CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Got anything to say to me?” asked the dwarf facing fungus. But he, the dwarf, could only vaguely gesture between it and his smooth head. A few loops later and, standing at just the height of the dwarf’s knees, it began to understand.

“Yea, yea. You’re you and I’m Funguayou.”

The dwarf glanced at Waspig, who did not immediately make any aggressive moves. Though this parasite had sucked at the teat of the dwarf’s scalp, he supposed it no physical threat given the vast difference in size. But mysteries remained: what had it taken? What was its purpose--to serve the mossy cottage laboratory?

“Hey buddy, bring that light down my way.”

While the dwarf had lost himself in questioning, the miniature mushroom headed being--that which sprouted only four limbs, all mysteriously dwarfen shaped--scavenged. It had returned to the torch bearer with a handful of herbs and a pipe. It packed the thing and leaned towards the lowering beard. Clouds puffed and disappeared into the darkness lit only by they and the charred dead center. Funguayou breathed deep the cavern air after.

“That’s it. I thank you. Name?” asked the sentient being surrounded by smoke rings.

The dwarf nodded, hesitated, then shook his head--directions gradual in their transitions--a realization overcoming the dwarf that hadn’t yet found his wandering mind. Breathing soon strained, he leaned against and slid down fencing. The little red capped stalk wandered over and settled down opposite. Half his rings caught the dwarf’s face.

“Following, dwarf? Good. And I already knew,” said confidently the shroom. “Been inside you. Your secrets aren’t safe with me.” It laughed. Waspig continued to observe silently. “Be at ease, buddy. I should have rather put it as no secrets can be hid.” It smiled. The dwarf frowned with furrowed brows. Funguayou noticed and shrugged. “Didn’t choose your dome. You didn’t choose to be here. Not so different.” The dwarf didn’t agree. It continued its pose and puffed a final blow.

“You need helping. A second set of eyes, or a third--I see your critter. Can it be stressed how lucky you are? Think, friend. Crossing that gap was serious tomfoolery. Shouldn’t have even thought about it. Well, you’re both alive, but what’ve you done? Get a load of those fists. You hardly need a weapon, much less clothes, it seems. But even my blood became hot back there. Well, you gained experience, that’s well. You lag a bit in some areas. How will you expect to be accepted into guilds? A level two cooking is a bit infantile. But you can’t be blamed, you’ve only just arrived. Well, could dismount the charred brick back there and replace it with one of the pen’s unspoiled. Oh, no need for that look. Just a jape. It would lower your army’s morale. And this is one army. But have you noticed the twisting moss almost quilted into the walls? Take your torch closer and you’ll see. Well we’ll scoop some up and mix it into a pot--you didn’t destroy them all, did you? That too is a jape. And we’ll want sap from outside, you’ll retrieve that. Those scarlet colored berries, by the way--there’s some growing outside. Well forage for them. Calm yourself, their poison is neutralized by flame. You exercised wiseness in avoiding them raw--yea, besides the one bite. Impressed by this memory? I’m a mirror, buddy, it’s you. Funguayou. I just know a little from who you fear, too--and ease your hands, there’s no chase. He’s not coming for anyone. Likely asleep in his rocker,” it said, elaborating with a mimicking motion. “I doubt any of the other funguay are returning. And once we’re done with our feast, we’ll climb--well, you’ll climb, I will ride--up the way your assassin came down. For I’m sure your suspicions align with mine, and that is the way out from this ravine. Now that leaves the elves--yes, the elvish--to contend with. Likely, they think you dead. Who survives a fall like you and yours? None, and all the better for us. We’ll have to sneak our way through their woods... Well we’re ahead of ourselves. I will conduct the hogs to assist in scraping up our meal. You: sap, berries, leaves of Tryse if you spy any. They’re more prominent where the cottage is, yea, we are a bit far now. But you never know. Flared stem, thick blue petals. Tryse. Ok!”

Funguayou clapped its dwarfen hands together. The dwarf did not move or offer much in the way of conversation other than a blank stare, thoughts unable to form. So the mushroom repeated its instructions and shoved against his legs in a vain effort to rouse him up off his sit. The dwarf watched Waspig watching Funguayou. Though dark, he saw enough: the top of his pet’s head bolstered a thin stalk with rounded cap. The cottage funguay had made good on its threats. Two of these miniature sized chatterboxes? The dwarf’s head spun. He did eventually rise much to Funguayou’s pleasure, though its ranting and shoving motivated little of the decision. Together Waspig and its owner exited the way they came, the remaining hogsects meanwhile drilled in the art of the scrape.

