Shirley stopped suddenly in a secluded path within the dense forest, her demeanor showing unease and suspicion. “Did you hear anything?”
In response, Dog whispered with an evident distaste, “No audible noises caught my attention, but I did pick up on a peculiar and strong odor. It’s a complex mix – a dull and grimy stench combined with a piercing, almost chaotic urge to obliterate everything in its path.”
Shirley softly responded, reflecting on their past encounters, “I think our old foes are back in action. It’s baffling how persistent they are. I keep wondering, what could possibly draw them to this place so powerfully in the Dream of the Nameless One? Is this so-called ‘Original Blueprint’ truly worth all this trouble to them?”
Dog, rather than answering, crouched down, trying to tap into any residual mystical energy or aura lingering in the area. This aura was a signature left by the followers of the Annihilation Cult and their shadow demons.
Detecting a familiar presence from the remnants, Dog’s voice conveyed urgency as he said, “I recognize a presence. That member of the Annihilators, the one named ‘Richard’, he’s with them.”
Shirley, clearly taken aback, exclaimed, “He’s actually returned? After the last beating we delivered to him, I would’ve thought he’d retreat to the real world for a longer recovery period.”
Dog responded gravely, “It appears they’ve made adequate preparations before delving into this dream. Their mental defenses are robust, so any harm they suffer here doesn’t heavily affect their real-world selves. It’s logical, really. If they’ve assembled such a sizable group to explore the Dream of the Nameless One, they must be well-versed with its mechanics.”
Pensively, Shirley inquired, “Do you think they are still close?”
“They’ve moved on from this spot,” Dog replied, his voice filled with caution, “The demonic aura they left behind is dissipating rapidly. It’s tricky to determine their exact distance from us now. But we need to be on our guard. Especially because ‘Richard’ is aware of you, and our previous strategy won’t work on him again.”
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Shirley glanced around, quickly assessing the environment. With a sense of urgency, she said to Dog, “Maybe we should consider finding a secure place to hide in this expansive forest. We can wait until it’s daybreak in the real world. It’s unlikely that those cultists would retrace their steps.”
However, Dog was not convinced. “I wouldn’t bet on that. Do you recall the unpredictable and dangerous erosion that sprung up without warning and expanded at an alarming rate?” He advised, shaking his head, “Nowhere here is truly safe. Our best shot at safety might be behind the so-called ‘Silent Wall’. We need to discover that barrier.”
As he shared this thought, he pointed deeper into the woods, adding, “The Annihilators are on the hunt for the ‘Silent Wall’ too. Our best approach might be to shadow them discreetly, staying far enough to remain undetected. This way, the element of surprise stays with us.”
Exasperated, Shirley rolled her eyes and remarked sarcastically, “Well, excuse me for brainstorming!” She let out a small huff, her voice dripping with mild frustration. “Alright then, let’s press on, but we need to ensure we don’t accidentally stumble upon those cultists.”
Dog, ever the supportive companion, bobbed his head in understanding. He closed his eyes momentarily, focusing on sensing the faint mystical auras permeating the air. Once he determined the safest direction, he confidently took a stride forward. But just as he planted his foot, his entire demeanor changed. His voice a hushed urgency, he whispered, “Shirley, be on your guard, someone’s drawing near!”
Almost as if on cue with Dog’s words, Shirley’s sharp ears picked up the rustling of footsteps—stealthy, yet rapidly approaching. They seemed to materialize out of thin air, giving her little time to react. Her instincts kicked in; she clenched her chain weapon, her grip firm and ready, as she pivoted toward the sound.
Emerging from the forest’s dense foliage was a striking elven woman.
Her attire was an intricately designed armor that seemed lightweight but durable, perfect for navigating dense woodlands and providing ample protection. Sunlight pierced through the treetops, illuminating her cascading golden hair, which was adorned with glowing azure threads. Clutched in her grip was a hybrid weapon—a melding of a spear and a long axe, showcasing the artistry and craftsmanship of elven design.
Shirley was momentarily captivated by the mesmerizing appearance of this elven figure. But before she could process the sudden appearance, the elf gracefully advanced, closing the distance.
“Why haven’t you heeded the call to retreat? What business do you have being outside the protective barriers?”
For a split second, Shirley felt like a deer caught in the headlights. But years of training and experiences taught her to improvise. With a hint of embarrassment, she explained, “I… seem to have lost my way. I intended to head toward the Silent Wall.”
Seemingly unfazed by Shirley’s initial flustered state and apparently undeterred by Dog’s distinct and formidable appearance, the elf responded in a measured tone, “Both of you are wandering an area known for sudden and dangerous erosions. It’s dangerous out here. Lucky for you, you’ve encountered me—I’m a guardian of these woods.”
With a graceful motion of her hybrid weapon, she indicated a direction deep within the forest. “I can guide you to the Silent Wall.”
Shirley hesitated just a beat before replying, “That’d be much appreciated.” As they began their journey, Shirley covertly attempted to contact her captain telepathically. With Dog close by her side, she kept stride with the elven guide.
As they ventured further into the forest, navigating the labyrinth of nature marked by foliage and the uneven terrain, the trio moved in a harmonious rhythm. The elven guardian led with confidence, her presence dominating the path, yet she seldom uttered a word.
Feeling the pressing silence and sensing an opportunity to glean more about their guide and their current situation, Shirley decided to initiate a conversation. After pondering for a moment, she ventured, “By the way, might I ask about your name?”
