Lost in the Evening Mist
12th of Glade
12th of Glade
Deep within the deep gloom of the ancient forest of the wildking, a group of travelers were settling down for the late afternoon. The sun would be setting soon and in the depths of the old growth of the forest the understory twilight had already arrived. Already the winter chill that had been momentarily been banished by the spring's sunny visage was starting to creep back into the forest. The party of scientists and their pair of attending guards had once more returned to the camp site they had picked out and quickly brought the banked coals of their morning meal's fire into a cheery fire, however dampened it might have been by the cool and damp of the ancient forest. Wood smoke permeated the air as dead wood was consumed. For whatever reason Huong Ming, their expedition's leader had forbidden their group to take blade to any of the nearby trees which brought titters of discontent to the more gossip minded. Superstition among scientists seemed... unseemly to these unhappy few despite the permeation of magic throughout the world. Hui Ming on the other hand merely shrugged and nodded. He could not say he minded the extra work to round up dead wood for their camp. His mind was on the events towards the beginning of their journey into the Wildkin's forge, and... there was a respect for the trees he hadn't had before.
The young alchemist peered up to the slowly darkening canopy as he prowled ever further from the heat and warmth of their fire. Light filtered down in strange ways, incandescing the air at times and swirling as motes of dust and pollen danced in great eddies and whirls. He turned his eyes down and spotted a likely branch. The leaf litter rustled and the far end of the forked stick had bits of mulch and soil stuck to it. He struck it against the floor of the forest to shake it loose before tucking the lichen covered object under and arm and moved on, his eyes drifting back up to the shifting rays of the setting sun.
The longer they stayed in this one place, the further afield they had to go get dead wood for the fire. Already Hui was out of sight from their little camp, though he could still see bits of the road through the tree. So far their little expedition had borne fruits, but not as much as his mother would have liked. They had gathered interesting new strains of plants. Strange ferns with a sinister black coloration with red highlights, a creeping vine that boasted cactus like spines instead of leaves, there was a bush that looked like nothing more then a simple boxwood, but which grew in perfectly cylindrical structures. All bontanicals that had never been witnessed before and were undoubtable mutated from a wave of dread mists. In a way Houng Ming's theory was likely to be correct. Or these species were natural and simply unseen and uncatalogued until now. Truthfully, Hui Ming suspected the former. They had their specimens carefully packed away and would hopefully have growing samples and ready to study. After all, if the dread mists could change plants, perhaps that chaos could be... directed and controlled. Perhaps change could be wrought on plants to the benefit of his parent's patrons, whoever they were.
As distracted as Hui was from both his thoughts and the canopy above it was perhaps of no surprise that he lost track of himself a bit. Which was unlikely to have been a problem if something unnerving wasn't rising from the cool ground. It started in the depressions and the lowest of lying ground, that mist. Easily unnoticed, the cooling air condensing the evaporating water of the understory around dust and pollen. It was gradual, of course, but steadily rising around the young man's ankles and then up his thighs. It was simple, normal mist. But from a society that feared the magic of the dread mists and the remnants of the Sundering far more then any natural and supernatural phenomena. The mundane mist that was forming was enough to make a grown man shake in his boots. Monsters were made in the dread mists. In the dread mists changes were wrought.
By the time Hui Ming realized what was happening, it was already too late. He looked down to grab the next piece of dead wood and his stomach dropped. Mist had engulfed him up to the waist. He stumbled backwards and fearfully looked about. Mist swirled about at the sudden movement and continued rising. He didn't know where he was, or how far away from the camp or road he was. He turned about, panicked, looking for familiar landmarks, but the more he moved, the less he was sure about what direction he was even facing. He forced himself to still. This couldn't be the dread mists. This was just... normal mists. The fact they hadn't seen any so far on their trip into the forest, doesn't matter. He was lost.. but not far from the camp. He just needed to... pick a direction and go. If he did not find the road or the camp in 300 paces, he would... come back to this spot. He pulled one of the sticks from his bundle and bent down in the soupy fog that at that point was already up to his chest and scrapped an X into the dirt after he cleared the leaf litter. Already he had a sinking feeling, there was no way he would be able to come back here if the mist was this thick. But he had no idea what else to do.
He hoped to the celestial heavens above that he was not about to be changed into some abomination by this mist.
