Knights of Anathaeum Mushroom Mushroom

[Arkobold]

Last time he had gone out to forage, Arkobold the VI didn't have the best time.

Well, no. No. Not true. He thought as his long knife turned over a clump of forest stuffs, stuck together by lichen and webs and other sticky filth. Nothing there... but maybe the webs and the lichen were good for something? He popped open one of his side pouches, and greedily stuffed the random stuffs in before he clicked the pouch up and slipped his knife away with a swift snikt.

He had found the mushy mushrooms last time he went out, he remembered as he rushed about the forest floor, head low to the ground, little hands clutched to his chest as he waddled quick across an open space. That is true, yes, mushrooms were found, and so were other horrible things. But! He reminded himself as he lifted a downed branch with some effort, breath sputtering out of pressed and scaly lips. Fun was always had when a good mush was found. Just ask Syr Ars, he was the funniest little mush that Ark had ever met. But, he was a different sort of fungus. A talking sort. Not good for eating. Well... no, no. It was best not to think about that.

"Ah..." he sounded excitedly as he spotted a glowing white shroom. It looked like a cabbage. The mush. Sept it almost sparkled as it gave off its soft light. "Moon cabbage shrumps," he remembered from some lesson he'd taken in the burrow. He dug deep into his tiny well of strength, and he huffed as he lifted the big branch up and off the mushroom. It thud not a half foot away, and he sighed with relief. "Valuable, and tasty, this shrump. I know!" His eyes squint happily, and he waddled over to it with measured steps.

Out came his knife, and he collected the prized mushroom.

Syr Ars was the sort of mush you met. Not the sort you find. And certainly not the sort you eat. Those were the sort that grow under roots and logs and hide in the wet and the damp. The sort that don't talk!

Arko shook his head, and stashed his prize away, and sheathed his tool in turn before he went on waddling through the forest, eyes on a swivel as he looked for more mushrooms.

Now he could not help but wonder where Syr Ars had grown. Was it under a log, just like any other shrum?

Those were the sorts he was out on the hunt for. The sorts that did not talk and were most certainly good for eating. Word around the Knoll was that Syr Jinhae, rude and scary man that he was, had wasted one of Syr Orsolya's prized shrooms. And, well, if he were ever asked, not that anyone ever would, Sry Orsolya was probably the best mushroom hunter in all the Vale.

He just hoped his uncle would never hear him say that.

Did Meepo hunt mushrooms?

No matter, maybe-

Smack!

The little Kobold yelped and fell back onto the floor. Eyes shut in pain, he rubbed his snout. He looked up, and saw... a strange mirror. Out in he middle of the forest. How it twinkled and glittered and seemed to simply exist. Its frame gilded and twisted and breathtakingly beautiful.

Arko let out a scratch of a sound from his throat, and backed away from the stray artifact, found the nearest brush he could dive into. Safe, or at least safer in his mind as his tiny heart pounded, Arko stared wide eyed at the enchanting thing that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Yet... felt as if it had always been there all the same.

Orsolya Embermoss

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

Orsolya left her shoes in a clearing of the forest, feeling the early morning dew between her toes. The sky was a deep blue-purple as the sun began to rise upon the Vale. In the distance a bird sang its song of waking as a cool breeze wove between the trees to meet the witch’s skin. These hours were beautiful, they were cherished. She stooped to find a mushroom at the wet bark of an ancient oak. The little thing, new to this world, she greeted it and listened to its words.

“There was, and he passed by just now?” She whispered. “I wonder what that little scamp is up to,” she smiled at the fungus. It was not long before she found the scaly one mucking about the undergrowth. She stepped silently toward him, for she knew no other way.

“And has my favorite hunt-apprentice found something bountiful this morning?” She spoke softly, regarding the Kobold before seeing the mirror a dash and a jump away from the brush the little creature had hidden in. “It would appear you have.”

