The Detachment:
- Captain Friederike “Freddy” Krüger, a woman who entered service disguised as a man, but is by now accepted as she is
- Brother Paul, Augustine monk and scholar
- Dr. Krowitz, field surgeon
- 20 disciplined Infantrymen with muskets
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| © Helene Schmitz. Alabama Fields. Digigraphie, 108 x 134 cm |
Turn 2
Day 1, dusk to nightLocation: entering Hex 0410, ForestWeather: 7, NeutralEncounter: 11, None
Soundtrack: "Aqua" by Edgar Froese
Time seems to move in an unnatural way. The march towards the forest takes much longer than anticipated, the dark mass of vegetation seems just a few steps away, then snaps back into the unreachable distance the next heartbeat. Strange mirages flicker and the air vibrates around the Detachment. Perhaps a trick of the uncanny light emanated by the multitude of celestial spheres that chase each other through the sky.
Finally, the violet sun sets. The skyline lights up with an orange glow, then goes black. One of the twin moons rapidly wanes into just a narrow segment. The air grows colder and moist.
It is under the cover of this sudden darkness that the Detachment reaches the forest.
But what a strange forest it is. Lush, dense. Roots, branches, vines. The abundance of growth doesn’t feel healthy and natural: it’s a forest choking under its own weight. And this is only the edge of it; it seems to get denser in the deeper parts, but it is hard to make it out in the darkness.
Friederike leads the way, slashing at vines with her sabre. Her blade gets stuck. When she grabs the branch to pull back the weapon, the bark feels spongy and rugose.
However unlikely that seems, they eventually reach a clearing. For some reason, the trees don’t grow in this depression, just crowd around it somberly like mourners around the uncovered grave.
A fine white mist covers the ground.
“Careful, men. Probe ahead of you with your rifles,” Friederike warns her troops.
But it’s too late. The silence is broken by a scream as one soldier slips and disappears. There is an audible crack of bone breaking… Then the screams resume, coming from deep down.
Where he fell, the layer of mist opened up, disturbed for a second, but then it closes again.
“There’s a pit here,” another soldier says, checking around with his rifle. “Who has a rope?”
“MY LEG! HELP! HELP!”
A soldier uncoils a rope and lowers it blindly in the vicinity of the hidden pit.
Suddenly the screams and shouts of the fallen man stop and instead he can be heard muttering: “What? What did you say? Who are you? Show yourselves!”
“Take of your coats, we need to disperse the mist! Careful, don’t move around, there might be more pits,” Friederike commands and starts waving her own coat around. The soldiers follow.
The mist swirls around their ankles like milk-white sea-foam. It doesn’t disperse, but floats lazily to one side, revealing a large pit in the ground – which itself is still filled to the brim, even overflowing, with vapor.
“Stop chanting! Stop! Please!” the muttering from the depth continues. “What do you want? Please, make it stop! STOP!”
“Alois, what’s happening down there? Who is with you? Don’t worry, we are throwing down a rope, grab on to it!”
The rope submerges into the mist. The noise of a man struggling and thrashing around comes from down below: “I can’t see them! I can only hear them!! They are all around me, chanting!”
Finally, there’s a tug on the rope and the soldiers pull. Poor Alois emerges from below the mist, still shouting.
“That foul language again, it’s that foul language again! STOP!”
“Nobody is chanting, Alois,” the soldiers try to calm him, who is now up on the ground again, supported by two comrades. Dr. Krowitz kneels down to examine Alois’ leg – it’s broken. The surgeon quickly looks for other injuries, but it’s hard to see anything in the darkness, and the mist is gathering again.
“I hear them yet! They are getting louder and louder, dozens of voices!
Suddenly, Brother Paul steps forward: “What are they chanting, Alois?”
“Painful words! I don’t understand!”
“Repeat it, damn you!”
“NŸVONDHÆSSÆNŸQ DUG UA...” Alois answers, shifting into a lower register, his voice not his own anymore.
“What in the seven hells are you doing?” Friederike grabs Brother Paul and pulls him away. “The man is hurt!”
Dr. Krowitz starts coughing and stands up.
“It’s the mist! We need to retreat! The mist is driving us crazy!”
“What? How can---retreat back to the treeline, men! Watch your step!” Friederike snaps at her men.
“XAU CŸRD BÆRZÆND DÆR QHIZDZÆN ARVXÆ!” Alois shouts a last time, then his body goes limp.
In a minute or so, they are out of the depression and the mist…
“He is alive, unconscious… Let him rest,” Dr. Krowitz takes Alois’ pulse.
“What did you say about the gas?” Friederike asks.
“I’ve heard about this in Silesia,” Dr. Krowitz explains. “Noxious gases build up in the mine tunnels. Sometimes they explode… Sometimes they make men see and hear things that aren’t there. Goblins and kobolds, ghosts…”
“Blood… altar… black tower…” Brother Paul mumbles to himself.
Friederike turns on her heels and with a flash points her sabre at the scholar’s chest.
“And what do you know, Brother? You seem awfully interested in these goblin chants.”
“I told you! Nobody has spoken this language for aeons, yet here we are, hearing it all around us! This could be a clue to where we are, how to get back!”
Friederike stares at him in the near darkness.
“If you are holding back any information, in that pit you go, Brother.”
She lowers her sabre.
“We head back closer to the edge of the forest and set up camp for the night. Double sentries. No campfires. Half rations – we need to make it last. Don’t eat anything here.”
To be continued?
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