“It’s just down the path a ways,” croaked the old man, wrapped in a weathered robe, dodging raindrops as he took shelter under a red maple tree. His voice was raspy; his face wrinkled and spotted with hairy moles. “When you hit the fog, keep going. It’s the only light you’ll see.”
Ayla’s gaze followed the old man’s crooked finger to a dark road that entered the ominous Brangwen Woods. The foothills of the Blacktail Sierra were notoriously sinister. It was the furthest fringe of civilization, for inward and up the mountains accommodated criminals, wraiths, and worse. She eyed the tangled branches, reaching and eager to snatch her hood. She scrunched her nose as the wind carried a rotten smell from within - an all too common stench in this part of the world.
“How’d you get through those zombies?” he asked. “Valley’s filled with them and your flesh looks sweet.”
“I’m sneaky,” she replied coldly. “You’re certain it’s there?” she asked, turning back to the old man. She wasn’t afraid, but at this point in her journey she had to be sure. His eyes were hidden under a ragged hood, tucked back and relishing the darkness. She could only see the foggy smudge of her lantern’s glow reflecting in the center of his eyes. He was no longer pointing, rather he had his palm up, toothlessly grinning. She set her lantern down and reached into the pocket of her cloak and then dropped a few small coins into his hand. She noticed an odd tattoo. It looked like two broken triangles wrapping around a rune. She didn’t recognize it. The moment the coins rattled in his palm he buried his hand deep into his tattered robe.
“I’m sure. Jus’ don’t stray too far off the path,” he smirked, tightening his robe and kicking off the tree. He used his walking stick to push off her hood. “That pearly white skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, almost cerulean. No, just a little paler, like the moon. Some in the woods would gobble a pretty little thing like yourself right up.” He wide-eyed her and parted her cloak with his staff revealing a weathered chalky-green dress, drool pooling in the corner of his sagging mouth as he stared at her heaving breasts. “I wonder what jewels you’re hiding under there?”
She swatted his staff away, glaring at him with pointed irritation. He snickered as he turned for the road, walking away from her. More importantly, away from the woods. While the old man creeped her out, she admitted that a part of her hoped he would walk in her direction. These woods had a grim reputation, and the extra set of eyes and hands might prove useful - even if they were perverted.
Resting against her side was her entire life. It was a large satchel. Stolen, yes, but water resistant. It held a dress, a slip, a pair of socks, a book of poetry from her mother, and a few apples bundled with other items needed for long journeys. Hidden in her cloak, strapped to her belt was a small, sheathed dagger. The blade was slightly curved. In the light, its steel elegantly flickered with sprinkled red toilstone. The hilt, guard and pummel were carved out of blue stone, tightly wound with leather for grip. She’s journeyed for two months now and the only thing her dagger had carved were apples – something she was thankful for.
Of course, she thought, surveying the forest entrance, that just might change.
She snatched up her lantern and took a deep breath. Taking the next step on the dark path, she anticipated countless dangers as she approached the woods. The place she was looking for was said to be deep in these woods and that only the bravest of adventurers would make the journey. Was it bravery, or insanity? The forest was home to many monstrous foes and murderous creatures. One might expect the usual suspects: giant spiders, thieving goblins, vandals, brigands, and the occasional cult performing ritualistic sacrifices. Further up, more ghastly entities haunted the mountains. She had heard horrific tales of lost wraiths, necromancers and demons. She imagined that whoever approached her, whether they wanted her body or her life, might laugh at the fact that all she carried was the dagger. That wasn’t all she had. Gripping the side of her dress, she felt a subtle vibration of magic ripple through the threads.
She may not have looked like it, but Ayla was also decent fighter. By no means did she master martial arts, but she could take care of herself. The dagger would hardly be necessary to dispatch one or two criminal types. Despite this, Ayla did feel her confidence wane. She had very little experience with ghosts, the demonic, or worse - giant spiders. She wasn’t eager to meet any tonight.
“Just do what the old man said,” she whispered to herself. “Stick to the path. Giant, hairy spiders should stick to their territory.” She imagined a massive eight-legged monstrosity revealing itself from the shadows, fangs clicking and dripping with venom, its eyes hungry for human flesh. She shuddered at the idea of being tossed around as it mummified her in its webbing. It might store her in the cold, feasting on her parts over time.
