“Scuse me,” (Patreon)

I muttered after my unbecoming belch. “Anyway, I think we should-” I was interrupted again by an absolutely massive burp. It echoed off the walls and caused the tableware to clink and shake. A few loose pebbles fell from the ceiling. It lasted for a few seconds before finally dwindling away to nothing.

“Pardon me,” I exclaimed, my face burning with embarrassment.

"HOO WEE!" Burnside howled as she doubled over with laughter. "You're a scion of Irenaeus all right! That there was a Imperial rallyin' call for sure!"

Rebecca covered her mouth and tried to stifle her giggles, while Meadow stared at me with ... was it shock or admiration?

“Impressive," Thomson stated blandly. "But Mr. Calaveras can go for longer.”

“Anyway,” I continued after silently composing a Gramarye commanding the digesting pumpkin to behave. “Meadow, what are the closest pockets of Faerie that would be most receptive to our cause?”

"Geographical proximity doesn't mean a lot these days," Meadow explained, "and all parts of Faerie need our help. I suppose 'close' would have to be areas accessible with the fewest Gate traversals. There are probably dozens I don't know about, but I am aware of two regions that are just a single Gate away from Albric Tor. Athstead, the Birthplace of Irenaeus, would undoubtedly be glad to see you. You could wow them with your gastric noises. Like most districts, the town is suffering from a depressed economy due to the limited farmland available and the scarcity of any sort of outside trade. A lot of elves, surprisingly, do not know how to use the Gates. In the other direction is a marshy forest where a group of Seelie elves have returned to living by the Old Ways, hunting and foraging. They dwell in the shadow of an Unseelie monastery where the monks have turned their backs on Fuma and instead worship ... as near as I can deduce ... a giant fish. They occasionally abduct one of the tribal elves for their ghastly rites, and the abductee is never seen again. It ought to be stopped, but as yet I haven't been able to figure out a way."

"Sounds right interestin," Burnside opined.

“Aw," Rebecca whined. "Does that mean we’re leaving?”

"Not yet," I assured her. "With Meadow's guidance I'll decide where to go first, but before leaving here I want to assess the damage to the city. That way I'll know what needs to be done to repair it, thus what to ask from residents of the other districts once we've won them over to our cause. Also ... not that I want to ... but I need to assess the civilian casualties."

“But-” Thomson blurted fearfully.

"Don't worry," I said soothingly. "You can stay down here. I won’t subject you to that ordeal. However, you did mention that there were horrors deeper in the city. Are there physical dangers we need to be aware of?"

"I never wandered far from the tunnels," Thomson admitted. "There are skeletons laid out in gruesome fashions showcasing their nightmarish ends. And GHOSTS! Oh, the constant screaming! That's what kept me from straying any farther! There could be ghosts as many as thousands! Every inch of the inner city could be haunted by twisted, insane spirits that are still in the Plague’s thrall, mindlessly lashing out at everyone and everything, including each other!"

"Sounds like a party," Burnside quipped.

"Did you actually encounter any of these ghosts?" I asked Thomson.

"No, but as I said: The screaming is endless. The mere sound of it could drive one mad! Once, when I dared to explore a bit farther, I was pursued by SOMETHING. Mr. Calaveras knows more. Beware the bone gnawing ghouls, elves that never died from the Plague and devolved into feral creatures incapable of reason! Moving skeletons possessed by violent spirits! A vast charnel pit of reanimated bones building themselves into vaguely animalistic constructs that constantly hunt and tear each other apart! Entire buildings filled with necrotic flesh that pulses and screams in endless agony, the flesh being filled with spirits forced to relive their deaths over and over endlessly!"

"Is Mr. Calaveras an elf?" I inquired, trying to determine how much of this to believe without outright asking if it was true, and thereby casting aspersions on the old skull's honesty. "Has he seen these things?"

"PERHAPS," Thomson intoned mysteriously, and then began to cry. "Please don't leave me. Don't go into the cursed city. I've waited so long for you to arrive, and if you go to your doom then I'll be alone again."

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