She stepped slowly toward the mirror, fingers tracing the gilded frame. She did not recognize its making. “You are just left here, in the forest,” she spoke to the mirror. It did not speak back. Orsolya turned to face it and found her reflection was not there. A thankful thing, there were worse that mirrors could show her. No, the image had forgotten her entirely and found only the trees, the brush, and her Kobold friend.

“Hm,” she thumbed her chin thoughtfully.

“It would appear this was left here for you.”

 

[Arkobold]

"Rahr!" came the scratch wheeze shriek that scraped out of Arko's throat as the voice came calling from behind him. His whole smal lbody whipped about, small cltuches tearing away branch and leaf as if the mangled foliage would do some work against the Matron of Mushrooms. Another sound wheezed out of Arko as his voice eeked out. "No, no, I mean, yes. I found mush-" but her eyes trailed up and found the thing from which he hid.

She seemed to glide toward it, her figure almost ethereal as it passed the smaller knight over and moved toward the mirror.

Another yowl, low and full of dread, rasped out of Arko's maw as he waddled hurridly behind her, a twig with leaves still in one hand, "No, no, don't touch!" he warned. But she touched not. Smart as she was.

It would appear this was left here for you.

Arko blinked at the comment. "For me?" his scratchy voice asked. he wadled two steps forward, wide eyed as he looked into the pool of reflected light. All the forest there in that portal, himself too. But there was no Orsolya. "How..." he asked as he approached, and as he grew closer, his small hand with the shrubbery twig rose up, and in went a single leaf that clung to that same piece of bark and still-green-fiber.

The mirror bent and rippled and its surface broke. Much like water.

Ark yelped and twist back, as if an animal burned, whole scaly frame curved back and away as his head dipped low to the gound and he readied to run. His whole small frame a tremble.

"It, It eat the stick!" Still shaking, he took in a breath and looked down at the twig he still clutched in its hand. The single leaf was still there.

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

How, the little one asked.

Orsolya tilted her head, regarding the glass that left her without a reflection. “I do not know.” She watched the kobold shiver, curious, perhaps a bit frightened. “Or why.” She squinted, not with her eyes but with her mind, drawing from that Fae place on the other side. Her thoughts became a haze, not as though she was forbidden, it was more as though she was reading a language of words she had heard very few.

“Mush-knight,” she asked, a small smile at his reflection, “are you curious what is on the other side?” Ominous it may be, there was beauty in the Fae realm, and this mirror called to him alone, he would need be the one to answer.

But Orsolya could not help but question if it was her own curiosity that egged him on. She reached out to touch the mirror’s frame again. “There may be mush the world has never seen.” She whispered. And in words unsaid, words she would never say for she saw the fear in the little one’s shivers, you must go, a lifetime is but a moment to the Fae, if you refuse it will follow you. Forever.

 

[Arkobold]

Toothy mouth ajar, Arko whined a raspy whimper of a sound. "Mush, not seen by this world?" the little one asked. What kind of shroom could that be, the tiny kobold could not help but wonder.

Would it make you grow three sizes too tall? Or maybe it would make you smaller, until a step would make you fall.

Another whine, as Arko took a shaky step back, bottom jaw quivering as he looked into the pool of reflection that was the mirror's edge. Had it always felt so cool? So inviting? It was beautiful really. Extra smooth and shiny.

Maybe it was broken though. It didn't show Syr Orsolya, afte rall. And any mirror that didn't show her couldn't be very good at being a mirror, now could it? He started to turn away. Started to assure himself that the decision he was making, was the only choice that could be made. Why would he, a valiant prospect of the Knights of Anatheaum, go into a broken mirror?

His eyes were still fixed on it. Not quite willing enough to be pulled away. Not completely. Like a mush once seen, the mirror stayed in the periphery of the eye. Lurked there, until the eye saw it full.

Arko gave out a loud screech, and threw up his hands before he scrabble ran into the mirror's gate.

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

"W-wait!" her voice cried hoarsely, louder than any would have heard her call out before, perhaps louder than she had heard her own voice.

But the little scaly knight ran headlong into the mirror. He was very brave indeed.

