When they were within a mile of the Gnarl, Gerald became further certain that the Peeking Woods were unnatural. He’d heard tales, of course, and even lived in a place that was curdling into more of the Woods. But the air was alive in a way he’d not felt before. The sky is hungry here.

Gerald sat in a position of honor; beside the stagecoach driver, rather than inside the covered wagon where the travelers packed like sardines. Father Ache had secured his safe and comfortable passage with several glimmering coins. More still rested in the pouch at Gerald’s side.

Gerald’s eyes locked on his copy of the Book of Prophecy And Nonequivalence. Its words were becoming clearer and larger to him each day. He suspected the Book had been enchanted somehow to hide its deeper meanings from nonbelievers. As only a basic member of the Emissaries of Bone, he had not been permitted to see its deeper truths until he acquired Father Ache’s favor.

The effects of truth were intangible. They would not make him a better fighter, nor guide him throughout the Gnarl—at least, not at Rank 1. What they could do was provide him with an innate aura of superiority... no, separation from the earthly. He felt the trepidation of those in the cabin who met his eyes. He saw the way the darkness bent towards him, caressing him, when they passed under the shaded boughs that littered the countryside of Marshweld.

Now the forest was thickening into ichor, turning from occasional trees to a continuous tangle of vines and brush. Soon, the plants became bulbous and red, like fleshy growths about to pop. Guards ahead of the caravan sliced at the undergrowth with machetes and axes. The trail they cut closed up behind the last of the caravan. We’re properly in the Gnarl now. It tolerates our presence because we are violent. It knows and respects that.

Maybe I’ll be a better fit for the Gnarl than I thought. I can’t be certain if it’s my status as a Blessed or just reading of the Book, but I have a sense for the Woods’ intent here. This is a place of struggle.

A clearing opened up before them. It was filled with boarded huts and suspicious glances. Gerald noted a general store, a small trading post, and a pub where three elderly foresters wasted their dues.

The carts rolled to a stop and working men began to unload their cargo. The travelers stayed inside, of course. Like rats, they could smell the danger outside.

Gerald snapped the Book shut. He tucked it under one arm and brought himself to stand upon his cane. He smiled blandly.

“Gentlemen, thank you kindly for aiding me here. I’ll depart now.”

The driver passed him a wary look. “Yup, take care stranger.”

Gerald wandered toward the pub, inspecting every staring face he passed. He clicked his tongue. Not a single Blessed among them. Hardy folk, to survive here with no divinity. But it means I can’t just ask how dangerous the woods are to a Blessed. I’ll have to find out the basics of survival... then experiment for myself.

“Young man,” called one of the foresters drinking out front. He was a man of graying hair and calloused fingers. His eyes lingered on Gerald’s stiff leg. “You look like you’ve seen a harsh ride. Come. Drink with us!”

Gerald blinked. “I fear my faith doesn’t permit me alcohol.”

“Bah, just a sip? It’ll take the edge off aching bones!”

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Gerald, who had indeed suffered from the bumpy ride, sighed. I suppose it’s not a hard requirement, anyway. Just a rule I imposed on myself to make restraining my anger easier. But out here in the Gnarl of Blood, I have the strangest sense that belligerence will impress the biome.

Gerald graciously took the offered mug and drank from it. “I suppose just one sip couldn’t hurt. Say, what’s it like living out here?”

His vision suddenly blurred.

You, R1 [Penitent] have been addled with Mundane Tranquilizer.

Awareness impaired for 1 second.

Someone screamed. “What the hell?!”

His eyes cleared. The would-be thief had his hand on Gerald’s belt. He drew back as if burned. Gerald saw puncture wounds had burrowed through his rough fingers and come out the other end as open air.

He wasn’t looking at just my leg. He was staring at my money pouch!

Only now did the man begin to bleed.

Aura of Thorns dealt 3 piercing damage to Mundane Chemist Barry.

“He’s a fucking Accursed!”

The two others at the table rose. To their credit, they quickly wiped the shock from their faces. One grabbed for a chair. The other, her hatchet.

Gerald swung a palm toward the side of Barry’s head, but the man stumbled out of range. Inexperienced fighter. He lunged and-

Abruptly, Gerald arrested his own momentum on the cane. A hatchet whistled right past his nose. The woman had thrown it at where his head was going to be! Are other villages all this barbaric?! No, it’s probably the Gnarl’s influence at work.

Then the chair shattered over his head.

Mundane Attack dealt 1 crushing damage to you, R1 [Penitent].

Shards of wood had been impaled above his skin by the Aura, trapped in invisible spines. Gerald snarled like an animal. His next wild haymaker mashed into the chair-swinger’s nose. Needlepoint wounds burrowed far deeper. The man dropped to the ground with a sickly thunk.

Attack dealt 1 crushing damage to Mundane Thug Richard.

Aura of Thorns dealt 3 piercing damage to Mundane Thug Richard.

Mundane Thug Richard perished.

The last message was a cold bucket of water over Gerald’s brain. That was a human being. He had a name.

The shock on his face mirrored onto the other two robbers’. In Gerald’s thoughts, the sound of the kill played twice more.

Shaking, furious and afraid, he hobbled over to where the hatchet had embedded in the wooden wall. No one stopped him. The chemist whimpered on the ground.

He yanked it free in one smooth motion, sending a small shower of sawdust spraying over his arms.

“Hah!”

Gerald’s bark was a poor imitation of Father Ache, but it still sent the two would-be thieves fleeing down the road. He gazed after them with a hideous look in his eyes. Then, when they disappeared around a corner, Gerald sighed.

One day in the Gnarl, and I’ve already potentially blown my reputation. I bet the whole town’ll know of this by nightfall.

From behind the bar’s door, a voice whispered: “Psst. Are those ruffians gone?”