Something like this would've surprised me a great deal before, but I thought that I hit my "that's enough for today" stress limit when talking with Tzeentch back in the Warp. Instead, when I saw the desiccated corpse of the bearded farmer, I just looked at the corpse and said, "well, that sucks."
Honestly, it didn't even look real. It looked almost like a Halloween decoration. The fact that it didn't stink helped a lot. In the amber light of the lantern, I could make out that the dead man was wearing a pair of rough trousers and suspenders over a knit grey sweater. He was reclined on a chair, and appeared to have died while resting or asleep, so at least that wasn't supernatural or all that terrifying. His tanned papery skin clung dryly to his bones, and his eyes were vacant pits in his skull. There was a drain on the floor near his boots, which probably caught any fluids from his decomposition. For the most part, he very much looked dried out instead of gross and wet. At his right, there was a crude wooden table, and what appeared to be journal.
Slowly, I stepped to the dead man as Alberich watched. On the ceiling here, different bunches of herbs were bound upside down, explaining the aromatic herbal scent that permeated the background air here with the dried meat. Speaking of the meat, I found another few shanks hanging in another corner opposite the man. At least I could deduce that he had not died of hunger, I thought, sniffing at the gorgeous parcel I was currently holding.
I was aware that my reaction to this situation was numbed and abnormal. I was here looking at a real human corpse while thinking about my dinner. How grim and dark was that? I snorted. But, I supposed that I was getting inured to the sight of death after my earlier confrontation. I had already witnessed a mass suicide first hand, so this wasn't all that scary.
The Tzaangor had begun sniffing at the herbs that hung on the ceiling as I walked over to where the unfortunate man sat. The journal sitting on the table was closed, and beside it, I discovered an ancient looking battered fountain pen, probably a prized possession to a destitute farmer. Always good to have a pen on hand, I thought as I pocketed it.
I picked up the journal, and flitted through it. It was written messily in a strange dialect I had never seen before. It hurt my head to study, and reminded me of trying to decipher Scots into English, but worse. This illustrated another separation between the people on the hill, and the people in the valley. I yawned again. I didn't have the energy for trying to puzzle through this. None of it seemed to be a terrible warning, only the farmer's personal day to day writings. From a cursory look, it appeared the farmer and his family lived in the valley, and that they traded their crops (which had been root vegetables) with the "hill folk" in exchange for medicines, tonics, and "t'bless ov the Grayt Lorde of Hosts" which gave me a chill to read. At least from here, it appeared that the farmer didn't have any mechanical implants. He looked like a normal dead guy.
Alberich had been studying the herbs, pulling each clipping down and holding them to his beak. Finding some herbs to his liking, he snatched some of them up. He saw me holding the journal, puzzling through it.
"What does it say?" He asked, walking into my field of view, leaning into the light.
"Its in some weird kind of Eng-" I caught myself saying "English", and corrected myself. "Low Gothic. It's some Low Gothic I am unfamiliar with. It's not easy to read, but it doesn't say anything really bad about this place." Checking for a clue on what had happened to this unfortunate man, I paged through to the end of his journal.
"Thi're arriv'd wit the ev'nin. Mother sint 'way. Tailsn n Bran sint 'way. Took a blue drot. May a shayde of ev'nin guiyde mea starr t'hoeme," the last line read, which didn't offer much of an explanation.
Alberich held out his hand expectantly, wanting to see the journal. He also paged through it, and closed it with a snap. He returned the book to me, while taking one of the dried meat shanks. "We read it after our fatigue and our stomachs need attending to," he said, examining the meat with hungry eyes.
"What do you think we should do with this guy?" I asked. It felt really disrespectful to leave the deceased where he died, likely after a hard life of toil on a farm with his family. Speaking of whom, where was his family?
"Not our problem. An old farmer died. We leave him," Alberich nodded while taking his first steps on the rope ladder, eager to be upstairs again.
When we were back upstairs, Alberich and I walked into the parlor, and placed the meat shanks down on the center table along with the lamp, which cast guttering shadows across the modest space. I sat down on the prickly sofa, and watched as the Tzaangor pulled the crossbar off the front door, and opened it. The door groaned heavily as he pulled it inward, and he stepped outside.
The beastman quickly returned with the bucket of well water, and walked into the kitchen, presumably to place the water on the wood burning stove for boiling. He left the front door open, which let in a very refreshing evening breeze. The hiss of the vine-covered trees above the farm was very relaxing, and some insects had begun to chirp in the waning light. Even before he had returned from stoking the fire, I had begun to nod off, despite my growling stomach.
