Krungus stood in the middle of the old brothel’s largest room, old watery eyes gleaming as he surveyed the space with an expression of deep disgust. Eugene leaned against the doorway, watching as Krungus prodded at a stained chaise lounge with the end of his makeshift staff, his face twisted in revulsion.
“This place,” Krungus said, his voice low and venomous, “is an affront to everything I stand for. The very air reeks of shame and mildew. It’s intolerable.”
“It’s not that bad,” Eugene said with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not great, but it’s livable.”
Krungus turned to him, his eyes narrowing. “Livable? LIVABLE? Eugene, this room is one unidentifiable stain away from sprouting a consciousness of its own. No, this won’t do. Not for me, and certainly not for my paladins.”
With a dramatic flourish, he raised his stick. The gnarled stick glowed faintly, and Krungus muttered a spell under his breath. A soft hum filled the air, and the contents of the room—the mismatched furniture, the threadbare rugs, the dubious wall hangings—shimmered and vanished in an instant.
“There,” Krungus said, exhaling with satisfaction. “A clean slate. Now, let’s make this place presentable.”
He waved his stick again, and the room began to transform. Elegant chairs and couches appeared, their upholstery in rich shades of blue and gold. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting fantastical landscapes. A chandelier of floating crystal globes materialized overhead, casting a soft, warm light. The floor beneath them shifted, the worn planks replaced by polished marble shot through with veins of silver.
Eugene whistled. “Okay, I’ll give you this—it’s an upgrade.”
“And yet,” Krungus muttered, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air, “it still feels...tainted. No matter how much I change, the stench of its past lingers.”
“It smells fine to me,” Eugene said, but Krungus wasn’t listening.
“Assist me in removing ALL of the people from this wretched building, Eugene. I have some showing off to do.”
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Krungus stood just outside the Velvet Veil, his tattered robes swaying slightly in the breeze, the faint odor of mildew still clinging to the air around him. His stick, little more than a length of crooked wood, rested in his grip, humming faintly with traces of residual energy from earlier spells. The paladins stood a short distance away, their gleaming ivory armor a stark contrast to Krungus’s disheveled appearance. Eugene lingered behind him, watching the old wizard with an uneasy curiosity. They had all come outside at Krungus’ sudden request, and did not dare to question him.
The brothel still stood, its peeling paint and sagging walls casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. To Eugene, it looked like a decrepit monument to poor choices and lingering regret. To Krungus, it seemed to be something far more offensive.
He stared at the structure in silence for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and venomous. “This place is a blight. A stain on the memory of what once stood here.”
“It’s just a building,” Eugene offered, leaning against a nearby post. “It’s empty now. Problem solved, right?”
Krungus turned his head slightly, giving Eugene a withering look. “Empty is not enough. Its very existence pollutes the air, the earth, the...the very soul of The City.” He grimaced, shaking his head. “No, it must be removed.”
He lifted his stick, tapping it lightly against the ground. A faint tremor rippled through the earth, and the air around the building seemed to grow heavier, charged with latent energy. The paladins exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent.
Eugene frowned, pushing off the post and stepping closer. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing things,” Krungus replied, his tone sharp. He raised his stick again, muttering an incantation under his breath. The words were guttural, ancient, and sounded as though they’d been dredged up from the depths of time itself.
The brothel shuddered. Windows rattled, dust fell from the eaves, and a low, almost imperceptible hum filled the air. Slowly, the building began to glow faintly, its edges outlined in a soft, ethereal light.
The paladins watched in awe, their unease giving way to fascination. Eugene, on the other hand, took a cautious step back. “Uh...this isn’t going to blow up or anything, is it?”
Krungus didn’t answer. His focus was entirely on the building, his hand tightening around his stick as he drew out the spell. The brothel began to fold inward, the walls compressing, the roof collapsing into itself like a house of cards imploding in slow motion. The glow around it intensified, rippling like a mirage as the structure grew smaller and smaller.
“What the hell...” Eugene muttered, watching as the building shrank. Its details—each cracked board, each chipped tile—remained perfectly intact, even as it compressed to a fraction of its original size.
Finally, with a soft pop, the brothel was no larger than a few inches tall. It hovered in the air for a moment, spinning slowly like a forgotten trinket. Then it fell unceremoniously to the ground, landing with a faint thud.
Krungus hesitated, his expression flickering with something almost vulnerable—pride, embarrassment, and a touch of guilt all vying for dominance. He crouched with a deliberate lack of ceremony, plucking the tiny building from the dirt and holding it up to inspect it. It gleamed faintly in the fading light, a perfect, miniature replica of the structure it had once been.
Eugene raised an eyebrow. “So...what are you going to do with that?”
Krungus didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slipped the tiny building into a hidden pocket inside his robes, brushing himself off as he straightened. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, his tone brisk. “Right. That’s done. Let’s focus on what comes next.”
The paladins glanced at each other, but none dared question him. Eugene, however, stepped closer, crossing his arms. “You just pocketed an entire building. That’s...totally normal. Nothing weird about that.”
Krungus gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you have a point?”
