White cracks of light gleamed through twisted branches all around, trees suffocated by invasive thorns and vines; making the trek a struggle every step. Small, murky green swamp pools bubble throughout the area, emitting greenish fumes that reek of rotting wood and flesh. Moisture builds on the top layer of dirt, making almost mud, but not quite. Bugs of many kinds crawl and retreat when the scouting party passes through. Some bite them on exposed skin or make their way under the clothing they wear. Creatures scurry along the tops of the trees and in the surrounding brush. Thick, green fog rolls ankle deep across the uneven forest floor, making newcomers to this land sick to their stomachs. Herbs and certain types of food helped alleviate the nausea, but once they ran out of their reserves, the feeling would return in force. Even though the expedition last year stopped a few miles ahead, the path itself was in terrible condition. Vines almost overtook the road entirely. In any other place in the world, it would have taken decades for the land to take back what was lost. Not in Hurn, the land had been tainted. The black fog that engulfed the now lost City of Nito made sure of that, poisoning the land countless miles in all directions, even the sea itself in the west was mostly lost it.

Four scouts cloaked in dark green and black uniforms kept their distance from the main party that walked along the path. The fifth scout stayed behind the cutters in front of the line of them, keeping watch; making sure nothing snuck up on them. Even though they were a part of the party, nobody could see them along the road; cloaking themselves amongst the dense foliage. They can’t yell either as it would give away the parties location too easily, so they communicate differently, a device known as a creaker. It is one of the many vines that can be seen all around, thin pieces are shaved off of one, condensed into a small spindle with a dial system at the top; masking the user as they relay messages back and forth. The dial itself has five separate levels of intensity, tightening the stripped vine threads tighter the higher the dial level goes. Creating a creaking sound, but foreign enough to where the scouts can discern between that, and the natural aches and groans of the swampy forest itself.

Prospector Hill has been terribly aware of Hurns’ environment for a long while. This was his 5th expedition since he took on the job a few years back. The Yerna Mining Company tends to only do one or two a year because of how pricey they can be, especially with ones that go out this far into unknown territory. It pays better than anything else he could have done back home. Other companies were more traditional, operating much farther South in the mainland in mountains or quarries. Here, though, is where the real coin is. When the ground was poisoned, it caused some plants to start creating new types of herbs. New rock formations sprung up, many of both having healing properties, or just created new types of metal if smelted down correctly. Which made the work very profitable, but very dangerous at the same time because of what else the tainted ground had created.

“Rold.” Hill said while he wrote in his notebook. ‘How far are we from the edge of the charted path?’

Head Scout Rold squinted his eyes, scratching his slightly graying beard, pondering over the question. “I would say about ten miles, sir.” He took out his creaker, then turning the dial, signaling the scouts farther out and the rest of the caravan to stop.

“Good spot to drop a marker?” Hill asked while he signaled the driller to walk over to them.

“I’d say so, yes.” Rold took out what looked to be a water skin from around his neck, but smaller, holding it out to Hill to take a drink.

Hill looks at it while he tells the driller where to put the metal ten-mile markers on both sides of the path. ‘Not water?’ He says as he writes down how far out they are in his log.

Rold smirks, shaking his head; “No, sir,” handing the mysterious liquid to him.

After Hill took a swig, his face balled up, then he started to cough. Rold laughed, putting a hand on the struggling man's shoulder.

“Like it? It’s new, expensive too.” He said while he took back the water skin.

“I swear, Rold, those barely drinkable concoctions of yours are gonna kill me someday.” He took in a deep breath of the muggy, stagnant air of this place; trying not to puke.

“I hope not, I wouldn’t make as much coin. Good to move on, sir?”

“Yes.” Hill spat out whatever was left of the strong liquid he just consumed out of his mouth. “Yes we are.”

*

Night crept onto them quickly, the chirping of numerous bugs and frogs filled the air as the sun set in the west. In here, though, it was already dark. No stars could peek through the dense, packed trees overhead. You could barely see your hand in front of your face, let alone anything in the treeline. The scouts had to try, though, it was their job to keep the party safe at all costs. After the small camp was set up, and they got the thick wood wall around the fire, some were able to relax. Not all, most stayed up. Scouts sat by their lonesome about fifty feet out from the camp. All four of them were spread out evenly, so nothing could get past their patrolling gaze. A nearby pond gurgled and churned sporadically, making some soldiers go to the other side of the camp to get away from the constant noise..