“Get over yourself, Ayla.” She held out her lantern. “Eyes, ears, nose. Use them and you’ll be fine.” One more deep breath. She took one barefoot step forward, entering the woods.
In an instant, everything felt different. There was an unnatural darkness to the forest, as the trees watched and ached for her. Her insides nervously contorted. She was sure there something lurking in the shadows, stalking her. She could smell something putrid riding on the wind. She heard something too, like a wooden wind chime rattling around.
A zombie, she wondered. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as goosebumps raised down her thin arms. She could see her breath as it left her red lips while her stomach twisted anxiously. This place felt unholy.
She felt something crawl across the top of her bare feet. She looked down, watching mangled grey vines inch across the path, working between her toes and wrapping around her ankles. She stepped forward, breaking the vines. They were weak, but alive and creeping towards her. The trees above her were just as animated. Small angular branches reached down like haunted creaky fingers, snagging her cloak and hood as they poked her. It was as if the world had gifted these woods something fresh and sweet to devour. They were curious and starving.
She quickly realized why it took the bravest of adventurers to enter these woods. The weaker willed would have taken flight if they shared her experience. It was as if every part of the forest wanted to consume her; the distorted trees and thorn bushes wanted to snatch her and drag her into the dark abyss harbored within. She strained her eyes looking beyond the little light of her lantern, but it was useless. She had never seen such haunting darkness. It was miasmatic, draining her with every step. What fueled the toxic air was a mystery.
Something to her left rustled in the brush as if spotted and fled for a new vantage point. She held her breath, peeking behind her. She’s only walked a few feet into these woods and already it seemed that death shadowed her. She felt more vines work up her feet and shins. She kicked them away. Should she turn back? Now would be the time.
No, she thought. Think of how far you’ve come. Think of everything you’ve endured! Stick to the path.
She faced forward and continued. Whatever watched her, whatever desired her, whatever wanted to eat her would have to contend with her. She wasn’t giving up. Her destination was too important. She walked quickly, working into a jog as the forest eagerly reached for her. She was able to outpace the possessed trees.
“When you hit the fog,” echoed the old man’s words. “Keep going.” All she saw was darkness. She could only imagine what it held. An eerie shriek pierced her ears. She turned quickly only to glimpse some harrowing entity merge with the shadows.
Whatever danger is there, my salvation is beyond it.
Some might wonder why adventurers came to these woods. The place they all sought was a legend for most, but very real to those who pursued it. In the middle of these woods, surrounded by ghoulish dangers and secret threats was a elusive tavern called Witchwicks.
“It’s the only light you’ll see,” she whispered, recalling the old man’s directions. The stories all said the same thing. The forest was so dark that only a witch’s candle could stay lit and the light of Witchwicks was ever-burning. It’s a wholly unnatural flame, luring you in with the desperate hope you’ll arrive safely. This wasn’t just a story, for at this very moment rumors of the secret tavern inspired fleeting hope as she longed for that ever-burning flame. Her own lantern struggled to stay lit. The darkness worked to choke it out. Ayla wondered how many perished along the way having lost their light. As the trees reached for her with outstretched wooden fingers, she imagined even souls could not escape.
Clenching the dagger, she pressed on. Somehow the rain was breaching the tight canopy of trees. No, not rain. She observed green droplets splash against the top of her hand. Her skin tingled. It was some kind of poison dripping from the black canopy. Soon, her cloak would be soaked through. Her hair was sticking to her face. Her bare feet began to sink in the mud, the moonlight in the woods had completely dimmed, and safety was long behind her. Still, no fog. She pressed on. Mirky trees, mossy boulders, the sludgy path – how long has she been here?
She journeyed on. Her lantern was getting heavier and weariness was setting in. The air was thick and she felt as if an unnatural weight was pressing upon her. She moved as if she dragged a ball and chain. Her diaphragm seemed compressed. She pushed on, ignoring the howls of hungry wolves, dismissing the twigs snapping as creatures haunted her path, and shooing off the possessed plant life. Perhaps the demonic somnolence meant to make her prey? When the old man said these woods would gobble her up, he meant that literally.