“Not really,” Eugene said with a shrug. “I’m just impressed you managed to do all that with a stick.”
Krungus smirked faintly, turning to walk away. “A true wizard’s power is not in his tools, Eugene, but in his will.”
Eugene sighed, shaking his head as he followed. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”
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Krungus turned to the paladins, his gaze sweeping across the group. “This is going to be your new home. What should it look like? What kind of headquarters shall we build?”
The paladins exchanged glances, their expressions thoughtful, but confused. Brenna stepped forward, her voice steady. “A sanctuary,” she said firmly. “A place of safety and healing, where anyone in need can come for help.”
The others murmured their agreement, and a tall man with a scar across his cheek added, “It should be strong, but welcoming. A place that shows we’re here to protect, not to oppress.”
Krungus nodded approvingly. “A sanctuary of strength and kindness. An admirable choice.”
He turned to Eugene. “And you, Eugene of Cincinnati? Do you have any vision to add?”
Eugene hesitated, caught off guard. “Uh...maybe a kitchen? And a library? You know, for research or snacks.”
“Practical,” Krungus said with a faint smirk. “Very well.”
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“We should keep the bar open!” Yelled Rent from the back.
Krungus paused. “All proceeds from the operation of the bar will be used to fund your relief efforts in this warzone of a City.”
Rent shrugged as if this was agreeable.
With a flourish, he raised his staff. The runes along its polished shaft flared to life, casting faint blue light across the gathered crowd. Krungus reached into his robes and pulled out a small, unassuming pouch. From it, he retrieved a pinch of fine, spore-like dust, which he scattered across the empty lot. He then used his stick to drag a line around what everyone assumed was going to be the perimeter for the building.
“Observe,” Krungus said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. He stood at attention, facing the empty lot. He raised his hands like the conductor of a symphony on a planet where Eugene no longer lived.
The spores took root instantly, the ground trembling as something began to grow. A towering mushroom sprouted from the earth, its stem thick and ivory white, its cap a deep, shimmering blue streaked with iridescent silver veins. The mushroom expanded rapidly, its size rivaling that of a modest fortress. At its base, a large, arched door formed, its surface etched with curious fungal patterns.
The paladins gasped in awe, and even Krungus looked impressed with himself.
“Behold,” Krungus said, lowering his staff. “Your new sanctuary. The cap will serve as living quarters, the stem as halls for gathering and training. The base...well, the base can hold your kitchen, Eugene.”
“What is this thing?” Eugene asked, craning his neck to take it all in.
“A gift,” Krungus said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “Long ago, before I was imprisoned in the pocket realm in which I constructed Syzzyzzy, it belonged to the Fungus Lord—a tiresome deity of all mushrooms. I displaced him, of course, and claimed his realm for myself. Among his many spoils were these spores, capable of growing structures such as this.”
“And you’ve just been carrying them around all this time?” Eugene asked.
“Indeed,” Krungus said, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his robes. “I had yet to find a use worthy of their potential—until now.”
He gestured toward the mushroom, his tone taking on a hint of reverence. “This particular species is the Luminaria magnifica, a superior breed of mushroom in every way. Durable, versatile, and aesthetically pleasing. A far cry from the vulgar fungi that litter the forests—mere toadstools by comparison.”
Eugene raised an eyebrow. “You have opinions about how different mushrooms fare in construction?”
“Only accurate ones,” Krungus said smugly. “Now, shall we inspect the interior?”
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Krungus led the paladins through the towering mushroom sanctuary, his staff lightly tapping against the smooth, organic floor with every step. Despite his usual impatience and sharp tongue, he moved at a steady pace, pausing to answer their questions and pointing out small details as though it mattered to him that they felt at ease in their new home.
“And here,” Krungus said, gesturing with his staff toward a wide, arched doorway in the stem, “is your training hall. Reinforced with fungal mycelium tougher than steel but as light as air. You’ll be able to practice combat, alchemy, or whatever else your duties require without disturbing the rest of the structure.”
The group murmured in admiration, their armored forms gleaming under the soft, bioluminescent glow that emanated from the walls. Brenna stepped forward, her expression curious. “And these marks on the walls?” she asked, pointing to a series of intricate spirals etched into the surface.
“Runes of stability,” Krungus explained, his tone almost gentle. “They ensure the structure remains sturdy, regardless of the chaos you bring to it.”
They continued the tour, with Krungus showing them each their rooms. The chambers were surprisingly spacious, each uniquely suited to the occupant. Brenna’s had sturdy oak furniture, a map of the city etched onto the wall, and a large chest for her belongings. Others had small magical enhancements tailored to their needs—a shelf enchanted to sort scrolls, a mirror that showed battle stances, a floor embedded with sparring runes.
At one point, Brenna gently tugged on Krungus’s sleeve, motioning for him to step aside. “A moment, if I may?” she asked softly.
Krungus tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, but he nodded. “Very well. Speak.”
She waited until they were out of earshot of the others before lowering her voice. “Something happened earlier. On our first patrol around the city as paladins, one of the women noticed something...odd.”
