Brod awoke feeling worse than ever.

A part was that lingering feeling of regret nestled deep inside his chest. That feeling of knowing that he did something he was not proud of, a thing that wouldn’t let him go. It was… well, it certainly directed the embers of anger within his body inward.

The other part was that Brod finally noticed exactly how starved for water he was. He certainly had been toughing it out before but between the fighting and thinking and talking, it just never entered his mind that maybe he should just drink from a puddle.

A puddle right now would seem like a godsend. He had the worst headache.

Maybe the frog knew if there were any sources of water – preferably fresh – nearby. In his mind, Frogs probably kept track of that. How else did they manage to stay slippery and slimy all day? Though, on the flipside, he really didn’t feel like relying on anyone else, no matter how small the help would be.

That he had done so in the past was a part of his shame. He didn’t really know what to do with the feeling but bear with it, like with so many others. There was certainly no breathing or mind-setting technique he knew of that helped choke out shame.

He slowly roused from his sleep, feeling the lethargy in his bones. The sharp pain from his still broken rib greeted him and woke his mind like a rough kick. Today didn’t seem like a good day to get out of bed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said Froggy.

“Mhm.”

“Brod? I must confess something.”

“Mhm?”

“I… well, to be completely honest with you, I may have been a bit brash in trying to sell you a pact of souls and boons.”

Brod thought about it for a bit, but quickly came to a conclusion.

“It is fine. I don’t mind.”

“I may also have omitted that every boon I can give comes with a curse.”

Brod sat himself in an upright position as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Which wasn’t the greatest idea, since he had slept on the dirty ground and now, he had to get that out of his eyes as well.

As for the topic of curses, he was taken aback somewhat. Both at the revelation that curses were a thing and that the frog had been so kind as to share the information with him. Brod sure as hell wasn’t any keener on taking a Boon now that he knew what the caveat was, but he appreciated that the frog hadn’t kept quiet about it.

“Froggy?” Brod asked.

“…is that what my name is, now?”

“Yeah. Froggy, thank you for your honesty.”

He did truly appreciate it. The frog wasn’t bad, it was just looking out for itself. And it was more than a frog, that much was certain. Normal frogs couldn’t lie.

“Well, I had some time to think while you were asleep. And this is what I decided on. You’ve grown on me. If just a smidge.” It said.

“I am still not taking a Boon.”

The frog sighed. It had every right to.

“Brod.” It said. “Is there any way I can convince you that you would be better off with one, even in spite of the curse it would give you?”

Brod didn’t need to think much about his answer. He didn’t want to rely on anybody else, anything besides his body, his training, and his wits. Coming back from the dead, so he thought, was a sign that he had been given a second chance. Not just a second chance at life, but a second chance to fulfill the ambition instilled into every person born in Morgenthal: to be recognized by the gods and ascend into their immortal armies, where they would then fight the dark forest on its own territory and reclaim land and life for all that was human and civilized.

He already had a good idea of how he was going to go about that. In his memories, he was on a pilgrimage to hunt monsters that normal people wouldn’t dare to challenge. He could overcome them, as he had in the past, and become recognized through it.

“I don’t know.” He said. “Give me some time.”

“…will you think it over?” Froggy asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.” Brod said as he stood back up again, stretching his legs and rolling his shoulders. “But for now, I need something to drink. Some way to get these shackles off me. And food.”

“I can guide you. Help you find the way. If you’d want me.” Said the frog. It almost sounded shy as it booped the tip of its fingers together.

There wasn’t much that Brod could fault his froggy friend for besides lying. While he detested lying, he didn’t mind his company in particular. And if all the frog did was talk? Well, he could still claim to have bested any monster on his own. Without help.

“I don’t mind. But first…” he walked over to the corpse of the boy in chainmail. “…I shall perform the last rites.”

He cut off the boy’s head, buried it in a nearby hole and thanked Ubrus. For giving him a second chance after defeat and death. A chance to set things right. And for allowing him to prove that he still had worth. As a hunter. As a warrior. And as a giant of Morgenthal.

The rain soon set in. Brod stood atop a boulder half sunken in the now muddy ground, his mouth open and stretched towards the heavens. Little enough water came to him this way, but he savored every single gulp. He knew that drinking water from a puddle would have been easier, but he also knew that butt-rot would drain him of much more water than he’d gain.

