We continue to head toward the capital. To the northwest. This time on the clean swept roads.

That’s when I realised…

“Why are we walking?”

“Hmm?”

“Why couldn’t we just get a horsie or something?”

“Oh, that’s actually a good idea,” Dok assents in his bumbled tone, “It’s a pity that we’re eight days into this labour,”

Ahhhhh, shite.

Why does it always feel like I’m the only one who thinks here?

Bad enough as that is not only were we having a damn footslog through the snow, some donkey felt it was a good idea to unremittingly step on the backstay of my boot all throughout, such that my foot mildly escapes the boot in the most irritable of manner possible.

Of course, in exchange for this favour, I took off the offender’s own boots before throwing them in the middle of a frozen lake.

“Jeff… What the Hell?”

That’s what you deserve.

“You’re no better! You’re just like me! Was it really necessary to throw it there of all places?”

Wrong. You play your antics for fun. I do it in spite.

“We are not the same.” I brush off his question with the signature look of superiority.

Laffer rolls his eyes, “That’s the Spiteful Sleeper for ya. I swear, only you can do the most useless things in the strangest of situations. Like can you not see the man dying in front of us?”

Well, I can see him but… “Like d'you know him or something? What's his name?”

“Eennnnnnndddd meee…“

Endomi? Sounds foreign, perhaps to the east?

We’re only a couple hours away from a central trade city, yet there’s this guy buried in snow by the wayside. Doesn’t look like he got done in my snowmen either.

“Pleeaaasee, eennnnnndd meeee…”

Pleez Endomi. Now I can’t really say where he comes from. Maybe the north?

Nonetheless, it’s strange. Very strange!

And yesn’t, the strange part wasn’t the moribund man and his rather queer denotation, after all, we’re in a cult. Dead corpses basically spring wherever we go. Nay! T’was strange was his method of expiration.

“Reptoidification,” Laffer mutters.

His whole lower half is stone grey. Like a small wave, the grey visibly creeps forth, invading his body slowly.

“Mhmm, seems about right." Shrugging, I agree.

We halfheartedly state our conclusion, but it seems someone doesn’t agree with us.

Looking for the source, I find a plant… person? I mean, reaching up to my knee, their upper half is certainly humanoid though at their base is a large flower bulb, it’s bountiful petals ornamented in a light layer of snow.

It looks a tad bit cursed. Speaking of cursed, I was returned the icicle the other day and maybe two curses make a cleanse? Something to test out.

“It’s actually a petrification!” It said hands on hips in a bubbly tone with full confidence.

“Well yes… But it also looks like he’s turning into a lizard so it’s definitely a reptoidification,” Laffer points out.

Good to know that his analysis is based off of fictitious exploration.

“Oh…”

The way it’s entire foliage drooped really epitomised the I’m a sad child aura.

What a star stuck sight! I wanted to cry on its behalf.

But alas, it’s next words made all sympathy fade from my very being.

“It indeed is a reptoidification… Only cultists of the evil gods would be able to discern such a strange phenomena so quickly…” it gives us a widened smile, completely shedding away its previous tune, “To be able to evaluate that this wasn’t the smooth denure of a petrification but actually a tyrannical edifice of reptoidification is quite the feat. Not to mention the term itself being a Hidden knowledge,”

Holy crap, what the Hell?! What is this plant child lookin’ thing? What the Hell is happening to this realm? I swear to the gods children weren’t this messed up before! Honest!

“It’s an alraune Jeffrey. I thought it was floran but it’s definitely an alraune,” Laffer gives me no significant insight into what I’m looking at.

I didn’t know what in the lords green ground was an alraune, nor did I know what a damned floran was. But using my powers of deduction I can conclude, it’s cursed and it’s a green midget subvariant.

In other words. It needs to die.

“Jeffrey, my good sir! You cannot just shoot everything that doesn’t look right. It’s just a flower!” Cried the flower enthusiast pushing down my crossbow.

“This flower also just accused us as being cultists,” Like if that didn’t seem like a flag then I don’t know what is. I mean, a plant basically just called to crucify us. Which now that I voice that mentally… Is a kind of depressing.

Sacred stars… Even a plant is looking at me with prejudice. Everything in this realm really does hate me…

“NO! Think about the plant! It knows no better!”

It knows we’re heretics! And a plant that can prosecute you definitely knows better! Laffer back me up!

“Nah, screw you!” He yells, flipping me off as he sets off to shimmy barefoot in the middle of a frozen lake.

In turn, Dok offers his own verbal battering, “Look at it! Shivering in this fierce winter, it must’ve been thrown away by it kin! No family, no friends, no one to depend on! We’re NOT doing the killing,” giving the tone of finality, he crouches down brushing the snow off the alraune, “Little flower, do you want to come with us?”

The image that the dialogue was painting did not match up to the reality of this situation. I was watching a man in a bird mask kneel in front of a weird lookin' red primrose-cum-dogwood plant. Like man, it was no small amount of fey to be gifted when the plant made any sort of reaction.