I watched Alberich as he returned. He took his glaive in hand, and stepped out into the blue evening light again. There, I saw him look left and right, apparently checking for any sign that we weren't alone. Satisfied, he stepped back inside, his glaive knocking against the clay floor of the parlor. Resting the glaive in the corner again, he walked back into the kitchen, where I heard him rummaging through something. The sound of a striking match echoed, and the hiss of igniting wood gave way to the comforting crackle of a burning fire.
What was this bird guy's deal, I wondered, taking out my dagger and sawing off more of the netting that encased the meat on the table. This unusual Tzaangor had immediately attached himself to me without knowing who I was. I reminded myself that I was wearing the body of the witch that lived on the hill. Maybe he had known about her, and thought I could throw fireballs or do other impressive magic or something? The best magic I had done was blow up a houseplant back at the manor.
I started slicing off pieces of cured meat for my dinner. I tasted a nibble first, and found it to be absolutely delicious, like a fine capocollo. I reached into the opened mason jar that Alberich had found earlier. The vegetables appeared to be pickled green peppers, and with a crunch, I found that these were also very tasty, resembling the briny taste of garlic dill pickles. If I had been back in New York, I had beginnings of a gourmet charcuterie plate. All I needed was a good cheese. As I ate, I asked the beastman while he was still in the kitchen, "Alberich, I'd like to know a bit more about you since we're traveling together. You were quiet on the road," I inquired between bites.
The beastman padded into the parlor again, and sat down next to me. The scent of burning pine followed him. "What is it you would like to know?"
"Well, you're the first Tzaangor I've ever seen, and from what I read about beastmen, they're normally not very friendly," I reached down and opened my pack, removing the remainder of the water in the flask I had packed. "Wait, I mean, I'm sorry. I don't mean to offend. It's just that I'm curious about finding you hung from a cross in a corn field, tied up like a scarecrow. You have that weapon, but why would those people tie you up and not take it for themselves?" I gestured toward the impressive polearm leaning against the corner of the room. Through the metal, I could see my foreign reflection with my white shock of hair as I spoke to him. Yet another thing I had to get used to, I thought.
Alberich nodded, searching for the words as he reached for my dagger. He began to slice some meat off for himself. "The people in this land, they worship a strange degenerate god. The idol on the hill, the golden woman. Through that, they exhibit irrational superstitions. My guess is that the people who ambushed me saw me as unnatural. This included my weapon, which they did not desire to take for themselves. Perhaps they saw it as unclean? This is conjecture on my part. One should not speculate on the motivations of madmen." He had a drink from the flask, and took a pepper from the jar.
"Where did you come from?" I asked him. A warm breeze started to drift from the kitchen from the fire. I got up and closed the front door.
"Far away," the Tzaangor said with an air of melancholy. "I came from the opposite side of this land. Three weeks, I had been on foot chasing the source of my dreams. The cultists took my pack, stripped my clothes, and left me for dead. It may sound strange considering my appearance, but am foremost a seeker of knowledge, of truth and divinity. I had a series of dreams of the golden statue, and I felt compelled to find it. I wanted to know what it was."
"I had asked others about a golden statue, and I was pointed in this direction, near the tower to the north. I had nearly reached it..." he trailed off, and took a drink of water.
"Everyone is dead up there now. You could've just walked up there without fear then. Why come with me?"
Alberich closed his eyes, and exhaled. "My answer is complicated. I wanted to know what the golden statue was, and when I encountered the fiends who worshipped it, my curiosity was mostly slaked. Furthermore, once you told me that the cultists all committed suicide, I had my confirmation. The need to visit the statue waned. I travel with you because you go to another miraculous place in this land, one that has stoked my curiosity for mysterious things," I could hear bubbling water in the kitchen now. We would have plenty of hydration for the walk forward now. "Now it is my turn to ask questions," he said, turning to me with a slight smile on his hooked beak.
Alberich continued eating, but asked me in between bites, "Who exactly are you, my friend? Where did you come from on this strange planet?"
I really didn't feel safe telling this beastman my entire backstory, but I felt like I had to share something. Having someone physically strong to help me on the road was useful, and since his motivations involved the supernatural, perhaps he would be understanding of the tale I would tell. He wasn't Imperial in the least, so I wouldn't be killed for saying heretical things.