“Go on,” Krungus said, his curiosity piqued.
“She said she saw Eugene take something from a strange man in the market. She didn’t catch much, but she described it as a copper object on a chain.”
Krungus’s expression remained carefully neutral, but his eyes gleamed faintly behind his glasses. “Did she say anything about the man?”
Brenna shook her head. “Only that he was acting strangely, shouting nonsensical things.”
Krungus tapped his staff lightly against the floor, considering this information. “You did well to bring this to me, Brenna,” he said at last. “I will handle it.”
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Later, as the group gathered in the central hall, Krungus casually approached Eugene, who was leaning against one of the thick mushroom walls, studying the glowing patterns with a look of mild fascination.
“Eugene,” Krungus said, his tone uncharacteristically calm. “A word?”
Eugene glanced at him, surprised by the lack of condescension in the wizard’s voice. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”
“I understand you had an encounter in the market earlier,” Krungus began, his words measured. “A curious man gave you...something.”
Eugene stiffened slightly, his hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the fanous was hidden. “I mean, yeah,” he admitted. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“And yet,” Krungus said, leaning on his stick, “you chose not to mention it.”
Eugene hesitated, glancing at the others. “It’s...just a thing. He said I should have it, and, uh...it felt weird not to take it.”
Krungus raised a single eyebrow. “May I see it?”
Eugene sighed and reached into his pocket, carefully pulling out the copper fanous. Its intricate designs glimmered faintly in the light, and the tiny red jewels embedded in its surface seemed to pulse subtly, as though alive. He handed it to Krungus, who took it with an expression that shifted from curiosity to something far more intense.
For a long moment, Krungus stood frozen, staring at the copper fanous in Eugene’s hands. His fingers twitched faintly, and his breathing grew shallow. The glow of the red jewels seemed to intensify, casting strange patterns on his face. The tension in the room thickened, and the paladins exchanged uncertain glances.
“Uh, Krungus?” Eugene ventured, shifting uncomfortably. “You okay? You’re looking at this thing like it’s about to eat you.”
Krungus ignored him, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “No. Not here. Not now.”
Eugene frowned. “What are you talking about? What is it?”
Krungus’s eyes snapped up to meet Eugene’s, and for the first time since they’d met, there was no trace of sarcasm or smugness in his expression—only raw, unguarded fear. “Where did you get this?” he demanded, his voice trembling.
Eugene recoiled slightly, caught off guard. “I told you—some weird guy in the market gave it to me. Said I should have it. Why? What’s the big deal?”
Krungus snatched the fanous from Eugene’s hands, holding it up to inspect the intricate designs and glowing jewels. His hands trembled as he turned it over, muttering arcane words under his breath. The copper surface gleamed ominously in the natural light of the mushroom walls.
“This,” Krungus said, his voice low and urgent, “is no ordinary vessel. It is a prison, Eugene. A cage for something ancient. Something...dangerous.”
Eugene blinked. “Dangerous how? Like, cursed dangerous?”
“Worse,” Krungus said sharply, not taking his eyes off the fanous. “What lies within this vessel is not bound by our laws, our magic, or even our understanding. They are bound by their own rules—rules that twist words and bend fates. They grant wishes, yes, but only to further their own plots, their own unknowable schemes.”
Eugene’s stomach dropped. “You’re saying this thing has...someone inside it?”
“Someone?” Krungus laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. “Not someone, Eugene. Something. Something old, clever, and endlessly patient. These...creatures, they do not act without purpose. If this vessel was given to you, then it was not by chance. They are plotting. They are always plotting.”
The paladins looked on in stunned silence, Brenna taking a cautious step forward. “Krungus,” she said quietly, “if it’s so dangerous, shouldn’t we destroy it?”
“Destroy it?” Krungus whirled on her, clutching the fanous close to his chest as though it might shatter at the mere suggestion. “You do not destroy such things, Brenna. You survive them. You navigate their traps, their bargains, their riddles. To break this vessel would be to invite whatever lies within to emerge unshackled, free to wreak havoc unchecked.”
Eugene felt a chill creep down his spine. “So...what do we do with it?”
Krungus exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world had suddenly fallen on him. “We do nothing,” he said at last, his voice tinged with resignation. “We keep it hidden. We keep it safe. And above all, we do not draw its attention. Whatever it wants, Eugene, it will reveal in time. Until then, we wait.”
He handed the fanous back to Eugene, his hands trembling as they released it. Eugene took it reluctantly, the object suddenly feeling heavier in his grasp. “And what would it want from me?” he asked.
Krungus’s face darkened, the red glare of the jewels gave it an odd glow. He spoke a single word, his voice laden with dread.
“Plots.”
Eugene frowned. “What kind of plots?”
Krungus shook his head, his expression grim. “The kind that reshape the very structure of magic, Eugene. And rarely for the better.”
The room fell silent, the weight of Krungus’s words pressing down on everyone. Eugene tucked the fanous carefully into his pocket, his heart pounding. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more—the idea that something ancient and dangerous might be inside the vessel, or the fact that Krungus, for all his power and arrogance, seemed genuinely terrified.