"So, Oak. Geezer can talk," Yakubu said, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yep."

"YEP."

Yakubu glanced at the hellhound sitting at Oak's feet. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Anything else either of you wish to add?" he asked.

"No."

"NO."

"Fair enough." Yakubu shook his head and snorted. "Fair enough. I will go and help Sadia. You and the elf can do your thing. Come get us when you are ready to move."

Oak nodded at the Koromite warrior, who nodded back and stalked away, spear and shield at the ready.

Since shielding the entire caravan from the Demon's influence was impossible, Tochukwu had proposed a compromise; a single large protective circle between the town of Al-Badra and the caravan's encampment. He could set up watch there with a few reliable fellows who knew how to use a bow, and hopefully shield the caravan from any harm the Demon might send their way.

Sadia figured it was worth a try, and if she thought it was doable, it probably was.

While Sadia, Yakubu and Tochukwu made plans for the caravan's protection, Oak and Ur-Namma went scouting. Neither theurgist wanted to rush into Al-Badra without taking a look through more esoteric means. Geezer stood watch over them as they dove into the Waking Dream and went hunting for answers.

You never knew what secrets you could find in the shallows of the Unreal Sea.

The splash of familiar cold welcomed Oak into the Dream. He stood in a dying jungle. On a massive sloping hillside, fragmented memories flowing down the incline around him and through the branches of his shadow. Ur-Namma splashed into view from under the currents of feeling and memory, the eyes of his muscular and sleek dreamform shining faintly with pale light. The elf's silver hair floated in the Dream like flower petals in the summer wind.

Strange. In the real world, there is no slope here. Just flat ground all the way to Al-Badra. Oak looked around, trying to ascertain the why and the how, but made no sense of it. I guess we will figure it out as we go.

"Are you ready?" Ur-Namma asked, the hem of his white robes dancing with the currents swirling in the shallows.

"Yes. Lead the way, knife-ear," Oak replied. "Your wards are stronger than mine."

Ur-Namma made his way down the slope, slipping past gigantic rotting trees and vines dripping with black ichor. Oak followed in the elf's wake, eyes peeled for trouble. Every shadow and strange sight fed his paranoia and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

It was utterly silent, and something was wrong.

Oak could feel the wrongness ever so faintly brushing against his wards. For lack of a better word, the Unreal Sea felt oily. Like a bath, after someone had emptied a bottle of whale oil into the tub. A smell that was not a smell teased Oak's nostrils, and he breathed deep. There was no question about it. The Demon's influence extended beyond the waking world.

"Do you feel it?" Oak whispered, gaze flipping from shadow to shadow.

"I do. Slithering over my wards like worms on a piece of carrion." Ur-Namma wiped a speck of imaginary dust off his shoulder, never slowing his stride. "Don't let it get to you."

Get to me? Oak scoffed at the notion. I will burn this servant of Rot and Decay to ash and send him back to Belphegor's clutches.

As they made their way down the slope and the vegetation withered, going from rotting bushes and shrubs to dead ones, the oily feeling grew worse. The cadavers of ferns towered over even Oak's formidable height, and trees with trunks like drowned corpses crawled with worms. They looked swollen in death, as if a single poke might burst the trees apart and release the sickness inside.

White worms on white bark. Oak shivered. What a horrid graveyard of dead plants and deader trees.

Ur-Namma stopped in his tracks and let out a gasp. Oak hastened his steps and caught up to the elf. In front of them was a cliff-edge. No, not a cliff-edge. A sinkhole. The sight stole the burning questions from Oak's mind, leaving only frightened awe in their place.

They did not stand on a hillside. They stood inside a funnel. A gargantuan funnel channeling everything in the surrounding area deep down to Al-Badra. To the bottom of the massive sinkhole, covered in a miasma of corruption and decay.

A steady flow of shattered memories went over the sinkhole's edge, creating a waterfall of thought-stuff that stretched around the pit in a circle, crashing down into the town hundreds of feet below them.

An overpowering stench of sulfur rose from the great pit in waves, annihilating Oak's sense of smell in the span of a heartbeat. "I don't know about you, Ur-Namma, but I ain't waltzing down there in my dreamform," he said. Quick as lightning, Oak brought forth Kaarina's Horror and the trauma weapon curved over his shoulder, ready to strike. "Hell no. Too risky by half."

Ur-Namma shook his head, a troubled look on his face. "No need to worry on my account. I have no intention of diving past the shallows today unless we have no other choice."

"Good. We need to minimize our presence in the Dream and retreat before something eats us."

"Agreed. Scouts?"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Scouts or no scouts, that is the question. If they sent scouts down into the Waking Dream's version of Al-Badra, they might glean important information about their adversary. Those same scouts might also warn the Demon or any other monsters lurking in Al-Badra of their coming.

Hesitation is death. "We send scouts."

"Very we–" Ur-Namma fell silent and crouched down, pointing at a spot on the opposite side of the sinkhole. A wounded poltergeist, which looked like a confused mixture of a buffalo and three human beings, stumbled into view from between the dead trees. It made no attempt to slow its stride and fell over the sinkhole's edge with nary a sound.

A giant tentacle covered in small hairs and dripping with black ichor rose from the miasma covering Al-Badra, and snatched the poltergeist from the air as if it was a child's toy. The owner of the tentacle dragged the struggling poltergeist down under the yellow clouds of corruption and out of view in complete silence.

Oak swallowed to clear the lump in his throat. "Right. What the fuck was that?"

"I do not know, but it was no Takla-ha-ma." Ur-Namma scratched his head in bafflement. "This close, we would have felt the presence of a leviathan."

"Right."

"Still want to send scouts?"

This day just keeps getting better. Oak sighed. "Yes. Let's send them and get the fuck out of here."

