You ever open up a can of worms that you just can’t seem to snap shut again, no matter how hard you try?

Like the time I decided to spruce up the bathroom in my little rented apartment. It all started innocent enough—I figured I'd just slap a fresh coat of paint on the walls, maybe replace the shower curtain with something a bit more lively. Simple, right? Oh, how I was mistaken.

So there I was, a Saturday morning, armed with a can of what they call "Seafoam Green" paint, ready to bring a bit of the ocean breeze into that drab artifact of a bathroom. But as I peeled off the old wallpaper, expecting an easy job, I was met with a nasty surprise: mold, and lots of it. Lurking behind the walls like an unwelcome squatter. My simple paint job turned into a moldy mess, and when I called my landlord for advice, he was as useful as a finger in a meat grinder, leaving me to handle the chaos I'd unwittingly uncovered.

But, I’ve said it before: I ain’t a quitter. I dove into the rabbit hole of mold remediation on YouTube and specialty websites (not that kind of specialty). It wasn't long before I realized this was no weekend project. I was looking at tearing out drywall, treating extensive mold, and possibly even delving into plumbing—a far holler from the simple makeover I'd initially envisioned. As I waded deeper into the process, each step uncovered new complications, transforming my bathroom into a construction zone and stretching my already tight budget. What started as a quick touch-up had spiraled into a full-blown, budget-busting renovation ordeal.

Well, anyway…I very quickly felt as though I was finding myself in another predicament that was threatening to snowball itself into a heap of trouble—but with magic.

“There, now,” Santa explained. “First, I’ll be needing to know who ye are, boy.”

“I’m Leo,” I said.

“Lìo?!” The old specter demanded, appalled. “That’s a name for the women! Aye, what fate befell ye in yer naming? Parents hoping for a daughter?”

I sighed. And so it begins…

“It’s, uh, short for Leonidas,” I said.

“No it ain’t, lad,” he said, almost sadly—as if he felt bad for me. “But it’s brave of ye to stick to yer blades as such. Who were yer sire and dam?”

I’d only ever heard those terms in relation to breeding pairs in animals, so I was a little taken aback, but decided correcting someone’s antiquated grammar wasn’t the best way to get any answers outta someone.

“I, uh, actually don’t know their names,” I said. “I was sent away as a baby, and haven’t learned any of that yet.”

I paused, remembering what Myri had said earlier.

“Oh, but I think my grand…sire’s name was ‘Valdi?’ If that helps.”

“Ach! Valdi? Well, then, I’d say I’m sorry for ye, boy, but ye I’ll assume if yer parentage is a mystery, ye didn’t know Valdi either.”

“That is correct.”

“A small blessing of the Bog, then,” the specter said. “Haven’t heard much good came from Valdi af Trask. Miserable sort, he. Though, yer not really starting off on much better footing due to your subversive nature, boy. In fact—”

“Anyway,” I said quickly, cutting him off. “What's your name, then?”

“Name’s Otho af Mosi—I’ve been assisting in the Trials for longer than they’ve been called ‘Trials.’”

“Alright, Otho,” I said. “So, you said you’d be giving me some help?” I gestured at the creature frozen in time behind me. “I think I could use it. What’ve you got? I’ll shit my pants if you tell me you’ve got a shotgun.”

“Ach! Watch ye mouth, ye heathen!” Otho exclaimed. “Don’t be talking about my natural casualties, boy. Making fun of me for my state.”

I frowned. Do guns exist here?

“I’m sorry?” I said. “Are you one of the gun control crowd, or something?”

“...discussing how gun I shet…” Otho muttered. “...disrespectful wain…” It was clear from his pronunciation of the words, that he had taken an entirely different meaning than I had intended.

“Well, sorry for any offense,” I said. “But how about we discuss what help you’re able to give me.”

“Aye,” he said, though I detected a trace of irritation in his tone. “Let’s do that then, shall we?”

He raised a hand, as if holding something out, and I watched as a bright light sparked in his ghostly palm, before long becoming two bright lights that rested in his open hand like nuclear pebbles.

“I can offer ye Galdur—as I have done time immemorial to the contender that finds me,” he said. “Marshlore and Elemental Shield.”

“Well, hell, Otho,” I said, with another furtive glance at the creature he’d called a…Petri…Will o’ Wisp? “You’re giving me two?”

“I’m not giving ye anything, ye understand? This is earned through the process of the Trial, and is no more mine to give than it is mine to keep. Don’t misunderstand this, boy. I serve at the whim of the Trial—as I have for many a long time.”

“Uh…alright, then,” I said. “That wasn’t exactly what I was pawing at, but, alright, sure: you ain’t the sugar daddy in this here interaction—I understand that well enough. I just wanted to know what sort of pain I’d have to endure to receive these bounties, is all.”

