The temples and churches of the land keep many secrets unto themselves. The temples of Aquarius house centuries of biological research, most importantly their Deep Oil that can stay lit for days at a time. The church of the sun god in Rackvidd had a secret of their own, though far less mystical in nature. They had a caffeine generating fungus they called Farmer’s Boon.(1)

Even for someone who h ad never had the drug before, staying up all night straight proved too much for young Aisha. Without the grip of immediate focus, sleep claimed her in passing fits. As though the hunt were a passing dream itself, she found herself moved from one building to the next, nodding off and waking up by the time the sun had risen once more. The soldiers fared better, but their patience grew razer thin.

“We’re looking for a man named Medorosa Canta. He’s new to the city. Got a moustache and a scar across his chest from a vendetta. Out with it : have you seen him?”

The words flickered Aisha’s eyelids back open. She was in a tavern. She had taken a cushioned seat beside the unlit hearth, the seat any bard should have been granted for their performance. The Vassish had the proprietor on his knees in the middle of the room, sobbing. He was older, gray of hair and round of belly. “I swear, I swear I did not know anything about those men. They stormed in and got in a fight with my brother-in-law. That’s all I know. Please, I am a law abiding citizen. I have done nothing wrong.”

Sister Mori paced around him. “Where is your brother-in-law now?”

He turned to her, tears running down his face and his lip trembling. “Please, Priestess. You know me, I attend your prayers. I give–”

She cut him off. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know! He left with one of the intruders. Look, he is a gambler, though I never knew him to have debts. He must have kept it secret or something. He didn’t explain anything to me.”

Aisha slid off her chair and slid into the conversation. She took a knee beside the man and put her hand on his shoulder. “Your brother, was he injured in the fight?” The man nodded. “A blow to the head perhaps? Or a stab to the chest?” The man nodded once more. “Can you give us a description of him? I’m sorry, but your brother is almost certainly dead at this point, and we will be looking for his corpse soon enough,” she said, and glanced at the thing no one wanted to look at.

A Vassish man laid flat on the ground of the tavern, sprawled across a toppled chair. He seemed young and fit, with the build of a mercenary or guard, save for the broken glass sticking from his face and throat. The gush of blood coated half the man’s chest red, but Aisha could see that it wasn’t enough. Like a pig for slaughter, most of the body’s blood had been spilled elsewhere.

Medorosa was moving from body to body, sowing chaos through the city of Rackvidd.

The proprietor forced out a description of the man accurate enough for the soldiers. At Sister Mori’s command, they stoped wasting time where the Cynizia had already left. She activated her stigmata once more, while standing atop the corpse. The smoke flowed strongly, pointing out the door to the street. When the troupe of investigators left, she said, “Remember this place. Twill wainvestiated. One of you might get promoted for it.”

“You can’t be serious. He’s the victim,” Aisha said as she caught up with the older woman.

Her glare could have shattered glass. “The only reason he is a victim is because he let the scoundrels in. He’s lucky he wasn’t killed for good measure, that his wives were not also victims.”

“My brother doesn’t kill women. He certainly wouldn’t take their bodies if he did.”

None of the troupe listened to her. Their march bordered on a run, and they followed the flow of smoke northward, to the city gates. Before they turned the final corner, they could hear the clash of steel. Blood trickled across the cobblestone, flowing from the butchered throat of a horse.

The soldiers drew weapons and charged ahead. “He must be here,” Oscar shouted, leaving the women behind. The beige granite loomed before them, some two stories tall and fat with debris guts. The walls of Rackvidd were no trivial thing to destroy, but a wall is only ever as mighty as the men atop it. Those men screamed then in panic and agony. One tumbled off the side and hit the ground with a bone crunching crack.

It put a chill through Aisha. When she heard the wa his body broke, all her mind could think about was the night in Puerto Faro. The sound of Leomund’s blade hacking through the Giordanan’s arm still sank itself on her psyche. The songstress faltered, stumbling to a halt as the Vassish charged into the fray.

“How?” a Giordanan man roared from atop the wall. His gaze faced the road beyond. His shoulders shook with rage. “How has he caught up with us?”

Rather than an answer, a pair of spears closed in about him. Oscar scrambled up the steps to get atop the walkway. “Medorosa, I presume?”

Aisha’s brother spun on the man. He grinned and brandished his bloody sword. “The one and only.”

