All I'd heard about the expeditions before ours was bad, and each of us had heard the same things. A woman I used to make the Cove Port to Green Hill run with lost an ear when her favorite horse bit it off. Healed, of course, but she says she sometimes still gets the shivers whenever she hears the CRUNCH of someone taking a bite out of a raw carrot.

Animals were difficult to control, and dogs that would have licked your face a few hundred miles back were more apt to raise their hackles and make you think of guarding your soft midsection. Those that made it back alive always said that their companions began whatever violence occurred, and there was no one to tell it different.

Cursed, they said. Everyone said. I said, even. And still I went.

It was the draw of the unknown, I suppose. And the pay. Couldn't complain about the pay – could only complain about the clause that said we needed to be back alive to claim it. Caravan runs were getting tedious – and more dangerous by the day – and no one offered more coin when there were plenty of seasoned folk with a stomach for bloodletting looking for work. If I was going to do dangerous, I wanted dangerous pay.

Everyone agreed that the Artifact was the center of dangerous, and people were willing to pay for information. Lined up rather nicely, all I needed to do was make it work.

I spent a few years planning. Casually, at first – seeking out those who'd gone before, asking after what experiences they were willing to tell. When I noticed patterns in the information, I started planning in earnest.

Animals were universally reported to be difficult, even those familiar to their handlers. A few folks thought that familiar animals fared better – though by my friend's ear, not entirely well – and so I resolved to only bring animals that were well-known to the party.

Disagreements about food and responsibilities were apparently common. I heard a bloody story about a cook who hacked four members of their party to death with a cleaver before being put down, apparently because days of nagging comments about food drove them over the edge. It seemed prudent to seek consensus around distributing camp chores, as well as prioritizing agreement over what supplies we brought.

The worst of the lot seemed to hinge on disputes over leadership. Most expeditions returned without their leader. I did not want to join that tally.

I sought out others who were amenable to a widely consensus-driven structure. We would try to make decisions as a unit, considering everyone's needs, the purpose of our expedition, and the needs of the group as a whole. Background didn't seem to matter – some folks I rejected were soldiers, used to operating as a unit, and some folks who came were soldiers. Some folks just had a sense of teamwork about them, willing to work with others and compromise to get the job done.

Everyone agreed that a leader would be necessary, and of course they universally nominated me. The People of the Crooked Feather, in the mountains to the east, have a saying that the best leaders are those who do not want the job. I knew the job, certainly, but I had strong hopes that we could approach the task as a seamless, united front.

I did not want to be responsible. I did not want any glory, or fame, just to live long enough to get paid.

It was not to be. I was charged with leading this group into the Artifact, where so much blood had been spilled and so many lives lost. A group decision, I was told. I believed them; it was a good one. A sensible decision. I would have supported it, were I a member. It was one I was forced to accept, responsibility thrust upon me. They would go, they said, and eagerly, as long as I led the way.

I prayed to my household gods, to the god of my parents' village, the god of fire and iron, and the god of laughter, joy, and pain, and to the trees we passed and the ground we trod. I prayed to the gods my companions prayed to, and to those they rejected.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I spent a lot of time praying in the first days.

The journey to the Artifact took several weeks. Villages and farmsteads along the way often seemed at a loss for what to do with us. Armed, armored, and well-provisioned fighting folk generally meant trouble, or at least trouble coming. On the other hand, we were going to the Artifact, and even a false hope in another doomed band of adventurers had value.

For the most part, we slept in barns. Sometimes there was an inn. Most of the time they let us inside. Towards the end, a number of nights with the sphere as our pillow. And sometimes... sometimes the traveler keeps going, and that is their plight.

No bandits or highwaymen molested us. They were predators who preferred more meat on the bones of their prey. Or they valued our efforts themselves and wanted to support us through inaction on their part. Or they feared that we were returners, attempting again, and carrying the curse with us from our prior contact with the taint. I hoped it would not be the latter.

As we approached, our progress slowed. We spent more time calming frightened packbeasts and stepping away from interpersonal squabbles than we did moving forward. I insisted that we manage these concerns actively, attending to the needs and fears and concerns of all.