It proved difficult, navigating backwards. The tunnels had practically reborn--the dwarf and his creature became cognizant of retracings, their path in one instance nearly leading backwards to Funguayou. He wished he already carried berries so he may have created a pleasant scented trail easily followed. This led to another casual realization of his nudity, a state of dress not entirely unmasked if not for the efforts of his thick fur--but the dwarf strode naked all the same. The ‘elves’, though he’d seen very little before his drop, seemed as tall and thin as stalks--would any of their clothes fit? He’d never thought himself as a thief before, his father’s values ever present alongside the church’s--but surely an exception could be carved out. In any case, the dwarf wished for pockets--the obvious flesh, obvious, though not readily entertained. No, he required a rucksack, a backpack, some form of carrying alongside his frame, and even pants would present the boon of a good pocket for which even berries could be stored. So the dwarf decided, ultimately, to keep his eyes out. And losing himself in his thoughts ultimately rewarded the dwarf, he and his pet wandering themselves out into a dim dawn. Various destroyed vehicles and bones of creatures alike illuminated, their shadows beginning routine stretches. The dwarf spotted his abandoned campfire, its logs long past lit. He thought of COOKING.

While raiding each crashed caravan for its contents once more, the dwarf stumbled upon a storage of freshly laid eggs, its mother absent. Sympathy panged in his heart, his stomach out-growled the concern, and they--the eggs--found themselves boiled in a scavenged bowl of water; the same he splashed through to arrive. The dwarf’s thirst whetted. After boiling, he laid the eggs in netting while he emptied the bowl and replaced its contents with cold. The dwarf re-emerged the cooked offspring to such chill, a satisfying hiss escaping their shattering of surface tension. He peeled the white armor off each egg feeding bits to Waspig and himself on an alternating cycle. Just before, the dwarf passed the periods of boiling and cooling successfully plucking several berries. No Tryse appeared to him, but this felt fine--Funguayou seemed not to stress the ingredient with a great deal of importance. It would suffice to have the berries, which the dwarf tied up in the previously used netting, and sap, which he, after, collected into the drained bowl. The dwarf’s large hands, blood dried and flaking, balanced the tree’s essence and netted bag of berries on smooth white rock just outside the cavern. He took to washing clean the remains off his fingers, the opportunity of a chilled bath soon then irresistible; later ending up drying flat against the ravine’s floor, sun directly beaming overhead. Waspig joined and curled up around his head, ears flanked by snout and hind legs. While it was no intention of his, the wet dwarf kissed from head to toe in warmth dozed off with smile worn...

Howling woke the dwarf. His view near black, he shot his legs out and rose to stand against what he managed to count as seven pairs of eyes slightly below, all slowly advancing. Waspig awoke as well, its wings furious, its mushroom bobbing. As his eyes adjusted, the dwarf observed the creatures’ characteristics, noting their demeanor seemed wolf-like but their bodies ran smoother, almost caked in mud or sludge. Their eyes glowed in the depths of the land’s crevice, vision fixed to prey standing stout. It almost seemed, to the dwarf, they did not fear Waspig. When Waspig lunged at the nearest coyoke, it--the coyoke--plunged its body deep to the flat of the ground sliding between the bugsect’s legs and launching it upwards, rendering Waspig the object of a balancing act. The other dogs’ collective focus shifted off the dwarf and onto the spectacle, the pigbug twirling so quickly it could not properly take off or fly away, for ‘off’ and ‘away’ both blurred the same. Its owner snapped to attention at losing the coyokes’, a running start bouncing him off the slight hill and onto the nearest dog, grappling the thing in an attempt to restrain. This endeavor failed, its slick body slipping out from the dwarf’s grip and behind him, immediately then flicking its wide, fat tail sweeping the dwarf off his feet. The side of his head crashed to the ground. His target drew close intent on following up the successful whipping. But the dwarf waited until just the moment he thought necessary, a sudden kick outwards connecting with the assailant’s nose, a series of whines in its wake.

“MELEE INCREASED TO 12”

Waspig regained enough sense of its surroundings to whip its wings fast upon one last launch--succeeding into the air of its own volition, this agitated the dripping dog below fallen into barking. Its audience, meanwhile, broke from the show to attack the dwarf still on his bottom. His victim--a blubbering mess whining and sneezing--staggered into a cart, the shifting releasing debris burying it and its noise. Five more creatures alike descended on the dwarf pulling at his limbs in a variety of painful directions, each aggressor fighting over its choice in cut, one more merely yapping. Waspig shot down onto one of these creatures, its barbed end jabbing directly through the end of the muddog, a collection of howls wailing soon after. His hand freed, the dwarf began bashing at the head of that which yanked at his other arm. He hit hard enough to stir up a whine, its maw temporarily gaped to allow both hands freedom. The two chomping on the dwarf’s legs yoinked the bearded prey away, cooperation enabling the dwarf’s dragging along their path. He reached his hands out for anything to grab and snagged himself onto roots spiraling out. The dwarf wrapped his arms deeper within its boughs as the two coyokes continued their pull, a third rushing up to further intimidate. While the pain of their sunken teeth brought him to another gritting of his own, he managed to successfully rear his left leg up far enough to cautiously free one hand and bring it down hard atop the creature, sinking its fangs as a consequence deeper into his own flesh. Yet its relentlessness ceased, the thing rendered braindead, its limbs without animation. He shook the corpse off and delivered a swift kick to his last aggressor--then another kick, and another, until it too laid still. He loosened his other arm releasing the roots responsible for his saving and approached the last aggressor--no longer emitting. It yelped and dashed away into the heavy black fog at the base of the ravine, and the dwarf felt a strange mixture of satisfaction in his survival and pity for the slaughter.