The wall that had been erected around the middle campfire was about ten feet high and curved inwards at the top. Making it much harder for Lobbers to get their throws on the mark, especially with how low the thick vines from the trees hung down. The soldiers and miners talked, gambled and drank together like they have known each other their whole lives. They were always encouraged to have a good time when they camped, which helped boost morale significantly when they were going to be out for so long. On average, an expedition took about 3 months to complete, give or take.

Hill had sat down next to the protected fire with a few other people, crossing his legs, he then lit a pipe he’s been dying to use. The pipe was well sanded down black wood, carved swirls and tighter packed spiral designs were across. Probably the nicest thing Hill had on him, only allowing himself to spend a decent amount of coin on occasion. The bottom of the dark brown pants he wore had gotten muddy from the trek, and his thin, white shirt had gotten a few stains on it, too. Mostly from squishing mosquitos or random insects that had been crawling all over it. Thicker clothes were not recommended in such a damp, hot climate; even the soldiers only had on thin leather armor. Being armor-cladded out here would be a death sentence for a multitude of reasons.

Rold sat at the far side of the flames from Hill in the same manner, holding out his hands from under his thin, dark green robe to the crackling flames. Revealing the thin leather armor he wore underneath that had a multitude of pouches and belts on it. Gold rings adorned his scarred and weathered fingers. His eyebrows perked up when he could smell what the prospector had lit in his pipe.

“Is that Kihl Leaf you’re smoking over there?” He was more surprised than anything. It’s why he even asked in the first place, just to be sure.

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“It is.” Hill was only half focused on the conversation, jotting down the route they have taken since leaving the guarded walls of the secured paths.”I bought a couple bags before we left. Heard it was the best tobacco coin could buy, had to see for myself.” He took a few puffs from it, blowing smoke rings towards the opening at the top of the makeshift room.

“My ilk used to grow Kihl Leaf for the royalty, it was a closely kept secret for a long while. Made a fortune.” Rold cracked his thick fingers, then took a swig from the water skin that dangled around his neck, unfazed from the drink that made Hill almost cough out a lung earlier.

“Then why do this? Why be out here in this muggy shithole?” One of the soldiers among the group in the room asked.

“Because he’s one of the Mori. Where all the scouts in the kingdom come from. It’s their duty to serve, and they are paid handsomely for it.” Hill said while he looked down at his notebook, still drawing the route but with the help of a ruler now. “In the past 2 days we have charted about 13 miles, much less than projected.” He just tapped the page with his pen, looking at the makeshift map he drew. Being able to make a road straight here was nearly impossible, even by those standards it looked bad. The path they had charted curved like a snake on the page.

While Rold took another swig of the potent elixir, he suddenly froze. It took a moment for the rest of the lot to notice. They all looked at him. What sounded like a natural sound the swamp made to the rest, Rold knew otherwise; shooting up out of his spot in an instant. He signaled to the others to be quiet, but to follow him. The rest of the party slowly got up, now following him out of the hut, grabbing their weapons wherever they leaned on the outside of the walls. Rold took out his creaker as the ones that left the fire dispersed besides Hill, telling who were outside to be ready to fight. He turned the dial a few times, asking the front right scout what was wrong. After a few moments, he heard a response he wished he hadn’t. Rold sighed, looking now at Hill, who was crouched not far behind him; “Four Mushroom Heads.” He said in an irritated whisper.

“Four? I thought they never roamed in packs?” said Hill under his voice, setting his notebook down next to where his rapier and dagger were. He then put the sword through its predetermined slot on his belt and put the dagger on the far side in its simple sheath. “Can yours’ take care of them quietly before they get too close?”

After he dialed the creaker a few more ways he looked again at Hill, said; “We will see.”

Getting the drop on a Husk was hard enough, let alone ones that were known for being highly aggressive at the slightest unwelcomed noise. The head scout slowly walked to the edge of the camp, looking into the blackness. For a few minutes, Rold just stared out into it, face emotionless. Like he could see what was going on. The others gazed in the same direction, barely being able to even see him. The scouts' vague shape had stayed in sight by the dim lanterns on wooden poles, set up to signify the farthest point of the camp’s perimeter.

The group waited in silence for a response from the scouts for a few minutes. A sudden breaking of branches and a deep yell could be heard in the distance, before it became silent again a second later. Rold grabbed the creaker, waiting for a response of any kind from his group. A few moments after the scuffle, he finally got one. “They’re taken care of.” Saying to the rest of the troop without turning to face them. “Drag them in to be harvested?”

Hill knew that question was meant for him, “How big are their tops?”

Rold asked over his device, laughed by exhaling through his nose. “You’ll see.” He turned around, walking past the others back into the hut in the middle of the camp.