"It's not all that easy to explain," I said, shaking my head.
"Try me."
"Well," I said, not quite knowing how to broach the subject that I came from another reality. I decided to tell him just enough, leaving out the part where I spoke with Tzeentch directly in his realm. "Remember when I said those cultists were doing some kind of suicide ritual?"
The Tzaangor nodded.
"That wasn't the only ritual that happened around that time. It's a really weird story. You would never believe me," I tried to defer his interest, but the Tzaangor seemed even more curious when I said that. "You see me here, right?" I pointed at my face. "Truth is, this isn't even really my body. The original owner was also doing some kind of magic right before the cultists killed themselves. I think the purpose was to send her soul somewhere else, but I'm not sure. Her name was Evanora, and she lived in a manor on the hill, next door to the statue and the cultists. I went from being in my home to waking up on the floor of her destroyed house. Whatever magic she had done had somehow pulled my soul from my original body, and forced it into this particular shell. I didn't have any choice in this, so in a way, I'm like you; I'm a stranger here. I know it sounds unbelievable, but this is what I experienced. I'm just some random nobody back where I'm from."
Surprisingly, Alberich didn't seem all that doubtful of what I had said. He nodded thoughtfully before he asked, "Are you certain on that? Are you a magician? Perhaps she intended to steal your power and failed?" The beastman still appeared extremely interested in this discussion, and I watched him lean in to me as he chewed on pieces of sliced meat.
"I'm pretty sure about being unimportant, and I'm not sure on the rest of that," I said curtly. I really didn't feel comfortable talking about this. "Look, can we talk about this after at least having dinner and a night of sleep? Just promise you won't kill me, alright?"
Alberich made an affirmative noise, appearing satisfied with my insane explanation. "Very well. You have a pallor about you. We have a long day of walking ahead of us. If we make good time tomorrow, we may even get to the tower before nightfall."
Thanks for saying I looked like shit again, bird guy. He was right, though. Exhaustion was probably written all over my face. His reasons for going to the tower were sparse, but it was better than being alone right now. This universe was a very dangerous place, and the extra muscle was appreciated.
The sun had dipped below the horizon when I finished off a portion of dried meat and a half of a nutrition bar. I didn't have a lot of these, so I needed to ration them just in case. When Alberich finished, he took the water from the wood stove, settling it back on the ground. Once cooled, our flask could be refilled.
We had a brief discussion about where each of us would sleep before Alberich shut the front door, and once again, the Tzaangor proved to be a gentleman by taking one of the twin beds in what used to be the children's room. Before heading to bed, he rifled through the clothes chest in the main bedroom, and found himself a loose knit shirt with a pair of trousers that still didn't fit his long legs. Despite having relatively human proportions, the clothes didn't quite fit him, but it was better than the rags he wore.
I changed into a rough nightshirt I had found in the cabinets for bed, and folded my other clothes neatly inside my rucksack. I wished that Wolfie was here, and I hoped that the little dog would make an appearance again when it was safer. Shame he couldn't manifest if there wasn't any magic in the area, but it made sense.
I tried to do a little bit of reading from the history book, but found myself too weary to focus. I felt as if the weight of the world was on my shoulders. The gravity of all the horrors I had witnessed in a short amount of time struck me again like a pile of bricks, but despite that, I thought I did pretty well. The discussion with Alberich had reminded me that I had been in the Warp with no protection after chatting with Tzeentch himself, and I had endured without growing extra tentacles or feathers! I had stood up to a Keeper of Secrets and survived a mass ritual suicide! Maybe Tzeentch really was telling the truth that he liked me, considering all the weird ways I had miraculously dodged doom. I choked a laugh at my absurd situation before I started crying again. This was terrible. I just wanted to go home. I didn't have any Ruby Slippers here, though. All I had was a mysterious magical amulet called the "Key", whatever that was. It had felt cold and dead ever since the encounter with Amnaich.
Trying to distract from focusing on things that upset me, I contemplated what I would find at the mysterious pylon. Knowing the way this story was progressing, I half expected a Tin Man (and I hoped that it wasn't a Necron), but since Alberich wasn't anywhere close to being like a goofy scarecrow, who knew?
After snuffing the lantern at the bedside, and trying not to think of the corpse right below the bedroom in which I lay, I quickly fell asleep, the breeze from the open window soothing me greatly.
