you're entirely unfamiliar with.

It's like they're from another time entirely.

​

You nearly jump out of your skin as your eyes catch on a figure slumped against a nearby tree. Its ribs are visible through the torn fabric around its skeleton, thanks to the spear piercing its chest.

"Stay back," you whisper. The command is directed mostly to Ray, but you pray that your companions will heed your caution as well.

All of your companions look to you as you tense. You eye the edge of the clearing with enormous hesitation— knuckles white against your holy symbol— while looking around for any alternative paths.

The darkness and mist shrouds the denser forest completely, but it seems like a far safer option."I have a terrible feeling about this place. We need to stay safe. Let's— let's go around."

Celegwen shrugs her shoulders (clearly not minding), but Ofelia balks. "Are ya' sure? Seriously? I don't mind goin' ahead—"

"I couldn't be more certain. We need to stay alert. Something killed these men, and I don't intend to find out what. Not— not if we can help it."

With a look over her shoulder to you both, Celegwen is obviously disoriented from the liquor in the air. Her smile is whimsical. Her eyes are misty. She shows no sign of exhaustion from marching for nearly a day, but there is something decidedly off color about her. Though she looks down at Ofelia with no condescension in her voice, her words rub you the wrong way. "The path around is far more difficult. Shall we have Ofelia go forth on Ray now, or would you prefer a ride on my shoulders...?"

The halfling punches her softly on the side of her leg. You can't help but notice how red her normally clear-blue eyes are, and wonder if your own eyes look just as irritated. "Shuddap. I'll be fine. Can't say the same 'bout you, though. Fuckin' lush. You sure you even know where we're goin'?"

"Of course," the elf beams. "This way."

"Ray. Just a bit further, boy. Come on."

You can't help but look back at the edge of the clearing as you all hook sharply away from it.

The corpses of soldiers linger in your mind for some time after you leave the barricades and fallen men behind. It's hard to not think of your clergy.

It's hard to not think of Father Edmund.

You shake your head and catch up to your companions. It's rough going. You have to literally pick up Ofelia from time to time to help her over the far denser underbrush. She makes a huge fuss about it at first, but after an hour or so of plunging through the harsh terrain, she stops complaining, and seems relieved for the hand.

Ray— as always— is valiant. He keeps up with you without complaint. You're mildly disturbed by how quiet he's been, but it's safe to assume he's simply tired as well. You all have been marching for hours without rest, food or water.

The fog becomes unbearably thick. There are no pangs of hunger or thirst (as always) that accompanies your excursion, but you're unable to avoid noticing inebriation taking hold of you. The harsh physical demand of picking through a rougher course only seems to aggravate the building haze.

Despite the gloom, Celegwen fearlessly keeps up the pace. She leads you all deftly through the vines and moss as if it were second nature to her. Her voice is weightless as she looks behind to you all for what seems like the hundredth time. "The Verdant Dominion's woods are much more untamed. This demon could stand to learn a thing or two of the wilds!"

Ofelia groans, picking a huge bramble out of her hair. "Don't encourage the bastard! What if he can hear us? Seriously," she looks up to you, the exhaustion on her face evident. "I'm goin' to kill her when we get out of here, Richard."

Though your patience is wearing thin too, It's hard to not at least try to defend her. "She means well." Looking ahead to the elf, you find yourself actually slowing down. Your breath is heavy, and a flush in your face from more than the excursion. The mist is suffocating, heavy and cloying in the air. It seems to hang most thickly over a break in the treeline, where a sharply protruding series of stones scrapes against the woods. "Stop. Everyone."

Longing for a shield, you take a few steps ahead, pushing through the thick vines and trees to move past your allies. Ray obediently stays in place, but Ofelia and Celegwen both start. The elf in particular seems unaware of any imminent threat. "Is something the matter, Father?"

Gritting your teeth, you squint through the darkness. The edges of your vision are hazy, but you can discern the side of a cave just up ahead. It's less than a stone's throw from you all. "Is this it, then, Celegwen? The center of the woods?"

Blissfully, she beams at you. "Certainly. See, Ofelia, I knew where I was going—"

The halfling punches her again. "Yeah, and you nearly walked us straight into it. You know I'm too tired to be of much use, you nut job."

As you're all talking, you strain your ears— trying to pick up anything on the outskirts of the woods. Over the women's bickering, you almost miss it.

Certainly enough, though, there's a soft rustling in the bushes ahead. Ray isn't growling, but your pulse skyrockets.

It might be your lowered inhibitions, but you grab onto Ofelia and Celegwen, and dive into the dense underbrush.

"Get down—!"