When the Scouts brought the four Mushroom Heads into camp, the group was speechless. Hill crouched over the largest one, looking it over. It was huge compared to the ones they have seen before. Husks have one common trait, their skin. It looked similar to gray, petrified wood, they lumbered and creaked through the swampy forest aimlessly; usually by themselves. Mushroom Heads used their namesake as a weapon to ram full speed into anybody or anything they so choose. Carriages back when they first started to explore this place would be knocked over entirely by these things, which is why that and horses weren’t brought on expeditions anymore. They also were another one of the many reasons why soldiers didn’t wear armor here. If you were caught in its way when it put its head down to charge, you were most likely dead; or soon would be after if your rib cage got crushed, and you internally bled to death. Luckily for them, though, Husks are humanoid in nature. So, you can kill them quickly and quietly by a single, well aimed jab to the base of the head; severing the brain stem from the rest of its body.

Taking one of the lanterns off of its post it was hooked too, Hill looked at its head. The blackish-green mushroom was rock solid, growing over the creature's entire head long ago. He rolled it over, looking at the horizontal slit the stab from the scout had left. Black, almost sap like blood oozed out of the wound slowly over its wood like skin.

Mushroom Heads’ tops were very valuable, depending on the color and size. Most were used for potent healing potions or to just numb the pain as someone was recovering from an injury. They have evolved to be shorter in stature, being able to hunch over but still be low to the ground, better keeping their balance; picking up speed quickly. When they did start the charge, though, it was obvious what was coming for you. Brush and branches shake and break as they sprint as fast as they can towards their target, making the ground quake as they get closer and closer. The one Hill looked at was not that at all. With the ram included, the Husk was about Seven and half feet tall, the mushroom itself was about two feet alone. Amazed the whole group didn’t hear it lumbering through the woods from a mile away. This Husk's body was a darker tone as well. Their rigid, damaged looking skin tended to be lighter, like a more creamish color or white. Just with dark accents throughout, looking like mold or it was waterlogged in spots depending on which area of Hurn it came from. Not this monster, its wood-like skin was almost all black. Thicker too, looking more akin to armor. Smaller patches of mushrooms grew along its surface as well.

The scout walked back over to him after he took a drink from a water skin another scout had. “This one was their leader, by the looks of how they were walking together.” The scout took out his dagger and started to pick grime from under his nails with it, after he said that nonchalantly.

“Their- did you say their leader?” Said Hill as he looked up at the scout, confused by what the scout just said.

“Yeah. They were in a straight line formation behind this thing.” He sheathed the blade again. “They even stopped in unison right before we took them out.”

“Were there any reports of this among your ilk from prior expeditions recently?” Hill said as he signaled a soldier who held a long war axe to come over, pointing at the creature's neck, just below where the mushroom section of the thing had ended.

The scout just looked at the dead creature, shaking his head as the axe came down onto it, decapitating it with one hack.

Hill stood up, now raising his voice so at least all the people around him could hear; “Bag them up then get some rest, the sun will be up in a few hours.” He said it like he would partake, he wouldn’t be able to. He walked back into the hut where Rold was, already looking forward to smoking some more of that Kihl Leaf he had brought. If Rold was still awake, he'd talk to him as well.

While Hill had walked in, Rold took another big swig from the small water skin, it must’ve been getting close to empty by this point. “They are learning.” The graying scout said in a flat, serious tone, the fiery shades of red and yellow from the fire distorted his face while he spoke. "We need to find the hive, destroy it before they learn how to surpass our defenses in the protected zone.”

Hill just stood there in the doorway, just being able to pull the engraved pipe out of his pocket beforehand. “We have never been able to find i-”

“I know that.”

Hill just glared at Rold now, “We don’t even know if it really exists.” He sat down, setting the pipe on his now criss crossed legs by the fire. Even with the muggy, humid air, he was still cold somehow. “Even when Hurn first was corrupted, the armies that were sent in. Nobody ever found it then, how do you expect we would be able to now?”

The scout looked at the prospector from across the fire, with Hill now being at eye level with him. He stared at him for a moment, “We go the way of old.”

“Excuse me?” Hill says as he suddenly stands up. “I didn’t hear that right.”

“You did.”

“Tha-” Hill lowered his voice, walked over to him, sat down then put a hand on the scouts shoulder. “That’s treason, friend. Since House Stag took power over 300 years ago, it has been banned in any form.”

“I’m aware.”

“How would you even know how to do it? All the books were burned.” Hill kept his voice down, but kept glancing at the door every few seconds.

“Not all Mori’s become scouts.” He says, pushing the logs closer to each other in the fire with an iron poker, causing a sudden plume of sparks to shoot up among the flames.