Stick to the path, Ayla thought. How long has it been? Her lantern needed a refill. The oil would have burned for a few hours. Had it really been that long?
She heard splashing water ahead. She extended her lantern as far forward as her fatigued arms would allow and she approached a shoddy bridge extended over a small river. She stopped for a moment, observing her surroundings, waving off a few reaching branches. She carefully approached the bridge. When she reached the rotten boards, she leaned over and dipped her hand in the rushing water. Pulling back, her fingers were dark and inky with webbed goop. The liquid produced a wretched scent.
Toxic, she thought. Like the rain. She wiped her fingers against her cloak as she stood up. No part of these woods escaped corruption. There it was again – something putrid on the wind. She scrunched her nose, glancing over her shoulder. Was something there? She wasn’t going to find out. With her lantern forward, she carefully crossed the old bridge. As each board sank and creaked, she prayed it wouldn’t give. The boards seemed sticky. Her right hand glided across the decaying rail, as if it would really be worth grabbing onto in case the boards snapped. The smell of the river induced nausea. Her forehead began to pulse, her stomach ached and her eyes felt heavy. They stung slightly.
She crossed the bridge, feeling tired and heavy. She looked at her right hand. Her palm was black and green and gooey from the railing. The railing had soaked in the poisonous moisture. She quickly wiped her hand off on her cloak. When she removed the black layer, her palm was pink from inflammation. It became difficult to focus. She set her lamp down in the center of the path, far enough away from the trees, but on top of hungry vines. She sat down, lifting her feet up to see her soles were also gooey black and green. The poisonous goop was between her toes. She used her cloak to wipe them off, and then grabbed a fistful of mud to wash away the poisonous coating. She used her cloak again. Her feet were pink. Whatever toxic sludge was on that bridge acted fast.
She gave herself a moment to focus. Her head still throbbed, but less so. She focused on her breathing. More vines snuck towards her, crawling on her shins and working up her ragged skirt and snaking around her thighs. She tore them away, shredding them into bits and threw them off the path. The darkness pushed against her. She felt an unholy weight on her shoulders. Her collarbone was sore and her chest felt squashed like some evil hand had wrapped it’s fingers her and squeezed. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small clay container. It was oil to refill her lantern. She spun the lantern around and popped open the filler opening. She yanked out the cork from the refill and carefully poured the new oil in. She lifted the lantern. The fount was full. She was thankful to still have more oil leftover. She pushed the cork back in and returned the refill to her satchel, making sure her clothes insulated the fragile case. It wasn’t much, but the new light brought a sense of warmth. This small, comforting heat was surprisingly tangible despite the severe darkness.
She had to press on. The path seemed eternal, yet she continued on step by step. There was that stench again. It seemed to follow her. It smelled like rotting innards accented with sulfur. The brush next to her whooshed side to side. Breathing patiently, she slowed her pace, eyeing the shrubs. When she held the lantern in its direction, a black fox leapt from the bush and dashed across her path. It paused, flicking its three tails, raising its muzzle and sniffing. It faced the dark path, sensing something down the way. After a moment, it wheeled around and barked, snapping at her toes! She easily dodged it.
“Hey! I’m not going to hurt you.”
The black fox paused and eyed the dark path again, as if distracted, then abruptly continued to snarl and nip at her feet. She stepped back, wondering if the fox was trying to hurt her.
“What do we have here?” From the shadows, a figure emerged. The fox crouched and slipped off the path finding safety in the woods.
It was trying to warn me, she thought. Odd, considering her surroundings.
She looked at the man. He was tall, wearing torn pants. He was otherwise unclothed and starved looking. Disturbingly, a sporadic coating of fungi had sprung around his body. His feet were hidden under a bubbly fungus. His pants were holed, revealing twisted vines that punctured his infected flesh. His neck and face were slimy and wriggling as parasites moved freely under his skin. His shoulders sloped in one direction, as if he couldn’t bear to hold up his left arm. He had one hand behind his back. Another person appeared from the other side of the path, equally covered in a fungus. He was shorter, bloated, naked and shaking. Ayla thought about the vines that crept up her legs.
“Finally,” said the taller one. “Finally, we can feast!”
Cannibals, she thought. “You should move on,” she said.