The elven maiden, with her graceful and fluid movements, suddenly came to an abrupt stop, her long golden locks swaying gently with the momentum. She slowly pivoted her body to face Shirley, her piercing blue eyes locking onto Shirley’s with a deep intensity. The ambient forest sounds seemed to fade away during this intense eye contact. With a melodious yet assertive tone, she introduced herself, “I am known as Shireen among my kin. It would be wise to remember that.”
Shirley blinked in astonishment, taken aback by the sudden revelation.
…
In the midst of an engulfing darkness, shrouded by an eerie fog that seemed almost tangible, the almost supernaturally quiet ship known as the “Vanished” floated. Inside its bowels, at the heart of the ship, Duncan was perched at the navigation desk. He was in mid-conversation with the bizarre entity known only as the “goat head.”
However, in the middle of their discourse, Duncan abruptly halted. He tilted his head slightly as if straining to hear a distant echo or recall a forgotten memory. His eyebrows knitted together, and his gaze became introspective, lost in a sea of thoughts.
The “goat head,” an entity of few words and even fewer emotions here in this dream, remained unmoved by Duncan’s sudden distraction. It simply waited, its eyes impassive, exuding an aura of cold indifference. This peculiar creature, an ever-present entity aboard the “Vanished,” functioned almost like a semi-sentient oracle. Its responses were seemingly limited and typically spurred by Duncan’s questions or comments.
Eventually, Duncan’s gaze settled on the goat head after coming back to attention.
Despite numerous interactions and queries, this other goat head remained cryptic about its statement: “Saslokha died a long time ago.” This phrase echoed repeatedly during their interactions, like a broken record endlessly looping the same track.
A blend of curiosity and concern drove Duncan to rise from his chair. He strode over to a beautifully crafted oval mirror that was mounted on a nearby wall.
As he moved, the goat head rotated its neck, silently observing Duncan’s every step. The sheer silence accompanying its watchful gaze sent shivers down the spine.
While Duncan had over time grown somewhat indifferent to the strange and disconcerting presence of this enigma, he now focused on the mirror. He gingerly touched its ornate frame, and almost instantaneously, the image of Agatha shimmered into view.
Always alert, Duncan could sense the continuous watchfulness of the goat head from behind him. However, as Agatha’s reflection appeared, the goat head remained utterly still, as if blind to her existence.
Agatha, visible through the mirror, cautiously surveyed the surroundings. Once she deduced that the goat head posed no immediate threat, she exhaled a subtle sigh of relief and acknowledged Duncan with a nod.
“We’ve come across an unexpected development,” Duncan began, his tone measured. “Shirley and Dog have stumbled upon another individual named Shireen in the forest.”
A look of surprise flashed across Agatha’s features. She quickly recomposed herself and asked, “And what of Miss Lucretia…?”
With a confirming nod, Duncan replied, “She remains in Shireen’s company.”
A heavy silence ensued, the weight of the revelations causing both to momentarily lose their words. The mirror, their sole means of communication, seemed to amplify the distance between them.
Finally, after gathering her composure, Agatha took a deep, steadying breath before breaking the stillness. “Captain,” she began, her voice firm yet tinged with urgency, “I’ve also unearthed some significant information on this end as well.”
Duncan, sensing the gravity of the situation, instinctively hushed his voice to a whisper, “What have you uncovered, Agatha?”
Within the reflective surface of the mirror, Agatha’s image seemed momentarily hesitant. She raised a slender hand and gently gestured towards a prominent wooden door nestled deep within the captain’s cabin, a door that guarded the secrets of the captain’s private chambers.
“While you were engrossed in your exchange with the goat head, I embarked on a journey, navigating through the reflections of every single mirror aboard the ‘Vanished’,” she began, her tone laden with urgency. “Each of these mirrors accurately portrayed their respective locations within the ship. Yet, when I reached this particular one,” she paused, her eyes narrowing, “I was confronted with an uncanny barrier, something preventing my passage.”
Duncan’s eyes darted immediately to the captain’s bedroom door. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by an unmistakable edge, the weight of Agatha’s revelations etching furrows into his brow.
He took a brief moment to process the information and then decisively moved towards the door, his boots echoing softly against the wooden floor.
The goat head, resting upon the navigation desk, began to stir. It creaked and contorted as if coming alive, its bottomless, enigmatic eyes unwaveringly tracking Duncan’s every move.
Approaching the door, Duncan paused. He laid his hand on the ornate doorknob but hesitated to turn it immediately. Instead, he pivoted, leveling a searching gaze upon the inscrutable goat head. “What lies beyond this point?” he inquired, his voice resonating with authority.
“I don’t know,” the goat head replied, its voice monotonous, devoid of emotion.
Duncan pressed further, “Is it safe for me to venture inside?”
“I don’t know,” it echoed, seemingly caught in a repetitive trance.
Growing frustrated, Duncan pressed, “What fate awaits me within that room?”
“I don’t know.” The mysterious entity persisted in its cryptic chorus, offering no further clarity.
However, it made no move to hinder him either.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Duncan refocused on the door before him. With a resolute grip, he turned the handle and pushed it open.
He was immediately greeted by a jarring and surreal vista. The room appeared to be an intricate mesh of multiple dimensions as if countless realities had collided and fused together. The space was awash with a chaotic mix of lines, patterns, and colors, swirling and converging unpredictably.
Amidst this tumultuous labyrinth, Duncan could discern traces of familiar objects: remnants of a bed, fragments of a table, shards of windows, and segments of walls. Yet, their forms were grotesquely twisted, distorted as if seen through a shattered glass or dreamt up in the delirium of fever. The once orderly chamber now resembled an artist’s chaotic canvas, where logic and reason had been dismissed and imagination ran wild.
