Black Mould - Twenty-Three - Followers and Brothers Unto and Of Death

The cemetery only grew quieter the deeper in we went. The large vaults with the hundreds of caskets inserted into them became taller. Some of them were set up in ten-by-ten grids, a hundred boxes to a side with just as many dead within them.

“Is everyone buried here?” I asked.

“Nah,” Stew said. “They’ll leave the body here for a few years, then it’s yanked out and burned. Dearil’s folk say that after a time there’s no soul left.”

“Is that important?” I asked.

“No soul means that the body is nothing but bones and rot,” Debra said. “Whatever made that body a person has left a long time ago.”

Stew nodded. “It’s faster here, so close to the Ditz dungeon. Mana’s leached out of the air, so the mana in the body’s taken out faster too. They don’t need to wait as long for the body to become soulless.”

“Oh,” I said.

I couldn’t tell how much of that was base superstition and how much was fact. If it wasn’t for my own personal connection with Feronie, then I’d probably dismiss everything they said about gods and that kind of spiritual belief. In the before, I was an agnostic. Willing to believe, but even after searching, I had never found a religion that could prove that their god was even remotely real. Here, things were vastly different.

I didn’t recognise the symbols we passed, but I took note of them. Anvils and hammers, birds in flight, waves carved into stone pillars. It seemed that the local pantheon had a lot of flair when it came to imagery.

Finally, our group came upon another. Two people in beige robes, their faces covered by cowls, bowed slightly to us while barring our path. Stew bowed back, then Debra and I hastened to do the same.

“Greetings, living brothers and sisters,” one of them said. A man then, judging by the voice. “Do you seek the guidance of Dearil?”

“I’m afraid not,” Stew said. “Just visiting some old, old friends.”

The one who’d spoken nodded. “Of course. Do you need assistance finding these friends?”

That was an opportunity. “Um, yes,” I said. I could sense the two’s attention falling onto me. “They’re next to, uh, the Feronie grave place, I think.”

“Near the graves of the followers of Feronie,” he muttered before turning slightly. “Down this path, then to the left. Continue until you come upon a site with an enclosure. There is an old tree there. Do you wish for us to guide you?”

I shook my head, and my companions did the same. “Thank you, mister,” I said.

Stew placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s brother. You call a follower of Dearil a living brother.”

“Oh,” I said.

“No matter,” the man said. “Dearil is not so easily angered, nor should we be, as his followers. Propriety and formality hold little sway before the grave. I wish you a good search, and a long and prosperous life.” The two bowed again, a little more shallow this time, then ambled off.

We continued on, taking the next left as the follower had indicated. “They seemed nice,” I said.

“For priests, they’re pretty decent,” Stew said. “Report an undead to them and they’re quick to act, regardless of your station or wealth. Report a dead body and they’ll take care of it without asking for a fee, though if you want a nice, proper burial, it’ll cost you.”

I nodded along as I took that in. It sounded like the followers of Dearil were apolitical. That was actually kind of nice.

“Why Feronie?” Debra asked.

“Isn’t she the goddess of nature?” I replied.

“Yes, but she’s a bad sort.”

I blinked. “How so?”

“Nature might be her domain, but she’s known as a mean one,” Stew said. “She’ll steal storms from one god, start a plague without the permission of another. I think most priestly sorts don’t like her. Not that there’s anyone that worships her around here.”

“I just thought it would be a good place to look,” I said. “If no one worships her, then there won’t be many people around, and maybe the mushrooms around her worshipper’s graves will be better?”

Debra’s expression was a little pinched, but Stew nodded along just fine. “Not a bad idea, kid. Discreet-like. Not too sure if you’ll find much by means of blessings around the likes of Feronie though.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

The Dearil… priest’s (was he a priest? Just a follower? I wasn’t sure how their religion was organised) directions were pretty much spot-on.

Feronie’s followers had a small spot all to themselves. It was made of three big cement blocks, like most of the other gravesites. The three were arranged into a square facing a smaller courtyard. In the centre was a pitiful tree.

An oak, I think. It was young and scraggly, its branches only decorated by a few sparse leaves. Roots poked out of the ground around it. The tree didn’t have enough room to grow properly, likely not enough sun either, with the way other grave blocks towered above.

I stepped into the little courtyard and immediately felt something gently wrap around me, like a blanket made of the finest gauze. Feronie’s blessing, though it was weak, barely noticeable at all.

“Well, there’s your mushrooms,” Stew said.

I blinked, head tilting back down and attention returning to my surroundings. There were indeed some mushrooms here. Some stuck to the walls next to the graves, others in the dirt around the base of the oak.

“Yeah,” I said. “This place will work. I’m going to need a few minutes.”

“Sure thing,” Stew said. “Debra, wanna come with? I’ve got a few friends buried not too far off. I ought to rub the dirt off their doors.”

The two went off, leaving me alone in the courtyard.

The buildings around me weren’t all full. In fact, a good number of them were open into alcoves that were entirely empty.

I imagined that there weren’t that many followers of Feronie around.

I sighed. “Time to work,” I muttered. First, I began identifying the local mushrooms. There were two species here that I didn’t recognise at first sight. It was possible that either or both could be useful.

The first I inspected was the mould growing along the base of the wall: [Green Spirit Mould], according to [Druid Sight].

[Green Spirit Mould] - Common

A kind of mould frequently found near areas with large amounts of spiritual activity. Glows faintly when in the presence of ghostly spirits. Inedible, but not poisonous.

That was pretty interesting. I poked at the mould, then leaned in close so that my shadow covered some of it entirely. No glow that I could see. It was kind of greenish, and a poke with a pinkie confirmed that it was pretty slimy.

Not useful for me, not unless I had to fight ghosts or something of the like. Unfortunately, all of my current adversaries were likely to be living and breathing.

The other mushroom I found wound along one of the choked-off roots of the oak.

There were a dozen little balls, each about the size of my relatively small fists. They were beige, with little brownish stripes running along their sides. Carefully, I plucked one by the base, then, aiming the front of it away from me, I squeezed it.

A gush of purplish powder squirted out into the air, then floated gently down onto the cracked cement flooring.

It was perfect.

Puffballs. Genuine, simple old puffballs.

[Beige Puffball] - Common

A common sight next to rotting wood and other detritus. The puffball is an edible mushroom in its early fruiting stage which grows into a ball filled with dust-like spores that are released on impact or from strong winds. The spores are a mild irritant. Not very nutritious, but considered tasty by most who enjoy mushrooms.

I picked two more puffballs and did a little dance with one in each hand. This was great!

The puffballs themselves were a nice find. Easy to grow as they were, but the edible part wasn’t what I cared about.

Dispersible spores!

I needed to start combining these!

In my mind, I had visions of massive spore clouds, each one filled with micrograms of irritants and allergens. If I really wanted to, I could even find ways to make them even more lethal.

“Thank you, Feronie,” I said as I calmed down.

A warmth suffused me, and for a moment I was worried that I’d just blessed the area, as I had done to my farm. I couldn’t afford to faint here! But the warmth receded, and I was left alone, though a little revitalised, maybe.

“Right,” I said as I pulled out my sample jars. Time to plant a few samples here, then I could take some of the puffballs home. I needed time to grow and experiment and learn how to properly weaponize all that I had at my disposal.

Then no gang would dare interfere with my business!

***