She scrambled, digging through her satchel. Rummaging through books, an inkwell and pens, a collection of earthy mushrooms, finally, she found it! She shoved the pocket mirror forward into the reflection, her fingers jamming against the glass as she grit her teeth in pain.

"Take it little one, so that I can be with you even though I cannot." She said as though her words would be heard, as though she was not alone now in the forest.

----

A tiny mirror would appear on the other side of the reflection that showed the world the Kobold knew. It fell to the dirt.

Where Ark would stand would be a clearing surrounded in a field of brightly colored trees, and mush. Thin mush, broad mush, mush that reached higher than the trees themselves. The tallest of them seemed to almost breathe as their fins and fans expanded and contracted. Ark would smell it first, and see it next, a cook-fire in the distance.

 

[Arkobold]

Like all good cowards, Arko had closed his eyes just before he passed through, or smashed into, the mirror's gate. With a water-like bloop, the tiny and scaled squire emerged on the other side of the reflective plane. Though he had no way of knowing it as he screeched and ran forward. His head so full of his heart's fear, he could not hear the strangeness of this new place, nor see it.

The little squire slammed into the broad base of a mush, and bounced right off as if he had been bounced off by a big belly. It sent him to the ground, and there was a puff of dust that squirt out from all around him. He groaned, raspy little sounds, and blinked away the pain from having smacked against the earth.

What he saw through pain squinted eyes was a cloud of effervescent pink and purple and blue that swirl-mixed as it changed colors. His eyes popped open, wide as he scrabble-scratched his hands under him to sit up as the strange powder moved and shifted in color. It was much like the wings of a butterfly, or the feathers of a bird. Almost oily.

Iridescent?

From the mirror door, another, smaller mirror appeared. "Syr Orso!" Ark chirped, and popped up to his feet as the little mirror slowly pushed its way through.

It popped through the surface of the mirror. Hang in the air for but a moment, as if the object were still making sense of the new space it found itself in. And it fell.

Arkobold dove to catch it. His little clutches clicked against its glassy surface, and he brought it close to his chest as his lower lip quivered, and his eyes stared huge down at the little object. "Maybe, Maybe I best leave this place, hmm?" he asked the little mirror. But then he looked around and saw all the mush.

How they bounced and danced and breathed.

His jaw hung open as his head flicked, panicked like, and his eyes took in all the strangeness. Then he smelled it.

"Someone... cooks?" he asked, and got up to his feet. He huffed a hot breath through his nose. "I am a squire!" he reminded himself. And as he shook in his foraging garb, he looked back at the mirror door. "Best... investigate, yes... like Squire Innis might? Or Squire Vos." he reminded himself as he took small steps forward, and turned his eyes toward the direction the fire's smell came from.

All the while he hung his head low, and moved with a little creature's stealth. Weary-eyed of all the strangeness of the mush and the shrooms. Their spores can be bad. he remembered, and made sure to avoid any shower of glowy dust and curtains of glittering gold.

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

Syr Arkobold would deftly dodge the spore plumes as he made his way to the cookfire, finding the scent growing stronger and stronger as he walked closer. It was not much of a clearing but it was a clearing enough. Syr Arkobold would be greeted by a small home cobbled together, nails sticking out in every which direction as though its creator had never before used a hammer, or perhaps more likely did not even have a hammer.

Before it was a bubbling pot of something, whatever that delicious scent could be. And tending it was a creature nearly as small as Arkobold himself, with long green pointy ears and a patchwork robe and a wide mushroom hat. The goblin noticed the kobold approach, and jumped, quickly covering its right eye with clawed fingers.

“Who, who goes?” It settled onto the kobold’s form, craning its neck and squinting, the mushroom hat tilting as he looked on. “You are a lizard.” It said, half in question, half in a huffing sigh. The goblin lowered his hand, tilting his head curiously. “I have never met one like you, why are you here?” Since it would seem the creature meant no harm the goblin continued stirring the cooking pot. But he kept both eyes on the lizard, awaiting his reply.

