Nobody's Memories
Chapter 17 - Watchers in the Mist

There were things, moving in the mist. Dark, blurry shapes, visible out of the corner of my eyes, moving barely fast enough for me to notice, but just fast enough. Fading in and out of my vision, as far ahead as I could see. Or perhaps they were just shapes in the fog, a mind trying to find anything it could. Ill defined, I had no idea how many there might be, how far they truly were.

The branches in the trees would rustle. Leaves might fall. A twig may break. A Bush may rustle. And the feeling of being watched may fall upon me. But I saw nothing, and could never dismiss the noises as simple flora and fauna. After all, there were Crows in the trees, silently watching and taking flight to places unknown.

Yet so far, nothing had slowed. Not my pace, not time, and certainly not whatever might be following me. I was not disturbed, not perturbed, not placed off guard by anything that tried to mess with my mind; I would have my warning, and I would have a weapon to fight with. But despite that, my breath was heavy, my body not yet recovered from when I had been struck down; the Fog seeping into my lungs, feeling much heavier than it should, seeming to weigh me down as I moved.

I was not yet jumping at shadows, expecting them to be whatever played with me, finally revealing itself; and it might be a long while yet. I could exhibit paranoid behavior, but not be driven to true paranoia; but I expected myself to have some limit. And I was truly being played with here.

I had no idea exactly how long I had been running. My internal clock was reliable, but only good if I attempted to pay attention to it; if the timer I set ticking in myself wasn't shoved aside, thrown to the floor and off the table of my mind, Because when I was being watched by something hiding behind every shadow, and expecting it to come any moment, it could not be trusted. But even still, I had been fleeing for a half hour now, and came no closer to the village. Its gate rose in the distance, roofs poking out from beyond that, hidden by the pearly white fog and obscured by distance, sitting exactly as far away as it had before I tried to abscond from the mist.

Changing my course to head out of the woods and to my horse didn't change a thing, either; I could walk and run for as long as I wanted, but the hills would grow no closer, the mist no deeper. Any way I walked, no matter what I tried – no matter how many trees marked, how loud I called for help, to be noticed by Geralt – nothing changed, and yet everything seemed to change.

My mind was being played with.

And I did not like that one bit. It meant I couldn't trust my senses, couldn't trust where I put my feet in front of me, and couldn't know if the next noise I heard from out in the mist was real or not. I could have run a mile by now and I wouldn't have noticed the difference. It meant that, when I could no longer run, NO longer keep moving as I had, my body tired... I stopped. And looked behind me. There was nothing, just more briefly seen shadows and shapes at the tiniest edge of my vision, so indistinct and non descriptive that I almost didn't believe they were there before they were gone.. I should've expected it , really. Like whatever was going on here would simply allow me to confront it directly. I couldn't be that lucky, to actually get into a fight after so long, even if I had to do so weaponless and almost powerless. And so I set my internal clock ticking, a steady beat in the back of my mind, ever present as events proceed around me.

So instead, I sat. The Crows began to caw again, calling for more of them to come and sit in the branches. I waited, the fog moving normally, and the breeze that felt as though something were breathing down my neck picking up again, gently blowing the leaves. A few of the crows fly off their spots on the branches, to land around me. Their heads are turns and hung so that they may stare at me, their eyes red and beady, some well kept and some mangier than a mutt left to die. They make odd noises with their beaks, a rasping instead of a crowing that sounds like an old woman trying to recall how to speak, because she forgot how to long ago. Their numbers grow as more and more leave the trees, and as they do the cawing grows quieter and the rasping louder, less like an old woman and more like some ancient thing trying to speak because it has long forgotten how. Eventually those on the ground outnumber those in the trees, their rasping seeming less and less distinctive, their eyes odd red tint all staring at me. The shapes at the edge of my vision grow closer, the shapes that I now realize the creatures must not realize I can see darting across my field of vision growing faster and more frequent; and yet still nothing comes to try and claim my head from my shoulders, my flesh from my bone, my heart from where it should be but is not.

A few of the Crows land on me, now; on my shoulders or my legs. I am almost willing to give up, to finally open a Gateway to the Corridors of Darkness to seek escape, no longer concern myself with what might come next. I can feel the Crows ancient voice drone on, the silent thrumming of my mind move slowly onward, and the shapes move but do nothing; yet they grow closer, grow louder, grow more coherent...

And so I am just almost willing.

