“There is no growth in stagnation. True, many who first went to brave the wastes would never return, that I cannot deny. But those who survived… we are the ones who would define this new era, not the worms crying out in the dirt.” - Writings of Razorwire Ken, early Cultivator warlord in the Age of Ash.
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As it turns out, having a feast as a celebration was a constant across species. All of the tribe, perhaps fifty or sixty individuals in all, knelt before tables of large flattened logs and boulders. John and Cobalt, too short in their base states at least, were propped up on a slightly shorter log, right in the centre of it all. And without needing to wear that bomb-cursed mask, he could actually enjoy the aroma of something other than plastic decaying from his own sweat. Unfortunately, though not all the smells were entirely pleasant. The spores were dry enough to burn, and dense enough to be a significant concern, thus nothing could be cooked by conventional means. If the Forest was truly in danger it would respond in turn of course, but there was nothing guaranteeing its response would be in time to prevent massive damage, or that it would prioritise those who had foolishly lit it on fire in the first place.
So, in lieu of flames, food was prepared with fermentation. A lot of fermentation in ways John had not even imagined before. In Gorekin’s den, they had feasted mostly upon dried food, but it seems those were more travel foods and snacks than befitting a feast. For that they carted out massive piles of slimy green-tinged meat that smelled about as sour and pungent as they looked, bread-like lumps of fungus-infested seeds, some manner of vegetable so thoroughly fermented it was impossible to tell what exactly it was prior to the process, and of course fermented beverages smelling of enough alcohol it could probably influence his enhanced body.
[ARTOS can provide ethanol breakdown services up to 98% concentration.] ARTOS helpfully told him. [For recreational purposes, such functions can be temporarily disabled.]
He took a second to consider, a big whiff of something between rotting insect and sour gruel, and decided. Disable them, please.
He took a big sip of the liquid in the intricately carved wooden cup, bearing many symbols of deep cultural relevance according to Gorekin, and savoured the slightly sweet, astringent and bitter flavour of the drink. Complemented by a sharp edge that burned on its way down to his core, alcohol mixed with some sort of potent Si-bearing fungus.
“Say, Gorekin, where does this meat come from anyway?” He decided to ask, staring at what he presumed to be at least pickled meats on his plate.
Gorekin put down the large slimy slab he was chewing on and enthusiastically answered. “In deep woods, fungus grazers of many kind! Meat poison for human to eat in such big amount, but you Spirit-kin no should have trouble! Fer- ferma- slow rot kill poison anyway!”
Cobalt poked at her meal slowly, taking little bites here and there and evidently doing her best not to make a strange face for fear of coming off as rude. He had seen her happily chow down on raw meat, and though he had not seen it she had admitted to eating human flesh and liking it. It was a little odd to see her being so… picky. But then again, she was born in a place where being picky about food wasn’t a concern even in the perpetual winter of the Great Famine.
He looked at her encouragingly and took a bite of the slimy meat. It didn’t taste bad, all things considered. He sort of expected it to taste a bit like scavenged garbage, at least during the times that were plentiful enough for edible waste to be around anyway. But instead, it was this pungent, slightly sour and salty, almost stingy mix of flavours that were not unpleasant all in all. Odd certainly, but certainly not bad, as he began to chow down in earnest.
“Now I have to know where this comes from…” He half-mumbled through a mouth full of mystery meat. “Though Gorekin… couldn’t you make the food look prettier?”
“Why food pretty?” The human enthusiast asked.
“Um… humans use our sense of sight for many things. Including knowing when food is good or… possibly spoiled. So presentation of a meal can change a lot.” Cobalt explained.
“Oh! Understand!” Gorekin perked up excitedly. “Forest-kin eyesight no good! And stomach stronger than normal human! Not issue here!”
“Evidently…” Cobalt grumbled, just over a whisper as she poked away at a bit of meat with a claw.