The risk didn’t seem worth it and dying because of a stupid disease was not how he wanted to go in this life. And he did have time. He spent much of it just standing here and there, drinking rainwater until he finally didn’t feel like he was going to die of thirst.

The rain never let up and between the calm breaks he took to fill up on water, he wandered around the graveyard for hours.

“This way.” His froggy friend said.

“Down here.”

“Up that ridge.”

It was helping him find the way. Where to didn’t matter much to Brod. Every way was forward.

“Phew. Man, this rain really does wonders for my skin. What a great time to plunder some more soul.” Said the frog.

It was a very large graveyard, spanning for what Brod thought must be miles in every direction. Between graves with stone gravestones, graves built into large buildings or hewn into cliffsides, there were graves within tunnels (which he didn’t go far into because he was too big), small graves, big graves, huge graves and any form and type of burial he could ever think of.

The dead ruled here, but as for encounters with living things, there weren’t all that many.

Another man-spider thing which he felled easily after rushing its body.

A person whose body was half covered in what looked like giant red fleas. The halves didn’t seem to coordinate well with each other, and before Brod buried his axe in the person’s head, he got the impression that one side was actively revolting against the other.

There were a few smaller spiders, but they barely deserved mention. Brod ignored them if they ignored him. They weren’t worth his time.

Two groups of humans he encountered as well. One was like the others he had fought, dim and lightless. Even though they numbered five, he slew them all when they refused to surrender, back off or even answer him in a way he could understand.

The second group was a lot more interesting. It was barely a group, though three people did count as one.

They all emanated dim light to some varying degree. Which was a surprise, as Brod’s experiences had shown how people like him were rather rare. They approached him slowly and Brod thought he sensed curiosity and apprehension from them as they moved closer and closer.

They had to be able to see him, for he had bright light all around, first five feet after the fight against the nimble boy in chainmail, now seven feet. His dim light stretched some twenty-six feet in every direction, and it was growing much quicker than the bright one.

Still, that they approached him betrayed a sense of interest, need or desperation. He knew he painted an ugly figure, a giant cacked in blood and gore only slightly washed away by the ever-present rain. He never did get most of the spider blood out of his beard either, though with the orange color of it the difference wasn’t too pronounced.

As they came within the radius of his bright light, Brod could make them out clearly now. He saw two young boys or men, continental humans he’d wager, holding broken swords and ratty shields. The other one was a woman who seemed older and was the tallest out of the three of them. She had a spear, though a short one, and a much larger shield that looked like someone with actual skill and expertise had crafted it. Though even then, it looked easily a hundred years old.

The moment they were in the bright light, they blinked. For what was likely the first time, they could see each other, see themselves as they were. They looked at their arms, turned them this way and that, touched their ragged faces and lifted shirts, cloth and mail.

The younger boy was the first to cry. The other two went over to comfort him, but they too were not far off bawling their eyes out. Brod never understood how the continentals could do that so easily. For him, the tears could only come once in between a span of years. Even then, it took a lot.

He let them be for a while as his frog hopped down and away to do frog things. From his experience, he knew that they would collect themselves again after a few moments. Judging by the spider blood on their clothes and weapons, they had fought things worse than a bout of sudden sadness. They’d recover.

The three huddled together for minutes.

Then more.

After what felt like half an hour to Brod, there was still no sign of them calming down. He sighed as Froggy returned to his shoulder and whispered into his ear.

“Hey. Brod. These folk here are like you. They’ve got guides. My brethren. I’ve just had a talk with them, and they’d like it if you could escort them to where they ought to be.”

“And where would that be?” he whispered, though with his voice any attempt at secrecy was a lost cause.

“Well, you see, there’s this temple. It’s a bit far away and the way there is treacherous, but I’m sure you could make it. These people though…” Froggy wiggled its head left and right.

“I see.” Said Brod. “I won’t help.”

“Ok, so we just need to – wait, what? You won’t help them? Why?”

Brod gestured towards the three of them.

“They have come this far. They will be fine on their own.”

The frog wasn’t convinced. “They have barely made it this far, Brod. They need your help.”

“No. I will fight every battle by myself.” Brod said. “I will not accept any interference.”