The shorter one moved erratically, “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Look at the face! Imagine those legs!” He was drooling, fingers desperately grabbing at the air.
The taller one revealed a long, rusted blade. It was chipped and bloodstained. Ayla stepped back, unsheathing her dagger. A wispy string of light emitted from her dress and down her arm, wrapping around the dagger. The toilstone blade glittered to life. Though no one could tell, under her feet the ground shifted. The darkness penetrated soil gave to freshly grown sprouts of grass and flowers. The demented vines slowly recoiled.
The shorter man, armed with a broken walking stick, poked at her. “Oh, oh, oh, she’s got a stabby thing! She’s gon’ be real tasty! Imagine! Imagine her legs after that blood spices them up!”
They started to approach her, weak and wobbly due to the fungus. The taller man grinned, revealing holed teeth and black gums.
Then they stopped. Everyone was stunned by what they smelled. It was that putrid scent that trailed Ayla. They heard something too. It was a hollow, scratchy noise following a noticeably thundering rhythm. Ayla’s ears perked back as she tried to determine its location. It was an odd and unnerving sound. Suddenly, her shadow danced on the road before her. The two cannibals stood wide eyed, mesmerized by whatever had pursued her. She whipped around, and behind her was a floating blue light that danced in the darkness.
She positioned herself, ready for an attack. Some type of energy vibrated from the light. She could feel its pulse in her head, gut and legs. Whatever it was emitting, she felt weakened by it. The blue light started for her, and then –
It disappeared. Silence enveloped them. All she heard was the poison rain turning into a downpour. She was wet and cold, despite her body’s natural proclivity for heat. She quickly scanned her surroundings. Where did it go? It was difficult to see now because her eyes had adjusted to the blue light. It had overpowered her lanterns tiny flame. She felt goosebumps pimple up. Even the woods seemed scared. There was that stench again. Then she heard a splash of guts falling in the mud.
“Wha’,” said the shorter man. “Wha’s happenin’?”
She looked back at the cannibals. The taller one watched in dread as the shorter man clutched a skeleton’s hand that had speared him from behind and ripped his belly. He screamed as the arm ripped up his torso, tearing through his fungus infested organs, finally slashing through his left shoulder. The two halves collapsed in a pile of broken bones and withered organs. The cannibal’s face was frozen in painful terror. The taller one turned to flee but was stunned by a screech and a flash of blue light, blinding them all. When her vision came to, Ayla watched in horror, catching glimpses of the creature as the blue light strobed with each terrifying scream.
The blue light was a marble the size of a large acorn buried in the mouth of a six-armed skeleton – the product of some necromantic experiment. Encased in the ribcage was a collection of unnatural looking organs swimming in a thin sack. Its smell was revolting. When the creature clamped its mouth shut, the light disappeared. It opened again, flashing, and closed. As the creature rushed across the path, it absorbed the short cannibal’s body in a dark, purple cloud as etherial chains hooked onto the corpse. The cannibal’s organs funneled into the sack and the bones snapped to the creature, reinforcing its skeletal structure, leaving the mushroomed skin behind, fusing the body in seconds.
The taller cannibal had enough time to swing once before the creature decapitated him. With it’s six arms, it ripped the cannibal’s skin down, like peeling fruit. Its ribcage opened and it tore into the corpse, feeding on the organs. In a haze, the mystical purple chains whipped out and snatched more bones, bulking up the creature.
Ayla wasn’t expecting this. She considered giant spiders and creepy trees, but a necromantic terror gaining size and strength after devouring two cannibals hadn’t crossed her mind.
The blue light disappeared. She heard the creature skitter in the darkness. She felt it swipe at her, shattering her lantern, leaving the handle in her tight grasp. Her eyes had difficulty adjusting, but her hearing was unaffected. She listened carefully, hearing the creature collapse and crawl around her; its steps clopped in the mud. Another flash of light to her left! It was flanking her. She heard a hollow, high-pitched chanting each time the creature opened its mouth. The chant emitted a pulse, which she could feel against her exposed skin. She felt weak again and realized the pulse served another purpose. That’s how the creature tracked its prey: with sound. Why didn’t it immediately take her? Was it playing with its food? Perhaps it sensed the magic that lived in her dress?