A couple of hunters emerged from the woods with what looked to be a cross between a giant grub and a Mustard horse. Four large legs with something resembling hooves dangling under a large, squishy mass of chitin and pale skin, with many more pointier limbs arranged beneath a black beak of some sort. The hunters placed it upon the table and immediately began to tear it apart with knives, revealing oddly red meat within the creature that they then distributed amongst everyone in large slabs. Cobalt seemed much more enthused to eat this, eagerly grabbing her portion and ravenously devouring it.
John poked at his portion, wondering where exactly to start on this. He didn’t have fangs like Cobalt did, and while he was no stranger to eating undercooked and tough food it did feel a bit concerning to just eat something like this straight up. Deciding he wouldn’t be a hypocrite he took a gentle bite, only to be greeted with a flavour he didn’t know he craved.
Iron. Bloody and potent, the second it touched his tongue he needed more. It was like the time he ate a spoon again, only this time he was actually able to focus on the flavour and the craving was somehow more intense. Before he knew it, he was not so much eating the meat as trying to squeeze out all the meat, doubtless a horrible image. But at the very least Gorekin’s people were not as big sticklers for table manners as the Lead Cave…
Repressed memories began to crack from where he had been compartmentalising them, causing him to pause his meal in his tracks. His hands starting to shake as ugly emotions reared their head again. A pattern that was still far too common.
[Elevated cortisol levels indicate-] ARTOS said.
I know. He thought insistently, cutting it off.
“John… Are you alright?” Cobalt called over.
“I- I am…” He lied.
By the look on her face, he didn’t do a very good job with that lie, but clearly, she did not want to push further, instead returning to her meal in concerned silence. He wasn’t able to decide if that was all that better than if she had pushed further.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Ignoring that for the moment, he experimented with his new psychic mutation, bringing his focus into the thin strands connecting every piece of metal to that strange, gargantuan formation in the sky. A formation that seemed to point dead north, like a compass.
[Correct. Compasses follow the natural magnetic field of the Earth. One that it appears you are able to interact with. Electromagnetism is a fundamental force of nature, with many incredibly versatile applications, I wonder how far we can push this ability.] ARTOS commented.
John looked towards minuscule threads attached to tiny, invisible specks in the dirt, air and surroundings and pulled. Taking the reddish-silver dust that formed into his hand and sprinkling them over his meal. He took a big bite and made a distinctly undistinguished noise of ecstasy, this was exactly what he needed.
[Or you could do that…] ARTOS said with a hint of disappointment.
Oh shut up. John thought. The machine was getting snarky, a truly terrible development.
At the other side of the clearing was the table for the elders. Ancient, massive and thoroughly mutated members of Gorekin’s people, each with a warm aura of potent Si that spoke of both advanced age and great power. They began with an address, growling and gargling and howling in their strange tongue. He didn’t know what they were saying, but when Gorekin proudly stood up he had a good idea.
This continued for a good amount of time. A back-and-forth exchange neither he nor Cobalt were privy to, evidently with a lot of weight and emotion behind it given the passionate movements. He knew nobody could control how mutations manifested, but he wished he had a broader psychic talent to at least figure out the words. But as it stood he could guess, despite everything Gorekin wanted to leave with them, and had apparently been gifted power from the forest itself for the journey.
“Humans.” The largest elder, the same one that spoke to them earlier before fighting the infested golem, addressed them. The words and the power underlying them causing him to suddenly shoot up straight as a spear, with Cobalt doing much the same on her end. “Perhaps we have… misjudged you. The Forest itself has admitted fault in its judgement, a truly historic event. Evidently, we all have much to ruminate on.”
“T-thank you?” John said cautiously, uncertainly.
The elder gave a grunt of what he assumed, and hoped, to be approval.
“You are guests of the forest now, and so you are guests of tribe Hurhn. Stay as long as you would like with us, but as I understand you have your own journeys to make?”
Cobalt nodded. “That we do, oh honoured Elder. We humbly accept your generosity and magnaminity of course, but both of us need to return to the human world.”
“Please, none of these… platitudes.” the elder insisted. “I not so long ago would not have treated you with decorum worthy of such anyway. Besides, as I understand it elder means something different in your culture. A mark of power, above anything else.”
“What does it mean in yours then?” Cobalt asked curiously.