She turned from the conflict. The thought still made her chest clench. While everyone’s attention sat upon the puppet of the ringleader, she alone turned her gaze away. She saw a brown-skinned man and recognition flashed inside her. She couldn’t hope to place his name, but she knew him for a Cynizia at once.

He had a short stature to him, thin of frame and sickly of grin. The kind of man who’s short hair always had a grime to it, and whose clothes could never be cleaned. He had a repulsive look to him, but not a memorable one. The kind of man it pained one to look at and thus, would be ignored. He slipped past the stableboy and in between the precious horses.

“Stop him,” Aisha screamed, but even as she ran over, her cries brought only confusion. The soldiers of Rackvidd responded too late. First went a lantern spark, then a douse of oil, and the great stock of animal feed became a blaze. Smoke drizzled into the sky as the beasts whinnied.

For the first time in her life, she looked at her hand and wished there was a sword in it. As she was, she was useless. Not even an onlooker, but a victim of the power of violent men. She stood in the street, squeezing her hands into fists and watching as the Cynizia infiltrator slipped out the side.

He saw her. He recognized her. He snarled.

But Aisha’s warning had not gone unheard. The Vassish soldiers were occupied with Medorosa’s puppet, but out from shops and homes came one man after another. They wore no armor, but they had swords and clubs. They emerged from buildings with Giordanan domes, but unmistakably Vassish. They frowned and looked between her and him. They could smell the smoke, and they knew who they would believe.

She swallowed the knot in her throat and pointed her finger at the infiltrator. She could feel the power she held, and she let it loose into the world. “Corner him!”

The Cynizia man bolted. A street sweeper checked him in the chest with his broom. The infiltrator drew his sword, a broad-bladed saber, and hacked at the sweep. The broom snapped in two. No blood.

For the moment the man stood still, a construction worker stepped in and hurled a hammer at him. The tool spun through the air in a blur. The handle cracked off the Cynizia’s skull, the hammer head ripping off a chunk of ear. He screamed, senses reeling. The edge of his saber swung through the air, whipping back and forth like he was fighting flies.

The crack of a club across his back dropped him to a knee, and the locals surrounded him. Before he could raise the weapon again, theirs descended. The mob beat him until he howled and his blood colored the street. The more limp he grew, the more of the locals ran to help with the growing fire. Eventually, Aisha and the street sweeper alone stood with the twitching, mangled Cynizia.

She walked over and shook her head. “You’re not the only ones with local support, now are you?”

Sister Mori caught up with her. “What in the name of all that is good and holy have you done?”

Aisha knelt down, hugging her knees to her chest as she watched blood bubble from the man’s mouth. “I caught one of Medo’s friends.”

Sister Mori closed her eyes to say a prayer. When she opened them again, Oscar had caught up with him. “That crazy bastard leapt off the wall rather than be caught… what happened here?”

“I caught someone else you can question,” Aisha said.

The soldier bared his teeth in a grin. His glance at the street sweeper made the young man jump away. “You sure banged him up though, didn’t you?”

She frowned. “He’s an arsonist. He deserved it.”

Oscar reached down and grabbed the infiltrator by the hair. He hauled the man up to his knees. Swelling had closed one eye. The other couldn’t focus. Out came Oscar’s dagger. He shaved off some skin from the infiltrator’s larynx. “Where is Medorosa Canta?”

“How would I know?” the man gasped out. “We parted ways. You won’t get anything from me.”

Oscar snarled. “Then should I just kill you?”

“Freedom to Giordana,” the man said, and stabbed Oscar in the gut with a dagger of his own.

The Vassish soldier grunted, and ripped his blade across the infiltrator’s throat. Hot blood sprayed him across the face as Aisha and Sister Mori both rushed to help him. “I’m fine,” Oscar spat out, tossing the corpse away. Lifting his shirt, he revealed the chain beneath. “He didn’t have the strength.”

“Come then,” Sister Mori said, marching to the corpse of Medorosa’s puppet. “Leave the fire to the locals. We have a manhunt to finish!”

Aisha stared down at the body. A man who gave everything for his belief in Medorosa’s words. The dream her brother conjured up from years of indignation and chained their hearts with. She knew how many hundreds more were arrayed against Rackvidd. She could smell the bloodbath in the air.

Evidently this name came from the fungi’s tendency to sprout up between fields after a drought-breaking rainstorm. Farmers in the know would eat them and have a very productive day. Given the addictive properties of it however, I would think to call it Farmer’s Bane