The noises in the mist stopped some time ago, or so I note. Before I set my clock to beat, but after I had stopped moving. The little detail seemed relevant, considering everything move now, yet save for the intentionally made noises the forest was deathly still. Once more the wind began, warm and soft on my neck,much warmer than before; as though some creature was bearing down on me, ready to finally pounce. I felt as though the voice of the crows, older than I could ever hope to be and born in some place where the eldest living things had long since been preserved in stone, and the primordial spirit of nature itself lived on, finally had a message to give me. A question.

The voices seemed to slow, their words chosen slowly and carefully. The wind seems no less warm, simply less fierce in its intensity. And the shapes growing ever closer had grown ever harder to find, almost upon me.

Tick

Why are you here? The voice whispered into the deepest recess of my mind. Why have you come?

Tock.

I had no answer to give.

Tick.

Help me It murmurs into the space where my heart once was. An interloper is upon you.

Tock.

I did not understand. The voices did.

Tick

We are tired, child. The voice utters, and my body trembles We cannot deal with the Thing in our woods.

Tock

I listened, and so too did I listen to the noise in my head. And so I understood, but perhaps not what was intended to be learned. I had finally understood the crows whispering for the past 24 seconds.

6 had passed

Tick.

There were no more shapes darting around in front of me, or hiding just at the edge of my vision. The fog was moving much slower than it had moments earlier, when I had thought the rasping had slowed.

Ti-

Claws, too many of them for me to count, tore at me from the fog; pale and greasy, unhealthy and lean; they swiped with long, dirty, nails. Fists swung down at my head as though they intended to hammer me, and the ravens sat and stared. I fell, a Gateway finally opened underneath my feet; and so all of the attacks missed as I sunk into the edges of the Realm of Darkness, Ravens accompanying me as fog slowly seeped through into a realm where light was never meant to touch; I could see naught but blurry shapes already vanishing through the still opened gate. The noise of the chant-like rasp still echoed around me, but were muffled; as though I was listening to it while submerged.

The fog recoiled, as though it were alive; taking the shape of grasping hands and open palms, of tendrils and screaming faces, retreating back to where it came. The Ravens followed, slowly cawing, no longer rasping; some of the ravens that had fallen through, or been sitting on me, also dissolved into a fine mist which shriveled and burst, dispersing into a very thin pea-like sheen. The Gateway closed itself, leaving me submerged in the darkness, surrounded by a thin yet all encompassing fog, free to finally see what shape that the Corridors had shaped themselves into.

An endless, twisted, leafless forest stretched before me, both above and below; the ground both where it should be and sitting where the sky should exist. The branches are twisted and gnarled, reaching as far and wide as they can, intertwining with the branches of trees that hung opposite of them; and etched onto every free surface were symbols and runes, written languages dead, alive, and yet to be made. Every trees roots were uprooted, standing free and naked to air and still written; and from whichever floor they sprung there grew not one single blade of grass.

As I sunk further, fast now that I was no longer in any sort of danger from attackers still unknown, the roots below sprung up, revealing a patch of very, very dark space; a void as empty as I could ever know. The roots rose like they had minds of their own, seizing me; I did not struggle, and so they quickly lower themselves back into place, putting me into the hole that they once more covered.

-ck.

And so I emerged from a Gateway back into the world in the same second that I entered it, spat out by a glowing black vortex at the same speed I had fallen into it.

I took a moment to gain my bearings, and saw that I was now standing before the front gates of the village, its gate as open and ever and the fog thankfully much lower. A glance towards the hills revealed Geralt had not yet returned, and that my horse was still just standing there. Judging by the lack of screaming and panicked voices, none of the townsfolk had noticed me; though this seemed like a sleepy place.

I hoped it wasn't a dead place as I set off to find Geralt.

-0-0-0-

I had gained two Catty followers. Both of them were Tabbies, and currently sitting on the table me and Geralt were sitting at, located just outside an Inn Geralt had lodged rooms in. Confirmation of many different things; that he thought it was safe for us to stay in town, that he believed something was wrong enough for him to be here, or that my presence didn't matter. I considered myself lucky to have found him so quickly, though I had yet to brief him on my encounter. We sat in the shade one of many large trees in this place, of which this town possessed many; enough that it was covered in a perpetual shade, both day and night. Luckily, the fog here was almost nonexistent; and where it was, it barely rose to ones foot. I sipped a cup of tea, though calling it such was generous, and listened to Geralt speak.

"This town... Solstice, does it feel wrong to you? Off, in the slightest of ways?" Geralt asked. Ah, so he was testing me. Seeing what I could gleam of the situation. I took a moment to sit the cup of tea down, and to watch the townsfolk go about their business. People talking and gossiping, a man driving a wagon towards his store, children playing in the streets. The shade that covered the whole town, the fog silently seeping into the roads, a Crow watching us and perched upon a low hanging branch.