“Pain?” Otho wondered. “There’s…not going to be pain, boy. Ye’ll use the Attavita—” he gestured to the compass-looking object in my hand—”to use the Galdur. Won’t become a part of your Deep Root Array unless ye will it to be so.” He gave me an odd look, like he thought I might have a touch of the simple—which I took to him not understanding the curious ignorance of my upbringing.

“Did ye not learn how this works from the Apocrypha, boy?”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I sighed.

“No—it’s a long story, Cochise, but it’s likely best to assume I’ve got a full scoop of ‘don’t know’ when it comes to just about anything here in Voldemortia.”

“Volde…” Otho started, confused, but I steamrolled on.

“So! I just use this…Alta Vista thing—this compass—and it’ll let me cast some spells?”

“Yer an odd boy...boy,” Otho said. “But yes—Bog willing, you’ll find ye’self right sorted, even with…”

He gestured to me, and I had to assume he was indicating whatever he thought might be broken with me. I shrugged.

“So, how do I do it? Do I gotta speak the incantation, or maybe like Mist Veil—do a little dance?”

“Ye…have Mist Veil?” Otho asked, looking me up and down. “...already?”

“Sure do!” I said. “Waterwalking as well.”

“...ye aren’t japing?” Otho continued. “Ye are being true?”

“Yeah…” I said. “Why…is that bad?”

“Yet to be determined,” Otho said, shaking his head. “Ye show up, unaware, claiming Utvandring—which explains much of the confusion—but then ye also claim ye’ve got access to two Lineage Galdur—especially when having one Lineage Galdur is a rare enough feat on its own...”

“It is?” I wondered. “Hell, I picked ‘em both up easy as a Sunday stroll. Though, with a bit of a migraine—so, I suppose a little more like a weekend than I was imagining.”

That was certainly something peculiar. I’d just assumed it was the way of things, considering I didn’t know much about these Boglands, or the larger world at all. I mean, because everything passed the sniff test here. Which also made me a little bit jumpy about my odds. For instance, if there was something I needed to, say, watch out for. I wouldn't want to just wander into...whatever that thing might be without a second thought all because I was busy thinking, “hey, it’s magic, right? Must be normal.” I’d, uh, have to be more careful.

I wonder if I can get my hands on one o’ them Apocryphas people keep goin’ on about…

Otho stared at me for a long moment. So long, and still, in fact, that I started to wonder if…whatever was going on with his projected form was on the fritz.

“You, uh, there, Otho?” I wondered, waving my hand in the air in front of his face.

He snapped out of it at that, scrunching up his face with some manner of contempt.

“Ach! Boy, yer a rude one!”

“Oh, well, pardon me, Otho, I weren’t try’na be rude. Just thought you might need some assistance reconnecting, is all. So, how do I use these Galdur you mentioned?”

“I was getting to that, boy,” Otho continued. “Give a man a respite to wrap his mind around a concept he’s grappling with, ye puddle.”

“...puddle?”

“Right,” Otho said, apparently figuring out whatever it was he was chewing on, “Yer a strange one, for sure, boy—but I won’t hold that against ye. Yer a new set of boots in this world…”

He looked down at my feet.

“...or whatever manner of footwear that happens to be.” Then he straightened up. “Right, so! On how to most effectively use Marshlore and Elemental Shield…”

He held up a hand.

“I’m going to impress it upon ye, boy—so don’t move.”

“Huh?!” I suddenly took a step back. Was he going to do something to my brain? Impress upon me? That doesn’t sound good! My anxiety started spiking. It gave me the same sense of panic as when I had to get any of the various needle jabs and the like in my life. Sure, I was petrified of catching something—so I had gotten all my shots through the years—but I still didn’t trust them. It was a weird juxtaposition with my fear of getting more sick and my fear of whatever was in the syringe. But here, I felt like I had a choice.

“Wait a second, now, Otho,” I said, holding up my own hands. “Maybe tell me what’s involved in this process, first, before you go and—UGH!”

I felt a slimy sort of…worming feeling make its way into my mind. Like a bunch of slugs were pushing their way through the base of my skull. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it didn’t feel right. Uncomfortable wasn’t a strong enough word but I didn’t know a better one that didn’t also involve pain. It was like letting loose a writhing snake inside my cranium, and knowing there was no way to get ‘em out.

“Ugh!” I exclaimed again, grabbing the back of my skull and squeezing to attempt to alleviate some of the weirdness—the creepy crawling nastiness that had been thrust on me.

“Oh, quit yer bellyaching, boy!” Otho commanded. “It’s just the way of it, no? It’ll be over in a moment—Mind Galdur is always a bit strange to experience at the get.”

“...M-mind Galdur!?” I demanded, still clutching my precious head. “What is the fuck is Mind Galdur, you old ghost?!”

“One of the Galdur types,” he clarified unhelpfully. “Ye’ve got Waterwalking, aye? And Mist Veil? Well, those are Speech and Corporeal Galdur. These are another—Mind.”