 

[Arkobold]

A screechy howl scratched out of the back of Arkobold's throat, only just audible to most ears. A sound of anxiety. "Lizard?" the squire asked, eyes wide with fear and caution. His head jerked left, then right, as his pupils darted to and fro, his mouth ajar, ever so as he whimpered. "I see no lizardy lizard,"

Stillness found the little kobold, and he blinked his eyes, as if to process a realization. He looked to the goblin behind his pot and wearing his hat.

"You mean I?" Little jaw chattered with little quivers. "I am kobold, not Lizard," came his retort, his voice like the last bit of air rushing out of a billows pump. "Ar-" he recalled a lesson of the Dusk. Of those things that hid in strange places between places. Names. They were not things a knight should give when away from the familiar. "Artimis," he sniffed the air. Felt his hunger. "What you cook, mush hat friend?"

Orsolya Embermoss

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

“A kobold then,” the goblin nodded without further inquiry, at least at first. If this creature would be known as a kobold then it was a kobold. “Where are my manners,” he shuffled over to a small table and grabbed a bowl. “It is a mushroom stew with beef. Over noodles made from a village very far away.” He laughed at that and gave a confident nod, “Far away for most at least. I know that you have mushrooms, I can smell them on you, but do you have beef where you are from?” He took a wooden ladle and scooped some into the bowl.

Tiny green feet padded their way over to the equally sized ‘kobold,’ offering the bowl over. “Try it.” As he got closer his beady eyes beneath his mushroom hat closed and opened slowly, longingly, his hands outstretched holding the bowl and even for a few seconds after, as though he was lost in a memory. His long bump-mark nose sniffed the air for a moment, and he smiled as though he had just made a certain revelation.

“Choose whichever stump you like, my new friend. My name is Jermeauleseph Pentadaxyliss the Fourth. You may call me Jerm.” He turned and with a sigh began scooping his own bowl.

The air grew cooler now as the sun faded, leaving them with little but the glow of their fire as late evening shadows spread from the giant mushrooms like blue-black ink. Jerm rubbed his tummy and took another bite of mush and beef. “Are you far from home? I have never met a kobold in my time, and my time has been many upon many years. Not that such a thing matters in a place like this.” He chuckled to himself.

 

[Arkobold]

A scratchy croak wheezed out of the kobold's throat. "Beef?" he asked, and stepped closer to the goblin, long tail wagging behind to keep his balance as he plodded forward. "We have beef, yes," he replied with short bobs of the head. His small but sharp teeth shined with the gold and red and orange shimmer of the cookfire.

He blinked at the food offered, and took it into his small red clutches, and looked down at the bowl. At the soup of mushroom and beef. His throat eeked out a scared little wheeze.

Beware the shroom of distant lands, beware the beef of far away places.

He gave back the bowl and shook his head in the negative. "Not hungry, but you have my thanks!" he almost yelped, and waddled after Germ who sat upon the shroom stools. Upon inspection, the stools looked normal enough. He plopped onto the stool as the light that filtered through the trees shifted to cool azure and muted periwinkle.

"I..." he blinked as he clasped his little hands together and twiddled clawed thumb. "I am far from home, yes," he admitted. No old wisdom speaking to him against such an act. "Y-you... Are from here, yes?"

Orsolya Embermoss

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

“You should at least try the noodles,” the goblin’s black eyes flickered with the flames. “But if you do not wish to,” he jumped from stubby legs to the grass and waddled over, giving him one last moment to change his mind before reaching for the bowl with a laugh. “More for me!”

Jerm returned to his stump and shuffled back upon it. “I am from here, yes. Well, not here as in this cabin,” he jabbed a pointy thumb behind him. “I lived in a grand palace once, t-that way,” he waved the same thumb into the darkness before deciding on the direction. “Do yourself a favor and see that you never visit. Most things so grandiose are built upon corruption and lies and pain. This was no different.” Had his voice changed then? Become sullen?