"...Definitely." I respond, turning back to face him. He nods.

"Tell me, what can you tell about the people? How they act?" Geralt murmurs, quiet so as to not be overheard. Yes, what can I tell him? The people seemed quite normal to me. I can't see or sense any degree of fear or weariness, of excitement over some new piece of gossip involving some persons death, can't spot them doing or feeling much of anything, to be honest. In fact, everybody within my pitiful range of heart-sensing abilities felt... dull. Muted. Their actions seemed pointless, as though they were going through the motions; and I had a distinct feeling that if I were to look one of them in the eyes, they would be glassy and glazed.

"They're acting like they were just that... Actors on some stage. Going through their day step by step, not even paying us any attention, because we aren't part of that play. We aren't even a part of the audience, sitting in the seats." I murmur back just as quietly, keeping an eye on the Crow. It hadn't blinked once, nor made a noise, since I had watched it land on its branch.

"I think I know what we're dealing with." Geralt whispers. He moves to stand, but I motion for him to sit back down. "Geralt. I haven't had a chance to tell you yet, but I was attacked earlier. It's why I followed you in." I tell him. I speak up, but not loud enough to be overhead. No reaction from the crow. A look of concern comes over Geralts face at this news, and he sits himself back down.

"Tell me everything." He says. And so I do, in a low, hushed tone, occasionally answering his questions. Of the fog that seemed to be alive, of the whispers from the Crows, of the claws, of the things just outside my vision, and of how no matter how far I ran or how fast I moved, the town never drew any nearer. He frowns as I speak, and it only deepens as I answer his questions. Eventually, as quietly and subtly as I could, I gestured towards the Crow that has been watching us. His eyes follow, and he nods in understanding.

A person walks by, and we grow quiet. I pick up one of the cats and begin to stroke it, and yet all of us watch the woman until she turns a corner.

"...What are we dealing with, Geralt?" I ask.

"It sounds like you had an encounter with a Foglet." Geralt says, taping a finger as he thinks. It is almost certainly a trick of my eyes, but I swear the fog moves in response to the name. And it is one I recognize; I had encountered them when playing the game. I had only encountered them once; however...

"Are Foglets capable of that much? I thought they weren't nearly so deadly, just Necrophages who could become fog, and generate it. Not much more, not much else." I say. It certainly fits, but...

"Some are." Geralt says. "The oldest, the wisest, the cleverest... they can make illusions, and not just tricks of the mind. Solid, tangible things. Things that can certainly not as much as you say you dealt with, not like you encountered..." He trails off.

"What are we dealing with, then?" I want to beg, but don't. He'll tell me with time, and nothing was adding up.

"A Leshen." Geralt utters. The Crow caws for the first time, startling Geralt, and we both stare at it. I take a moment to examine what I know of Leshens. Tall, Shaman-esque figures... skulls masks... wolves... and...

Ah.

"I don't quite understand." I inquire, stealing Geralt's attention away from the crow. "I understand maybe believing so due to the Crows. And their voice. But is it enough to discount that a particularly old Foglet is involved?"

Geralt takes one look at me, his expression contemplative. He glances at the crow one, at the streets, and then back to me one last time. "Did you ever go to the center of town?" He asks. I shake my head no. "It's better to show you." He mutters, standing up. I put the cat down, and follow him as he leads me through town. Behind us we hear the Caw of a crow and the rustling of branches, and don't need to look behind us to know that the bird is gone.

I take the time as I follow Geralt towards the towns center to examine the people. To note that they're moving like puppets, limp and emotionless or stiff and mechanical; confirmed that when I gazed into a mans eyes, I found they were glazed over. That people would, on occasion, do odd things and just keep repeating actions regardless of if they served a purpose or if their task was done. Such as the woman carrying empty water pails as she walked back and forth.

I hear rustling in the trees ahead, and Geralt has slowed; I turn my attention upward, towards the trees, and watch three crows flutter down to perch themselves on a piece of wood, laying in a particularly shadowy spot of town and surrounded by massive trees.

"This is why I believe it's a Leshen." Geralt says. And then I realize what the three crows have landed on, occasionally cawing at us and staring with an unwavering gaze.

A bloody shrine, taking the form of a scarecrow like body wearing a deer's skull strapped to a wooden cross, covered in guts and vines, lies at the towns center; and at its feet are skulls and flowers, belonging to every species local to the area, and some that were not. The smell of blood and rot hit me, and I realized the blood was recent; dripping down off the shrine. I follow its gaze and realize where the smell of Rot is coming from as I see the freshly kill mans carcass.

"Oh." I say.