That iteration, that first trip, the Artifact hovered above a small grassy patch in the middle of a meadow, nearly above treeline in the Goldfire Mountains, facing south with a fantastic view of a lake. Beautiful. Others weren't always so pretty, but it certainly helped set the tone.

When we finally arrived, it was with a solid sense of purpose. We had grown to trust each other through the daily trials of life on the road as well as our shared intention and the effort everyone contributed towards our shared goal. So when it was finally in sight, the only indication from us was a collective cry of success.

When we saw it and cried out, we all knew what it was. Regardless, it had been described a dozen different ways and no one agreed on anything but the sense that we would know. Half-Saddle ranged north, Mouth went west, and Nubs went east. We grazed the animals and unloaded gear and provisions while we waited for them to return. Each came back, and each told us that the pull led them back to us.

To the Artifact. We got to work.

Abandoned camp sites had been evident on our approach, and our scouts confirmed more in all directions. We selected a site to claim for ourselves and folks began to bustle just as we'd been for weeks. Animals were rubbed down and watered at a creek Mouth found, firewood gathered, and shelter constructed.

We'd been working for a few hours when we all paused at the same time. I remember making eye contact with The Smith, both of us questioning our perceptions. We'd all heard the same voice, light and airy and insubstantial.

{come closer}

Everyone looked at me. “Sounds like it's time for a meeting,” I said. “Over...there.” We all slowly worked our way back from the Artifact, assembling at the point I indicated. It hovered implacably, smooth and grey and completely foreign.

{come closer}

“Quieter this time?” I asked. Consensus. The voice was even less substantial, almost nonexistent. A brief discussion and we agreed to move even farther back. We were two good bowshots away at that point, each of us breathing quietly and waiting patiently. Nothing. I prayed again.

When my prayer was done and we had still heard nothing, my companions all looking to me, I opened the meeting for discussion. Distance was agreed to be important and we agreed to move our camp back. No one would approach the Artifact alone, and when two approached, another two would observe from camp.

We got back to work. By avoiding any proximity to the Artifact, we were able to establish ourselves in short order. We slept rough the first night, but after that we lived about as comfortably as one could while on an overland journey.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, I was one of the first two to approach the Artifact. I volunteered, truthfully...I think I felt it was only the right thing to do, given my responsibility for my companions. As Nubs and I approached, I tried to quell the rising tide of anxiety that crept up from the pit of my stomach.

{come closer}

That same voice. As we continued our slow approach, we got a whiff of...something...in the air. Not unpleasant. Not particularly pleasant, either. It was something...sharp, something distinct. Then a vision flashed before us and we both started.

“A person?” I asked Nubs. He agreed, it had been a person. A few more steps and we stopped short as the same person began to appear in front of us, opening their arms. Then the voice returned as the person vanished.

{come closer}

I stopped Nubs with a hand on his chest. Gave him a look that asked “do you mind?” He did not.

“Why?” I said out loud, directing my attention towards the Artifact.

{to help}

“Help how?”

{help me}

“What's wrong? What do you need help with?”

{i am without}

“Without what?” My mind buzzed as I tried to fit this experience in with all those I'd heard of before.

{without cohesion}

A pause.

{without energy}

“How can we help?”

{come closer}

“I'd like to know how we can help first.”

{come closer}

{i am hurt}

{come closer}

I was not about to do that. More than enough for a first attempt, I thought to myself. Nubs caught my eye and I gave him a small nod; we turned around and began to return to camp.

A chill hit us first. Then the voice changed, abruptly and violently and made more disorienting by the fact that the person appeared again, in front of us, this time with arms outstretched, grasping, threatening.

{COME CLOSER}

Before, the voice was quiet, meek, almost pathetic. Then it was full of fury and vengeance unwrought, sharp driving spikes and harsh grating rawness that triggered a quick intake of breath.

“I don't like getting pushed around. Ain't never stood for it before. We ain't standing for it now. We'll be back tomorrow.” We kept walking. The voice continued its tirade, fading as we made distance before it winked out completely and we were surrounded by friends, all wide-eyed and eager to hear what had just happened.

Would have been easier to explain if I understood it myself.