With that same stick lightly pressed to the ground as he walked, he picked a direction and carefully set forth. He really missed his companion at this point. His thudding heart echoed in his ears, by now the mist thickly obscuring all things into indistinct shapes of quickly darkening shadow and shapes. Some the light in the canopy trickled down which only illuminated a field of harshly lit fog, making further identification of the obstacles in his path. At 100 paces he was optimistic, each muted crunch of leaves was roughly in a straight line. He carefully made note of trees blocking his path and going around them, attempting to do only 180 degree arcs around the trees and carefully moving forward. There was no movement, little sound as the evening buzz of insects settled down and small animals bedded down. Even the incidental sounds of him moving around was muted and echoed in the forest strangely. At 200 paces his heart was starting to sink, nothing looked familiar, nothing looked like it even remotely lead to the traveled paths of the roads. It did not even occur to him to start yelling until he was at pace 250. He grumbled at his own stupidity and shouted, #"Hey! Is anyone there!" He listened for a moment before his heart sank further. No response.
"HEEEELP!" He yelled into the pale void he was stumbling through. Darkness was falling, the light was leaving him. This was... not good. He would need to... head back. Yes, if he wasn't going to find the road or camp, then his best bet would be to go back to where he started and wait out the night, at least until the mist was lifted. Travelling through the darkness through ancient growth would that was largely untouched by man was not good. He could be lost for days, better to stay where he was for a night and find the road when visibility returned. With that plan in mind he focused on retracing his steps. He began counting out paces. Hui really hoped that the trees in his path where the same trees he detoured around. The mist was too thick to even see his feet, so naturally roots would catch his boots. He grumbled after the 4th time and realized he had lost track of his numbers. Oh no. What was he on? 170? or 190? Surely he could just use the lower number and at 270 he could bend down and check every couple steps for his marker. But the nagging doubt that he was going to far or not far enough plagued him. Every 20 steps he would call out to the mist for help, hoping to hear from someone. Each time, he got only the ever darkening mist.
He was at about what he hoped 250 when he heard something rustling in the vegetation. He froze, a survival instinct he did not know he even had kept him from making a noise as his veins turned icy with fear. He... didn't even have a belt knife. He couldn't protect himself from a predator. Why hadn't he thought of that before! The rustling came again, closer, and Hui, his plans far from his mind, began to back up. Something large was coming closer, the sounds were... strange. But he did not know if it was the mist or whatever was coming towards him. His back hit the bark of a large tree and made an abnormally loud scrape in the near silence. The sounds of rustling increased, coming closer and yet more closer.
Hui hefted the only thing he had available, the firewood he had been gathering, the rest of his tiny pile dropped to the ground. Fear gripped his heart as whatever monster's shape loomed in the mist, he pulled back his arm, readying an attack, but unsure whether he should defend himself solely, or do a preemptive, but purely defensive attack.
His indecision cost him.
The young alchemist peered up to the slowly darkening canopy as he prowled ever further from the heat and warmth of their fire. Light filtered down in strange ways, incandescing the air at times and swirling as motes of dust and pollen danced in great eddies and whirls. He turned his eyes down and spotted a likely branch. The leaf litter rustled and the far end of the forked stick had bits of mulch and soil stuck to it. He struck it against the floor of the forest to shake it loose before tucking the lichen covered object under and arm and moved on, his eyes drifting back up to the shifting rays of the setting sun.
The longer they stayed in this one place, the further afield they had to go get dead wood for the fire. Already Hui was out of sight from their little camp, though he could still see bits of the road through the tree. So far their little expedition had borne fruits, but not as much as his mother would have liked. They had gathered interesting new strains of plants. Strange ferns with a sinister black coloration with red highlights, a creeping vine that boasted cactus like spines instead of leaves, there was a bush that looked like nothing more then a simple boxwood, but which grew in perfectly cylindrical structures. All bontanicals that had never been witnessed before and were undoubtable mutated from a wave of dread mists. In a way Houng Ming's theory was likely to be correct. Or these species were natural and simply unseen and uncatalogued until now. Truthfully, Hui Ming suspected the former. They had their specimens carefully packed away and would hopefully have growing samples and ready to study. After all, if the dread mists could change plants, perhaps that chaos could be... directed and controlled. Perhaps change could be wrought on plants to the benefit of his parent's patrons, whoever they were.