“But, but Brod. You can’t do this. Talk to them. It’ll be good for you, trust me. All you need is-“

“Listen.” Brod said with a tone of growing impatience. “Listen to what I’m saying, frog. I will not repeat myself.”

“I…” The frog said before falling into a deep silence.

The frog pondered and after a minute, proverbial light lit up its face. It looked up at him, head slightly tilted and eyes squinted.

“You. You’re not going to help them. But you wouldn’t mind if they followed along, would you?”

“At a respectable distance.” Said Brod.

“… Alright. At a respectable distance, then. I’ll hop on over and inform my brothers.”

The frog hopped down and away. Brod himself approached the three young warriors. The girl looked up at him, her face tear-streaked and with the blue-red bruised complexion of a corpse. Brod didn’t soften his expression as he looked her in the eye.

“I am going. If you want to follow, then don’t get in my way.”

The girl took a moment before she understood what she meant. She nodded and whispered to her companions.

Brod didn’t bother to wait for them to get themselves in order. He had waited long enough, though he couldn’t pin the source of his impatience. His froggy friend joined him soon after and he was once again marching on through the muddy dark.

Brod kicked over the still twitching corpse of one of those flea-covered people as he wrenched his axe from its skull. The person was dead now and the varyingly sized fleas that seemed to have replaced their muscles were all hastily wiggling themselves free from their former host.

They fled in all directions as Brod looked on.

“Uh, Brod?” said a froggy voice.

“Mhm?”

“They’re getting away.”

“That so?”

There was nothing wrong with letting pissant insects like this escape.

“They’re going to the other group.” It said.

Ok, maybe it was a little bit wrong.

“If they can’t deal with the leftover scraps of these pissants, they won’t make it out here. With or without my help.” Brod said.

“But you’re missing out on soul. Y’know, the stuff that makes you stronger, faster, better?”

“And?”

“Well, more is always better, no? It’s not much, but you’re still missing out. And it would be so easy not to.”

A scream interrupted the silence that followed and then the sounds of combat commencing echoed from some sixty feet behind. He didn’t bother looking back. If they died, they died. If they lived, they’d be stronger for it.

It didn’t matter to Brod, and he only slowed down his march when the earth grew too muddy to continue at the fast pace he had set. The rain was making it hard to find solid footing and more than once did he slip and stumble or slide down small slopes.

After a few hours, he had been caked in mud and gore more times than he could count before the rain mixed it into a dribbling concoction that found its way into every nook of his body and clothes. His light, after numerous fights, had swelled to ten feet bright, thirty-three feet dim and though he could see further than before, it didn’t help with navigating the winding and ever repeating paths through this never-ending graveyard.

“Are we still going the right way?” he asked his froggy friend for the first time in, well, ever.

“It may be hard to tell for you, but we’re making progress. Not quite there yet, and we’ve had to take a few detours, but we’re flowing down the right stream.”

And that was that.

Another hour passed. Brod was quite confident that he could estimate time somewhat accurately even in darkness. Though, what that mattered when there was no sun, no day or night, well, he’d have to see. Just being able to see clearly was enough of a boon for now and as he carefully navigated a slippery stone staircase set into the ground, he saw a small, but noticeable glow on a nearby gravestone.

As he got closer, it looked to him like someone had written a message, though it was hard to make out exactly what the contents were as it was stricken through over and over. Which was in and of itself impressive, as the grooves cut into the stone an inch deep or more. What he could make out beneath them was just a string of letters that told him little.

“…onst…ow…fore…ep…ght.” he read out loud.

There was what looked like a mangled glowing arm beneath it, pointing down the hill he was currently on.

“Onstow forepght?” his froggy companion asked with bemusement.

Brod snorted. “It means nothing to me.”

“Not to me either. Oh, wait, do you see that? Someone added a line at the bottom in non-glowy writing.”

Brod had seen it as well. The letters here were much more crudely drawn, as if scratched into the stone with an iron tool rather than written in with a glowing brush. Feather. Chalkstone? Eh, what was important were the contents of it.

Let the water flow and join us for a feast.

It also pointed with a hand in the same direction as the message above.

Brod looked in the direction it was pointing. There, in the darkness, there was nothing at first. His gaze sank further down and there, in the distance, he saw what he thought to be an almost imperceptible glimmer of dim light.