“MELEE INCREASED TO 13”

Trickling out his arms, legs, hands, and feet, the dwarf somewhat smiled while shambling off that squashed berries weren’t necessary after all. He murmured a chuckle and fell into the pool of water, his blood soaking it red momentarily. He swished his form around scrubbing at his skin, rising out from the pool soaked for the second time that day. But the sun had long set, and so the dwarf chattered his teeth, shivering, starting towards his campfire so graciously still lit. There he found Waspig snacking upon the fresh flesh of its slain coyoke. He was hungry, too. Following the motions, he dragged a corpse over to the fire and mounted it and curled upon the ground. His eyes froze in the fire, pain and thoughts overwhelming. The dwarf regretted the circumstances, regretted his levels ascended in MELEE. He hated having to fight. It seemed the world forced either this or running, both interchangeable. And it demanded much blood, he considered as he eyed his wounds. The dwarf had grown tired of where his head constantly laid, how none instances sported pillows, beds of any kind. He’d slept in a hole, on marble, on rocks, dirt--it bothered him even more his best sleep was gained in the house of an experimenting psychopath. Was sneaking past the elves necessary? They lived among nature--surely it is liked and appreciated. Could he not stay with them? Where was he even going? It was only now he remembered the city on the shore and its smoke, its imagined fish collected by the dozens by boats dumping them off in hordes at the docks. He wanted to be there now. Instead he bled over rocks and waited patiently the drying of his thick hair. Waspig eventually joined him. The two laid together for some time before disbanding their shared peace, the dwarf rising to tear at his meal.

“COOKING SKILL INCREASED TO 3”

“SURVIVAL SKILL INCREASED TO 15”

Storing what he did not eat in another bundle of rope, the dwarf took one last glance at the littered loot about the ditch’s grounds and managed a leather belt--though no pants for proper company. Nonetheless an idea came to the dwarf, and he whistled for Waspig’s presence following the relighting of his torch. The two returned to the cavern’s moss shrouded entrance, smooth rock still supporting sap and berry. Leather belt in hand, the dwarf tied it round Waspig’s waist, its wearer concerned. He next lathered the bottom of the bowl and the top of the strap in more of the sticky substance, mounting them one atop the other. He pat his pet for its task while the netted bags of berries and meat became drawn up in the dwarf’s large hands, blood once more caked. The dwarf shook his head, and he and Waspig returned to the dark passage tread thrice.

“Well, this is all certainly what was requested--except a full day’s come to pass in the interim,” said an impatient foot tapping Funguayou. The dwarf attempted to explain how the task could extend so, but it could not be interested, continuing instead its chiding: “Yes, have no fear, I and the others enjoyed a wonderful two meals of burned fungus, and we’re hungering for more. Yes, except we’ve scraped all that can be scraped, and many more days must come to be before they’ll regrow. Well done, dwarf.” It stopped and examined the dwarf’s bags more closely, its eye caught by the cooked meat. The roasted scent hit it next, as if only then pouncing. Funguayou snatched the netting from the dwarf’s hand and gobbled up an entire thigh, a sight that somewhat disturbed the dwarf. Finished, it whistled, and came stomping the dwarf’s army. He swore its tune delivered alike his own cadence.

The horde of insect bovines bounced over to the bounty of crisped meat and dug in, bits flung unceremoniously in several arcs. This pleased the dwarf though it did not Funguayou, frustrated at the netted contents’ apparently too quick disappearance. It cleared its throat in the dwarf’s direction.

“Well, you did acquire the sap and berries, that is true. And what’s false is the lack of fungus. There’s plenty, unfortunately. But it will taste better with the ingredients. What a shame you couldn’t find Tryse, but even the big guy--he doesn’t see it much either. So you just keep that in mind. Speaking of, buddy, your thoughts are safe again when you think about it. And you can do so safely, right? Another jape. Come over to the fire, let’s whip up some treats.”

Funguayou’s knowledge inherited from the owner of a kitchen, the dwarf learned much in the preparations required of roasted berry and, in the end, not only did the party all enjoy a warm snack in the company of one another, but the dwarf additionally netted three further levels in COOKING. The ingredients spent and its consumers finished in their relaxing, the dwarf, Waspig, Funguayou, and the six other snorting beasts ascended upwards the steep cliff utilized by the dwarf’s would-be assassin. The passages from there on out settled in darkness, no torches lit to the surprise of the mushroom atop the dwarf’s shoulders (a place he preferred than scalp). And then the party came to the mouth of a much wider cavern, its overgrowth abundant and draped around the roof, its contents lit by the new day’s sun. But in the center, a sight less serene frightened the dwarf: seven funguay laid dead adjacent to three sharp eared beings wiping at their weapons. A fourth, taller and more decorated than the animated rest, stood statue. When the scent drifted past, he came alive and announced to the three elves beside:

“The smell of bovine bug is in the air, brothers.”