“Arhh please! End meeee!” The reptoidified man’s moaning is even greater this time. Shouldn’t you be quieter as you die?

You’re ruining the mood. At least for this bystander.

The others ignore him, continuing with the charade, but I look the man in the eye. Judging by his words of introduction, it seems he wants to live, but his eyes say otherwise. They strain themselves, calling for a quick departure. If that is so, then I’ll grant his wish. I was always good at this sort of thing. Mercy for the one ensnared in the cold hands of Attrition.

But! Someone tugs at the hem of my sleeve.

*Gasp!* A demon child! What does she want?

She points her knife at the man, it’s black surface reflecting every pained agony on his countenance.

She wants the final honours? To do the mercy?

What a nice girl! Following in my footsteps. How cute. But is this morally allowed? What was the minimum age limit for exectioners? I think it's about fifteen?

Mm, now that I’m thinking this through, should she really be doing this? I mean, Lazari was pretty small for her age, I mean, allegedly, she was actually around fifteen winters, which was… Wow, she’s tiny. Like damn, she barely reaches my chest height. Eh, not the first time I’d seen someone her age perform executioners work.

Should be alright.

“Jeff, this is highly concerning,” Laffer words with a hand on my shoulder, now shod in leatherwear, “Little girls aren’t supposed to kill people,”

“But she’s a demon. Plus, even if she wasn't, she is still technically qualified.”

He stops in brief contemplation before backing off, “Ight, seems legit,”

Using the almighty excuse, I successfully allow Lazari her first execution mercy killing.

Mmm, this reminds of my first time working at the block and cesspools. Executioner work was no small handful. And I wasn’t even given an axe for my first quotas! Though the pay was hella good…

Nonetheless, I always did my job to the utmost perfection, even when the others didn’t dare nor care.

A job of little requite.

Don't know why they made me quit despite legitimately being the only person who had the job… Strange folk back in Sharne.

Anyway, passing my machete, it’ll be of much more service than her ebony single edged knife. Though strangely, she insists that she use the knife. “Yesn’t.” She stubbornly refuses my offer. And with due haste, she basically wrenches the small knife around his nape, before jamming it deeper in. Something that she doesn’t struggle with despite her small frame.

Mmm, I’m gonna have to deduct points for that. He’s dead but it wasn’t a clean cut. Not that the man’s writhing made it any cleaner. Still, Lazari should’ve just used a proper blade. A little knife would never be able to take on butcher’s work.

Though I can’t feel that her using that knife only felt… fitting. If I recall correctly, that pitch black shiv was something that she had ever since I first met her. And it’s once dull, nigh imperceptable inscriptions seem to glow a bright maroon…

Eh, it’s probably all good.

And Lily! “Take note as well,”

“No,”

What?

“I ain’t aiming for your career path,”

Oh… Fair. Apparently, my choice of occupations wasn’t of much desire to other people and… I can’t really argue.

I wallow in my sadness as Dok prunes the alraune.

“Yup, you guys are definitely cultists right? That was definitely a ritual murder, right? Right?” It tantalisingly waves it's now defrosted petals around. Their vibrant shades of cerise and cyan really shine in the sun, “I mean… That’s a ritual knife as well right? Blood knife? No, is it an athame? It must be!”

I wonder how it’d taste in a brew…

“Jeffrey!” Too bad my fantasies are shrilly assaulted, “That is no look to give a child! Control thyself!”

Why am I the one scolded? For all intents and purposes, the plant could be looking to lynch us. “So it’s in our best interests to eliminate it right now. Plus, I remember reading somewhere that plants are our enemies,”

“Plants are only foe should they oppose us! Same can be said about the young demon but we still respect and look after her!” Dok grinds the ground in front of me with his raven pimp cane, “Learn empathy! It’s a child!”

Empathy, huh? Not sympathy? A strange concept I struggle to wrap my head around, but barring that, the quack Dok-tor does have a point.

It is most likely a child. And one of my moral boundaries dictates I must always side with children. No buts.

Looks like today is the day my established compass bites my arse.

Fine, “You win,”

“Now let’s go.” It’s cold, and I didn’t bring a proper coat.

“Wait one second!”

“Understood,” waiting one second…

“Alright, let’s go.”

“I mean wait a minute! Not just a single second,”

Really? Should’ve said so…

As the seconds tick, I watch Dok pull out a couple panels from his satchel. But these aren’t any panels, with practised movements, he smoothly assembles them together forming a sizeable cylindrical cup.

Yeah, it was a flower pot.

And with even greater flair and finesse, carves out the ground around the alraune, rhythmically planting it into the pot like a concert conductor directing the orchestra. A truly adroit gardener

All in a minute flat. I counted.

I applaud you, good Dok. Well done, “Also, I’m not carrying that,”

“My good Jeffrey! This was a deed of my own doing so of course I’m to take the burden,” Hand on chest, the smaller man shakes his head.

I can’t help but do a double take. No way… A—A responsible adult?!

What a godsend!

This labour doesn’t seem so bad now does it —If we ignore the lack of pay that is—?