As distracted as Hui was from both his thoughts and the canopy above it was perhaps of no surprise that he lost track of himself a bit. Which was unlikely to have been a problem if something unnerving wasn't rising from the cool ground. It started in the depressions and the lowest of lying ground, that mist. Easily unnoticed, the cooling air condensing the evaporating water of the understory around dust and pollen. It was gradual, of course, but steadily rising around the young man's ankles and then up his thighs. It was simple, normal mist. But from a society that feared the magic of the dread mists and the remnants of the Sundering far more then any natural and supernatural phenomena. The mundane mist that was forming was enough to make a grown man shake in his boots. Monsters were made in the dread mists. In the dread mists changes were wrought.
By the time Hui Ming realized what was happening, it was already too late. He looked down to grab the next piece of dead wood and his stomach dropped. Mist had engulfed him up to the waist. He stumbled backwards and fearfully looked about. Mist swirled about at the sudden movement and continued rising. He didn't know where he was, or how far away from the camp or road he was. He turned about, panicked, looking for familiar landmarks, but the more he moved, the less he was sure about what direction he was even facing. He forced himself to still. This couldn't be the dread mists. This was just... normal mists. The fact they hadn't seen any so far on their trip into the forest, doesn't matter. He was lost.. but not far from the camp. He just needed to... pick a direction and go. If he did not find the road or the camp in 300 paces, he would... come back to this spot. He pulled one of the sticks from his bundle and bent down in the soupy fog that at that point was already up to his chest and scrapped an X into the dirt after he cleared the leaf litter. Already he had a sinking feeling, there was no way he would be able to come back here if the mist was this thick. But he had no idea what else to do.
He hoped to the celestial heavens above that he was not about to be changed into some abomination by this mist.
With that same stick lightly pressed to the ground as he walked, he picked a direction and carefully set forth. He really missed his companion at this point. His thudding heart echoed in his ears, by now the mist thickly obscuring all things into indistinct shapes of quickly darkening shadow and shapes. Some the light in the canopy trickled down which only illuminated a field of harshly lit fog, making further identification of the obstacles in his path. At 100 paces he was optimistic, each muted crunch of leaves was roughly in a straight line. He carefully made note of trees blocking his path and going around them, attempting to do only 180 degree arcs around the trees and carefully moving forward. There was no movement, little sound as the evening buzz of insects settled down and small animals bedded down. Even the incidental sounds of him moving around was muted and echoed in the forest strangely. At 200 paces his heart was starting to sink, nothing looked familiar, nothing looked like it even remotely lead to the traveled paths of the roads. It did not even occur to him to start yelling until he was at pace 250. He grumbled at his own stupidity and shouted, #"Hey! Is anyone there!" He listened for a moment before his heart sank further. No response.
"HEEEELP!" He yelled into the pale void he was stumbling through. Darkness was falling, the light was leaving him. This was... not good. He would need to... head back. Yes, if he wasn't going to find the road or camp, then his best bet would be to go back to where he started and wait out the night, at least until the mist was lifted. Travelling through the darkness through ancient growth would that was largely untouched by man was not good. He could be lost for days, better to stay where he was for a night and find the road when visibility returned. With that plan in mind he focused on retracing his steps. He began counting out paces. Hui really hoped that the trees in his path where the same trees he detoured around. The mist was too thick to even see his feet, so naturally roots would catch his boots. He grumbled after the 4th time and realized he had lost track of his numbers. Oh no. What was he on? 170? or 190? Surely he could just use the lower number and at 270 he could bend down and check every couple steps for his marker. But the nagging doubt that he was going to far or not far enough plagued him. Every 20 steps he would call out to the mist for help, hoping to hear from someone. Each time, he got only the ever darkening mist.
He was at about what he hoped 250 when he heard something rustling in the vegetation. He froze, a survival instinct he did not know he even had kept him from making a noise as his veins turned icy with fear. He... didn't even have a belt knife. He couldn't protect himself from a predator. Why hadn't he thought of that before! The rustling came again, closer, and Hui, his plans far from his mind, began to back up. Something large was coming closer, the sounds were... strange. But he did not know if it was the mist or whatever was coming towards him. His back hit the bark of a large tree and made an abnormally loud scrape in the near silence. The sounds of rustling increased, coming closer and yet more closer.
Hui hefted the only thing he had available, the firewood he had been gathering, the rest of his tiny pile dropped to the ground. Fear gripped his heart as whatever monster's shape loomed in the mist, he pulled back his arm, readying an attack, but unsure whether he should defend himself solely, or do a preemptive, but purely defensive attack.
His indecision cost him.
