On my way to the village, I stumbled across many things.
Corpses of animals. People. Traders. Druids. Knights. Blooming beds of fungus. The sickly cycle of rebirth that the Witch has invoked in these lands is in full force. Everywhere I look, buzzing swarms of insects scour the lands of their resources and breed within the carcasses of old companions and distant relatives. Our village was overthrown, yes, but our land has suffered the most. Ironic, that a cult of druids would lead us so astray.
My breath is heaving. My muscles are losing their strength. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, yearning to be freed from this constant anxiety. The tension in my body is almost palpable, as heavy as it is. The temptation of the honey grows ever stronger - one drop, and the poison will cease to attack my body. To satiate that vile witch’s demands, I must become one of her thralls. I must live under her thumb for the rest of my life.
To hell with it. To survive is to adapt. The witch might be able to take me bare-handed if I show up like this. No, I will fight; To the bitter end. You want to control my thoughts? You want to decide my fate? Let’s see you try.
From a nearby fungal bloom, I violently pluck a number of mushrooms. I nearly crush their flowery caps between my armored fingers. Without hesitation, I squeeze them dry. Fungal honey spurts out from them, covering both my hands and forearms with the substance. It smells appetizing and sugary. Like a fresh apple, almost. Its sweet fragrance masks its revolting, vile nature. I lick the honey off my gloves like a depraved animal. With each lick, it grows ever sweeter - and I feel the haze in my mind overtake my natural instincts of self-preservation.
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For a moment, I slip away. The fungal honey quells the raging storm inside of me. The pain, the suffering, the sickness. It all ebbs away, almost instantaneously. It’s simply magical. It can’t be anything else. How comforting. How nice. I could get addicted to this stuff.
Flick. Flick. Flick. I hear something in the distance.
My eyes go blank. Darkness surrounds me. The mushrooms almost immediately begin to attack my brain - my will, my memories. Having gone without the fungal honey for so long, it seems the poison must’ve seeped deeper into my brain than I imagined. I probably must’ve been long dead now, had it not been for all the preventative measures I had taken. The wounds in my leg begin to heal. The fungal honey is doing what it was promised to do - it is a healer, better than even time itself. This, at least, was not a lie propagated by the witch. Still…
Flick. Flick. Flick.
The spark ignites. My sword, wreathed in flames, brings me back to my senses. It seems, in my drugged out state, I reflexively unsheathed my sword to protect myself. Somehow, the flames saved me from sinking down.
Two more days to go. I can do this.