Through the awful sensation of the burrowing in my brain, I thought about his words. Waterwalking involved speaking incantations, so that was Speech, then? And the little watusi I had to perform for Mist Veil was Corporeal? So…these new spells would be using my mind, then? Thoughts? I didn’t know how it would work, but I wasn’t in a position for debate at the moment. Though, about the time I started imagining being trapped in this hell of discomfort forever, that’s when it faded, and a new sensation settled in its place. It was much like before, learning knowledge that seemed both foreign and long-forgotten, and before I knew it, I had myself an understanding. I knew what both spells were. Though, I think one of ‘em helped out more with that epiphany than the other.

Marshlore, a voiceless voice spoke into my mind—though, not the same one as before, ‘cause this one was more friendly sounding. Kind, even. The Boglands speak, often you listen. Knowledge of one's enemies is sound. Knowledge of the wider world hath farther-reaching poignancy. Marshlore will let one peer into the realm behind the veil, seeing that which has, until now, been obscured from thy sight.

So…that was different. I was about to ask a follow up question, but suddenly, it was as though my mind opened up, offering me all manner of information on the world around me. I suddenly knew how best to use Marshlore.

With what would have been a chuckle if I hadn’t been so baffled, I thought about the nearly absurd idea of the fact that the spell’s main component was teaching you how the spell worked. Funny, huh?

Still, delving further into my fresh cerebral connection with Marshlore made it seem like it was sorta like a Codex—I think that’s the word, anyway—it would give me…general knowledge? About the world around me. Like I had the Boglands’ dictionary opened up or something and could take a peep. I felt what I knew now was the Galdur start to work, and noticed something I’d never noticed before.

As the wriggling, slimy feeling in my mind finally eased up, a sense of clarity washed over me. I turned back to look at what Otho had called the ‘Will o' Wisp,’ trying to get a grip on what had just happened. The mist around it started forming words, much like I’d seen with the wildlife earlier when they had arranged themselves:

BETRI VILIJI VÍSUNNAR

“Well, huh…” I said. Until the words once again did…as they always did—they made themselves translatable.

GREATER WILL O’ THE WISP

Then, beneath, the words formed further in the first in the Boglands’ tongue—Veikleiki: Enginn. Then translating again: Weaknesses: None.

I let out a low whistle. Shiiiiiiit… A creature with no weaknesses? That was something else. Likely meant it was like coming face to face with something out of a legend, then. Despite the grim darkness beginning to overtake my hopes, I couldn't help but think about how knowing your enemy, like, really knowing them, could turn the tables in any fight. Knowledge like this was power, not just in some story but here in this wild, strange world I found myself in.

Just as I was mulling over this revelation, that voiceless voice popped back into my head. It was softer this time, almost comforting.

Dwell, ye, kin, in a new font of inspiration. Abide a moment, join with the escutcheon. Wield. Protect. Survive.

Well, if I was basing my experience so far on ‘vibes,’ the archaic model the voices here seemed to use was definitely an intriguing one. While the voice continued, I tried my best to ‘absorb’ the information as it requested. It took me a moment to figure out that escutcheon meant ‘shield.’

This shield, or ‘Elemental Shield’ as Otho had called it, could create a protective barrier around me. It could soak up a good bit of damage, be it from magic or a physical blow, all depending on what kind of Galdur I had stored up in my compass—er ‘attavita.’

I chewed on that thought for a moment. A shield like this could be a real game-changer in a scrap. Especially, in a situation like this, where I was up against something fierce or even moreso, if I found myself outnumbered, this shield could be straight aces.

But there was a catch.

Lo, kin, the escutcheon takes a careful few moments to draw upon the Galdur to source for its claim. The time for its use is narrow, so take heed of great haste. The Galdur that is tapped will diminish rapidly, so the son of the bog would be well-versed to use it sparingly.

So, the shield needed a moment to kick in, and it wouldn't last forever, eh? Plus, using it would eat into my Galdur reserves. Internally, I understood this to mean—somehow—roughly ten seconds to summon the shield, and it would only last for three seconds—and force me to wait another ten seconds before I could summon it further. I think I had Marshlore to thank for that tidbit. It was already coming in handy with the ROI for my investment. However, based on all of that…I wouldn’t have long to protect myself. Which meant I had to be smart about when and how I used it.

With both new spells, it seemed like I was going to be learning about them for a while, more so than what I currently understood—but it was a start.

I finally turned back to the spirit.

“Damn, Otho—you weren’t kidding about giving me a leg up. Thank you, kindly, sir,” I said.

“Ach, boy! Don’t be so confident! The path ye’ve chosen is one of endurance, remember that. Resilience.”

He raised a fist to me.

“Being that yer the only candidate, I suppose I throw my support behind ye in this endeavor. Do not fail, lest our entire line be left to the whims of the Wastes. May the Bog protect ye, lad.”

“Uh, thank you…” I started, but trailed off as the ghostly image disappeared. Then, before I could do anything else, the world around me began to spin back to normal speed, and I wheeled in place to see the Betri Will o’ Wisp come barreling down on me once more.