The mood was punctuated by the sound of a beast howling in the distance, a low and small rumble that grew into howl that screeched through trees and shroom. Jerm did not seem worried, deciding it was far enough off, but he did pull the stick he had been stirring with earlier, as tall as he and as thick as a wrist, close to his chest.

“In fact I would recommend you not visit anywhere in the dark. As we’ve the time, what brings you so far from home, to a place like this?” The glint in his eyes betrayed that he knew that ‘far’ was most likely a matter of more than distance.

 

[Arkobold]

Arko stared wide eyed at the funny man who was small, if only because Arko too was small. And Germ was no bigger than he. Least, not by much.

Still. He certainly was funny. Funny eyed. Like he knew a good joke. Laughed giddy too. Arko looked down at the soup. Frowned as his brow scrunched down. Mourning the loss of foods that tasted so good to his nose.

Yes. He remembered the words. To never trust those shrooms and beefs when far from home. And... well, how much farther could he be than going through a mirror. Arko blinked as he stared down at the broth. How it glistened. How the oils and fats pooled atop a murky broth so seasoned and full of juicy beefs and plump shrumps.

A weak little sound leaked out of his mouth which hung ajar.

More for him. More for Jerm. Jerm would not poison himself, would he?

Antidote! Remember! Antidotes and resistances.

His wide eyes looked up at Jerm. Looked back down at the food. So yummy and good of smells. He ate it, and went on listening to the little goblin as he spoke. The sound of hungry slurps and gnashing teeth filled the air. Arko stopped his ravenous consumption when the howl came. His snoot flicked toward the direction of the sound as his eyes looked every which place a creature could hide.

Which was everywhere.

He was glad that Jerm didn't look too scared. They little people had to stick together. "What... what was that?" Arko wheezed. A question came, and a low rumble came in the kobold's throat. "Y-yes, I am far," he whined. "From beyond!" he anxiously shout.

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

“I am glad you enjoy it. They taste as though from another world, yes?” He squinted, the corners of his lips turning upward as he slurped another bite from his own bowl.

He took another slurp before looking up to the Kobold. “It is no matter, they are far yet, but if you care to know, they are Ashard’s hunting hounds. A sorcerer enslaved by the Queen of the palace I spoke of before. You will know them by their glowing three eyes and the mushrooms and long grass that grows along their back. And you would do well to never see them in their despoiled flesh.” He nodded.

The goblin shifted, thinking about simpler things. ‘From beyond,’ he spoke himself to be, and the goblin nodded with sage-like grace.

“I know.”

His long nose swelled and his nostrils flared.

“I smell her scent upon you.” But it was not scent, not entirely, it was her presence, the soul of the magic she bore like a burning flare in his senses.

He closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and he thought for a time. “I taught her everything she knows, you know? And I taught her everything that she does not yet know.”

The howl grew closer, and the goblin stamped his stick upon the ground, his eyes still closed.

“It would seem we may both yet meet the beast.”

Jerm did not rise from his stool.

 

[Arkobold]

Ahsard. Hunting hounds. How wicked it sounded. How awful. Arko thought, his mouth hung agape as he looked on, eyes wide as eggs with fear. "Long grass, three eyes," he wheezy-scratched out.

Arko tried to eat another spoonful of soup, but started with a jolt through the spine upon hearing the Germ man's words. Arkobold dare not speak, his eyes an egg-and-a-half as wide as he watched the wizened goblin speak of teaching her. Orsolya? Arko's mind asked.

Another howl broke through the night. Louder. Fiercer. Hunting hounds! He thought with a pang of fear. And so great was his fear that he put the bowl to his lips and spilled back the contents of the mushroom stew with beef. Quick scrabbly motions of his spoon shoveling down the contents into his gullet.

It didn't serve to be hungry if you were in a fight, or run, for your life. Plus, puking up the food could make for a useful distraction, Arko had found.

When finished, he held his bowl like one might a buckler, and his spoon like a club, but only after he hid behind Germ's toadstool stool.

Orsolya Embermoss