Warning: Implied blood and injuries in art, nothing too explicit
Mortigus tried to recollect some of his memories of his father and mother, picking them out from his dusty memory. His father had a particular accent and choice of words, clearly a result of his different cultural background. He and his sister, aunt Denisa, supposedly came to Arcut after Denisa became unable to continue paying for her education in medicine. She was nonetheless knowledgeable and was well respected in Arcut. Why they chose that inconspicuous village, Mortigus never asked. His father was a kind, somewhat goofy person, but with a clear sense of duty, especially for the role of a parent. His trips to the forest with them, him talking about the sky, him listening to kids’ silly stories; Mortigus …never got to thank him for all this, not as deeply as his heart needed to. His mother was a farmer her whole life, inheriting the farm from her parents and running it with great care. Mortigus was thankful for the time she dedicated to teaching him and his siblings about the farm work without pushing them too harshly. She was gentle, yet firm, a person that could peer into your mind and would offer help whenever she could. Her caring eyes, her piggyback rides through the wheat lanes, her moments of bringing the comfiest clothes for winter, Mortigus …never got to thank her for all this, not as deeply as his heart needed to.
He’d run for too long. These parents deserved not just his thanks, but also his trust. He finally broke his last shackles of doubt, he could no longer hide in this forest away from the people he still cared for. Provisions were to be made, maybe even tools and proper clothing, but staring at travellers in the forestt was sure to come in handy with these logistical problems. These were tiny hurdles, and Mortigus decided he could climb over them then hide yet again, cowering in fear and letting others dictate his life.
A new day marked by the whistling of birds brought upon the beginning of Mortigus’ journey. With determination mixed with restrained hope, he picked up the little reserves he prepared yesterday. He touched the ground, letting mushrooms grow in the form of a symbol, a way to mark this special spot in his heart. Now it was time to move forward and leave the cocoon of trees and mushrooms, showing himself the new form that could face the future.
The blinding sunlight grew stronger among the leaves and bushes, soaking Mortigus’ eye. Once he reached the end of the forest, he could now see a few hills of greenery, grass barely reaching his knees, in which were scattered red delicate flowers with a brownish centre. Not far away another forest’s margin was blocking the horizon. The tranquil landscape was not without music, as crickets and various other animals had their voices combined into a lively concert. Mortigus could feel his tired legs giving out a bit, as if pleading to receive some rest. An eerie vibe in the air kept him on guard, but he dismissed his paranoia for a bit, out of the will to enjoy this moment of peace. He almost let down his luggage before a weird outline popped out in his range of vision. A short tree of some sort, swinging slightly in the wind, yet Mortigus only felt just a breeze, certainly not strong enough to move a tree. The swinging tree was around 50 metres away from Mortigus, and its swinging was unnaturally even. Three dots were opening in the middle of the tree’s crown, like glistening slots of greenish light, not unlike Mortigus’ eye. In a sudden move, the tree stopped swinging, the dots glistening towards Mortigus’ direction. It was more than clear now that the tree was conscious, and more so aware of Mortigus, as Mortigus was now aware of it too. He took whatever defensive position he could, feeling that outrunning the strange tree would be the best option, the safety of the forest behind him was alluring. Mortigus’ feet remained planted into the ground, his knees bent, ready to explosively start running, his body filled with adrenaline, all these and yet, Mortigus felt his instincts bringing him closer to the strange tree. Was it curiosity? Was it something deeper, more visceral, something the body could feel that his mind did not decipher yet?
The tree was sitting still, as if it was also now observing, waiting for the other party’s reaction. Around it the wind would form, mat, brownish colours appearing like sparkles above the tree. The sparkles slowly formed columns from top to bottom, pulsating slightly like living bark. Cylinder shapes took form at the bottom, forming what would seem like a hand with four fingers. These columns were forming like a pair of arms around the tree, attached to fictitious shoulder sockets. From this distance, Mortigus noticed that the texture of these spawned arms was much more mushroom-like, with frills and colour lines specific to parasitic mushrooms on trees. One of the arms lifted its finger towards Mortigus, triggering his flight-or-fight response. An unexpected voice followed this gesture.
“Mycolian or human, speak of your intentions or prepare to wager your life!”
At this moment Fate blinked, letting time pass until Its eyes would open to let reality unfold again.
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