She could hear the bones rattle around the path, and then up a tree. She threw the lantern’s handle aside. Another flash! Just above her. She tried to protect her eyes, but it was no use. The creature was nearly upon her when it revealed its position. It dropped from the branches, landing on her, trapping her on the path. With four arms, it grabbed her wrists and pinned her down in the mud, straddling her. It slammed her hand down, disarming her. The freshly blood-soaked skull jiggled back and forth, as if laughing. The orb flashed her with each chuckle. The fluids in the organs swished around. She noticed the orb was hanging in some kind of net. With its two free arms, the minion reached behind and revealed two cleavers. It raised them up, opening its mouth again, flashing the orb.
It struck her right shoulder and a flash of rose colored light warbled around her body! She cried out, feeling her collar bone absorb some of the shock. She knew the magical shield had taken most of the impact, but it still hurt. The creature looked at the cleaver. The blade was curved inline with the shape of her shoulder. In the moment of its confusion, she ripped her right arm free.
From the ground, arches of green energy, speckled with red, pillowed under her body. She felt a surge of adrenaline and with all of her strength, she pushed up, jamming her hips into its pelvis. The minion jerked forward, releasing her left wrist to catch itself, burying the second cleaver into the tree root past her skull. She scooted towards the legs, reached into the exposed rib cage and tore the sack of organs open, spilling its guts. She closed her mouth and eyes as the fluids splashed over her face. The creature reeled up, grasping at its chest, quickly losing its life. She jammed her knee into its spine, bouncing it forward. As the netted orb flew out of its mouth, the minion clamped its jaw, severing its lifeline. The orb plopped in the mud and the skeleton fell on her, totally lifeless.
“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay, just…” She struggled to find a good place to handle the skeleton.
She threw the bones off and sat up. Now she was muddy, wet and smelled like a corpse. Was this creature stalking her from the beginning? She carefully lifted her right shoulder, wincing at the webbing ache. Her collarbone would be bruised, but it didn’t feel broken. She lifted her cloak to check her dress. It had not been pierced. She glanced over her shoulder, peeking at the rays of blue light emitting from the muddy orb. Curious, she reached for it and wiped it down. It was extremely bright and would easily replace the lantern she’d just lost.
Odd, she thought. The orb is heavier than one would imagine. She took a closer at it. The orb itself seemed to be hollow and whatever was emitting the blue light swirled around. It was some sort of gas. Slowly, its color shifted from a ghostly blue to an earthy light green.
Gas, she thought, or a spirit. She twisted and stood up, leaving a small bed of fresh grass and spring flowers in the otherwise muddy path. She held the orb over the skeleton, trying to understand the monstrosity that just attacked her.
“Definitely necromancy,” she said. The six arms were loosely attached to the spine. The organs, when intact, looked like they were held together with stringy veins, hanging from metal nails that had been hammered into the ribcage. Outside of that, and it’s newly acquired cannibal bits, it was a mostly normal looking skeleton. She lifted one of the arms. It didn’t take much to yank it off the body, ripping apart the weak, decomposing ligaments. She eyed the orb.
“Its strength came from you then,” she said. Either way, the woods seemed a little calmer now. Even the toxic rain was letting up, but still drizzled. Looking down at the skeleton, she figured it’d be best to drag it to the side of the path. She rested it against a tree, dropping its head back against the bark. That’s when she saw a strange marking etched into the skull’s forehead. She didn’t see it earlier because of the orb’s blinding light, but it was clear now. It was two broken triangles and a rune she couldn’t quite place.
She remembered the tattoo in the old man’s palm. “That sneaky bastard,” she said, hands on her waist. She reached down and twisted the skull off the body. Looking back down the path, she wondered if the old man was hiding in the shadows. She wondered if he could see her through the hollowed sockets. She looked at the skull. This was scarier than a giant spider.
“Sneaky, indeed,” she said, “and dead the next time I see him.” She shoved the skull into her bag. Holding the orb ahead of her, the path was illuminated. She allowed the orb to sit in her palm. It seemed to roll forward, resting against the base of her fingers. Was it acting like a compass? She bent over, swiping her dagger out of the mud. She sheathed it and continued into the woods.