The elder chuffed with a sound he assumed to mean they were humoured. “Exactly what the word means child. I am an elder because I am among the eldest. I have lived four and a half centuries if my memory of your calendar is correct, and power is simply a side effect of the recognition from the Forest such seniority brings.”
It made sense to him, he supposed. Though invariably the Elders of any given Sect would be the most senior of them, seniority didn’t necessarily translate to the position. One must either earn the position early into the history of the Sect or be adopted into the requisite clans and ascend via… inheritance.
With a sinking, sickening feeling he realised he and Cobalt were possibly technically the Elders of the Lead Cave now. Not that it matters, considering the Sect was defunct, its survivors hopefully scattered to the winds and fleeing into the heart of the Empire. Which left them… absolutely nothing at all really. Still, it was the idea, the reminder that ached in a way he wasn’t sure how to describe.
[Stress levels spiking. Would you like production of mood stabilisers?] ARTOS asked.
No. He insisted. The feeling would pass, but it would do no good to forget.
[I do not comprehend?] ARTOS questioned.
It was indeed irrational he supposed, but he did not care. Nevermind, just let me decide how I feel. Please.
[...alright] It acquiesced, still clearly not entirely understanding. But both of them understood understanding wasn’t in the cards for either of them.
“So might I ask another question? How is it that you two humans found their way so deep in the Mother Forest, when you could not even breathe in her air?” The massive elder asked, leaning over so her face was right up against the two humans despite the fact she didn’t actually move that far from her original position. “We asked Grrkkn during his hearing of course, but the picture remains incomplete.”
“You won’t get much answer out of us, unfortunately, since I am not sure myself. Last I remember was the… the death of my home… and we were going to destroy some great machine the invaders wanted. And it took us to a strange place, I am not sure how to describe it, but it was a dead world. Worse than a wasteland, it felt like a waking dream.” Cobalt answered slowly, soberly. Taking a long sip of her cup of fungal beer that he was almost certain did nothing for her except give her something to distract her thoughts on with its flavour. “We… we were hoping we might find answers to the south back in the human lands. Perhaps in my blood mother’s Sect… it should not be far…”
“I have opened old wounds I see. I am sorry.” The elder apologised.
“It’s alright, you didn’t know the details.” Cobalt sniffed.
Not really knowing what else to do but unable to just sit by without even trying to help, John moved his flesh and blood arm over to one of Cobalt’s hands. A crushing force gripped the hand, possibly causing bruises and a few fractures, but if it helped at all, it would be worth it.
[Please refrain from maintaining this rate of self-harm, I cannot keep up with the regenerative compound demands] ARTOS commented bluntly.
“In any case, I and the other elders have prepared what you can consider an apology gift. To help on your journey.” The gargantuan elder said.
One of her fellow elders, one with prismatic fur, carried over a large sack and placed it before them. He spoke something in his native tongue, evidently not having a good hold over Glish. Thankfully Gorekin was here to translate.
“Many medicines made of spirit herbs and fungus of forest, along with spirit stones. Good for growing Spirit-kin… which include me.” He added that last part with a strange tone, as though he were only just realising it now.
The prismatic elder made a strange face, one John had to assume was a smile, and growled something that clearly made Gorekin emotional. The other elders parroted it, and the small tremble in the furred giant’s body seemed to transcend species.
The sack was placed in-between John and Cobalt, even from here the smell of the herbal medicines and the warm buzz of Si was evident. Easily perhaps dozens of times more in value than the pittance they had managed to carry off before the Lead Cave Sect fell. With it came a weight, a knowing they were not likely to see any of these people again including Gorekin… alongside the literal weight of perhaps sixty pounds of stone and medicines on one of his legs. A cultivator he might be, but that wasn’t an insignificant mass.
Still, Gorekin looked happy about the arrangement, and they certainly couldn’t stay here forever. For now, he would sit here and enjoy the feast, try and forget the nagging emotions itching at the back of his skull.
One day they would return to the south, he was sure. To the place where everything he once knew had burned. And when that time came he had to be ready, he had to be stronger… and you couldn’t do that sitting still.