Reynauld was sweating under his dented helm, the air in the wood stale and close. The quiet rung in his ears like they had been stuffed with cotton wads.
His companions seemed sobered beside him, and the air was thick, their boots making no sound on the overgrown path, the mushroom and moss covered trees dampening all sound.
Dismas cursed quietly, wiping his sweat covered brow with the back of his hand.
"Fucking hot, this," the battered Highwayman told them unnecessarily, his accent thicker than usual.
Badu's crow mask gave no sign, but her gloved hand went to her knife, wicked sharp, the steel dully glinting at her waist along its serrated edge.
Reynauld realized he could not remember the Vestal's name, but as her eyes had never left her feet, he found he could not muster any guilt for that fact, she likely would not survive this godforsaken forest anyway. Her prayers, whispered under her breath, felt wrong in this place.
The Crusader suddenly felt a tightness in his belly, a familiar feeling, and his heart gave a hard thump under his breastplate. As Badu struck renewed the torchlight he saw the glint of a knife and danger was upon them.
She was tall, a spindly humanoid clad in ragged acolyte's robes that trailed in the loam. Fungal growths pulsed on her back and long pale arms, and upon her head starkly glared a antlered skull, bleached and staring. She appeared as a Shaman, dried blood on her hands. Scuttling noises disturbed the dry and rotting leaves around them and she was joined by beasts the like of which made Reynauld's blood run a bit colder.
They appeared to be huge mushrooms, but beneath their swollen caps peered evil eyes that blinked at the travelers, and long spider-like limbs that twitched this way and that. The abominations chittered at them hungrily, their mottled caps emitting a sickly yellow mist that hung around them like opium smoke.
Dismas was quick, he fired his pistol in the thick quiet, the ball tearing at the shaman creature with a spray of dark blood. The Virago screamed at him, raising her arms, and a long wicked knife glinted dully in the flame of the torchlight.
Taking a shuddering breath, the Shaman let out a spray of fluid upon the four heroes, green in hue and putrid. Badu rolled out of the way, her hand alighting upon one of the vials she had at her belt, and she lobbed it into the group of enemies, hitting one of the mushroom creatures hard enough that the glass exploded in a shower of shards and noxious fluid. It gave a shriek as the fluid runneled down its cap, and melted into the mottled skin of it with an angry sizzle.
Reynauld could feel the Virago's attack spray on the metal of his armor, but it seemed to have no effect, so he rushed the Shaman, his sword lancing out like a holy spike. The spindly woman swayed out of the way, leaving the Crusader stumbling forward with his momentum.
The vestal was screaming, and she gasped for air as she tried to heal herself ineffectually, the poison eating at her skin.
The scuttling creatures arched their backs, and the sickly mist rose quickly from the pocked openings in their swollen caps, some offering to some forgotten god of refuse.
Reynauld could feel his eyes burning under his helm. He felt rather than saw Dismas at his side and the other man fired his pistol again, guiding the Crusader back as he did so. One of the twisted mushrooms squealed and collapsed in a pile of stinking flesh.
Badu was quickly administering some vile smelling potion to the vestal, who was already regaining color back in her cheeks, and the plague doctor quickly gave Reynauld a vial too.
The Verago cackled, and raised her arms again, uttering some foul incantation that sent a chill rippling through them all. The abomination that sat soaking in it's own death juices quivered and splattered open revealing a large swaying….thing. A phallic, living fungus whose dark flesh seemed to permeate every surrounding pocket of air with its fumes.
Badu coughed from within her mask, and her hands trembled. The Vestal began to go pale again, and her holy book fell from her hand, it's healing magic seemingly inert.
Dismas continued to shoot, And the other mushroom abomination fell with a chittering death scream, only to be replaced by the foul and evil fungus created by the Verago.
Reynauld screamed with rage and pain, and lunged at her, his sword now a sharp symbol of righteous fury, and he drove it towards her with all the force he could muster.
The sound of the impact was wet, like the chopping of a heavy fruit, and the Shaman grunted heavily, bloody spittle spraying from under the antlered skull, now grimacing in it's eternal watchfulness.
She shuddered, and slid off his blade, now just a tattered heap at his feet. The summoned fungus immediately wilted and died alongside her, a testament to her failure.
This was one of many expeditions the four had made, yet the Hamlet seemed darker even as they approached it's confines again, tired and road weary. Nothing seemed to improve this place.
The Vestal's name was Junia, as it had turned out, and Reynauld felt a certain amount of relief that he had not come home again bearing the broken body of another unfortunate soul destined to be buried under a makeshift wooden cross and forgotten.
He found Dismas at the tavern, and the other man nodded to him to sit. He took his helm off and set it on the worn table, sliding across from the other man and waving the barkeep over for a drink.
Settling back, he gestured to all the empty tankards already on the table.
"I figured you'd be at the brothel, not drinking this piss all by yourself," he commented dryly.
Dismas shrugged. "They never have the right flesh for me," he responded, slurring a bit. After a moment of silence, his dark eyes met Reynauld's. "They're getting tougher. The expeditions. That slimy fucker, the heir to this sty. He just sends new blood in and out, never fuckin' tells us what we're bleeding for."
"You've seen these creatures," Reynauld replied after a pregnant moment. "This place is evil, it must be cleaned out, purified."
"But why us? What stake do we 'ave in this game?" The Highwayman took a swig and shook his head.
"We have a righteous cause. A purpose."
"Fuck me, right?" Dismas chortled. "A purpose to fuck right off more like."
Raynauld laughed a flipped a coin onto the table, helping his friend up.
"Come on old boy," he said "Let's get you up to your room."
It took several minutes to help the wiry man fumble up the stairs, but Reynauld finally eased him onto the squeaky cot, and helped him take his boots and coat off. Dismas yawned and stripped naked, drunkly swaying.
"Maybe I should go to the brothel," he said. "Flesh is flesh, right?"
Reynauld's breath caught in his throat as he looked at Dismas' naked and scarred body and he could find no words for a long moment as he took in the lean muscle, dark thatched hair that trailed down to…..
"I have…..I need to go," he said in a rush and bolted out the door, and out of the inn. He felt confused and lightheaded, his heart beating a fierce tattoo upon his chest. Why was he having this reaction? What in hell's name was the matter with him?
He realized he was standing in the center square, hard as a rock and staring up at the inn like an untried boy.
He just needed a woman and more to drink, he realized, starting towards the brothel. That was it.