He wasn’t about to blindly trust this message, even if his stomach was clenching and cramping in hunger and he would’ve liked something to drink that wasn’t rainwater. At worst, this was a trap. At best, he was hoping for a hot meal and a roof over his head. The rain was getting annoying.

He looked over his shoulders and saw the distant dim glow of the three young people following him. He thought a while longer on what to expect going forward (he wasn’t waiting on them, no, he was pondering his options), and he decided that he didn’t fear the worst thing he could imagine enough to let this opportunity pass by.

And so, he went down. Down, down, further down, until the graveyard itself looked to be invaded by a forest of old, gnarled trees without leaves. The ground evened out and he found a stone path to continue on for but a few more moments.

Then, a building rose up in front of him. His light met an old stony façade, long and thin, overgrown with dead vines and with barely a hint of light escaping the dirty, moss-ridden glass windows that towered above.

“Is this the temple?” he asked Froggy.

If frogs had brows, Froggy’s would be furrowed. Lacking them, he merely squinted his eyes with suspicion.

“No. No, I don’t think so. This one is too… long.”

Brod nodded.

“I’m going in.”

“Well, just be careful, alright?”

“Mhm.”

Brod circled the building until he found a set of doors at one end of the long temple. They were made of two solid stone blocks rimmed with metal and set slightly ajar. Brod knocked and there was no sound besides that of flesh smacking on the stone portal.

“Hello…? Hello?” Brod called.

With the rain drowning out much of all sound, he doubted that anyone living inside would have heard even that. He decided to just open the doors and go in. He hoped that any misunderstandings could be cleared up before they escalated.

Though, the first complication immediately presented itself. The door was heavy. Brod first tried to open it as he would any other, but it refused to budge even a single inch. He tried leaning against it and it moved, loudly grinding over the stone floor.

He took a step back and set his hands onto both doors. Then, he pushed. With all his might, the doors slowly but surely rumbled open. He took a step inside and was greeted with a dusky atmosphere filled with the scent of candles. He couldn’t see far enough and his light, while illuminating the closest pillars as he walked forward, seemed to almost be swallowed by the building itself.

And then, he finally heard the voice, echoing all around and thrown back by the tall walls and high ceiling.

“…ooooh. Wroti, where has gone thy sun? Aurana, where lies buried thy radiance?”

It sounded like an old man, a preacher perhaps and Brod approached further.

“Hello?” said Brod “I apologize for entering uninvited.”

“Worga! Oooh, Worga. Where are thy hordes. Oh warlord of Order, where are thy hordes?”

The old man was ignoring him. Or perhaps he couldn’t hear, for lack of hearing, or sense to make sense with.

“Hello?” Brod said once more.

“Aaah. They have gone. And we are left to hunger. So, so much hunger. But we must still give thee reverence. A feast, for our gods.”

A feeling of wrongness was creeping up Brod’s throat. He choaked it down. He didn’t know fear. He approached further.

“Can you hear me?”

For the first time since he had stepped foot within this building, it seemed as though the voice was directed at him. It was coming from straight ahead, where one would expect the alter would be.

There he saw him. The old man, wreathed in baggy and tattered robes of a priest draping into the far darkness. A face like a corpse and two tiny specs of eye in dark caverns set within. Yet what unsettled Brod the most was not the deathly appearance of the man’s face, nor the robes that seemed to continue on behind him forever. It was simply that his mouth was so dirty. A long, dripping tear of red dribbled off of the limply hanging corner.

“Oh? Another guest. Why, do enter. Did thee come for the feast?” said the old man.

Brod took one more step before he stood some distance away.

“I… request hospitality.” He said.

But Brod knew he wasn’t going to get anything of the sort. The man’s grin grew wide, revealing a forest of teeth and needle-like underbrush.

“Aaah. Then allow me to acquiesce. But first, I must ask of thee a sacrifice. For our long father, you see.”

His robes fell away and his hunched back rose to tower above Brod’s head. He looked Brod in the eyes as Brod’s gaze washed over the long, long folded back, the inhuman arms and legs of the man.

No, this was no man. This was a monster, poorly filling the skin of one.

“Now. A leg, an arm, or a head for a feast?” It asked.

But Brod was already leaping for his first strike towards the abomination's head.