Ur-Namma released ten birds from inside his wards and sent them down into the sinkhole in pairs. Most of them were crows. Oak only had his raven. He sent the ghost down with a heavy heart. That bird had served him well for years, and the odds of it returning to him were not great.

Goodbye, little raven. May fortune grant speed to your wings.

***

Two men, a hellhound, an elf and a fifteen-year-old spellsinger walked into Al-Badra, weapons at the ready. Oak and Geezer took point as they sneaked down the left side of the town's main street, surrounded by houses in the process of sinking through their own foundations. Limestone whitewash, and a riot of different colors, peeled from the rotting wooden walls like tears flowing down a widow's cheeks.

From the corner of his right eye, Oak saw Sadia attach her shield-bracelet to her right wrist. It flashed with a faint blue light. She curled the fingers of her left hand and red sparks danced in her palm.

The girl was ready for action.

Yakubu walked by Sadia's side. He wore a mailshirt and had an open faced helm wrapped in silk on his head. A round shield on his left hand, a spear on his right, and a sword at his waist, the Koromite warrior strode unflinchingly into the Demon's lair.

On Oak's right and slightly behind him, walked Ur-Namma, his hood up and longsword in hand. The elf's face resembled a porcelain mask, and his eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts. You are one creepy fucker sometimes, Ur-Namma. By the looks of it, he had his war-face on.

Oak glanced back at the encampment, before the miasma hanging in the air could hide it from view. They had left Tochukwu inside a large protective circle with a tent, some supplies, and two bald warriors of his choosing: Onyeka and Baako Sakyi. Brother and sister in arms. The lithe and wiry Koromite siblings stood watch on the edge of the circle, bows in hand. By Oak's estimation, the pair knew what they were doing.

That was good, because if things went pear-shaped, they were the only thing standing between monsters and the helpless members of the caravan trapped by the Demon's blight.

They came upon the crumpled and decaying corpse of the young boy Oak had seen from the road when the caravan arrived on the edge of town. He didn't particularly want to, but he went to have a closer look. Geezer followed him like a second shadow, red eyes glinting in the darkness.

Sunset was at hand.

As I thought, maybe five summers old, at best. Filthy rags hid much of the frail body from view. Burst pustules bleeding with pus covered every inch of visible corpse-flesh, and deep, festering wounds decorated the lad's face and arms. Something vicious had ripped the boy apart and gutted him like a fish, decorating the mud with his entrails.

The foul smell of rotting intestines wafted from the corpse. Standing next to it felt like being near an open latrine on a hot summer day.

Oak grimaced and stepped away. Nothing anyone could do for the boy now. If there was any justice in the world, the boy would find his way into the halls of his ancestors, in whichever Hell or Heaven they resided.

Sadia threw a questioning look at him, but Oak just shook his head and waved everyone to follow. He managed ten steps before he lifted a hand and stopped in his tracks. A low, rhythmic groaning sounded from up ahead, at the edge of his hearing. Once more, the Ears of Amdusias proved their worth.

"Noises ahead. Watch your steps," Oak whispered and sneaked onwards, every hair on his arms standing on end. Something about that noise set his teeth on edge. The miasma grew thicker and visibility worsened by the moment. No amount of kind words could ever hope to provide the comfort he felt at the weight of his falchion, resting on the palms of his hands.

Good steel was to resolve what a cold beer was to an enjoyable evening. Not strictly necessary, but it sure helped.

The unsettling sounds came from a small ramshackle house, made of whatever pieces of shitty wood the builders had on hand, wedged between two similar hovels in an even deeper state of disrepair. The three buildings looked like they were held up by mold, spit, and desperate prayers. If the nails keeping the planks in place had more metal than rust left in them, Oak would eat his boots.

He wasn't sure what lived inside the walls, but it was a certainty that something did. Most likely multiple different somethings. Hells, there could be a turf war going on right now between cockroaches and rats inside those drooping walls, and it couldn't possibly make the place any less inviting than it already was.

With exaggerated care, Oak sneaked up to the door of the ramshackle house and pressed his ear to the door. The rest of his companions stared at him as he listened, the air growing thick with tension while they waited for his verdict.

Soundwaves bounced to him like stones skipping across a pond, and the Ears of Ashmedai painted a hazy picture inside Oak's mind. It made little sense to him. The inside of the home was bare, furnished only by a table, three chairs, and maybe some shelves on the rotting walls.

Instead of one voice, there were two, groaning and wailing in a mixture of sorrow, hurt, and sickening ecstasy. Both voices came from a bed, pushed in the far corner of the home. On that bed was a moving, writhing tangle of something.

Oak's boon could not give him a more accurate picture. Already regretting his actions, but seeing no other choice, he took a deep breath and pulled the door open. Before his courage could fail him, he poked his head through the door.

Broken children's toys, wet dust, and shattered pottery coated the floorboards. There were no decorations. Not even a single carpet. A lonely doll made of sticks and straw leaned against a table leg, staring back at him with its one remaining eye. On the doll's lap lay a toy-sword made of wood, snapped in half. Oak lifted his gaze. The sight of tangled limbs, greenish-black in color, sticking out from under a ratty, moving blanket froze him on the spot. Feet ravaged with gangrene twitched back and forth as the ruined souls under the frayed piece of cloth rutted away, spoiled flesh slapping against spoiled flesh.

Then the smell of feces, rotting blood, and other bodily fluids better left unmentioned slapped Oak in the face and he stumbled away from the door, swallowing down bile and holding onto his nose. Geezer caught a whiff of the odor emerging from the open doorway and dashed between Sadia's legs, ears so flat against his head it looked like he didn't have any.

Ashmedai, give me strength. I need to burn this entire den of filth to the ground.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.