The Foxhole, as the conscripts and guards called it, was an inspiring product of lust and thirst. Behind the barrel-lid door, there was a spacious bar with at least ten tables. A long wooden counter had rows of sparkling glasses and shiny bottles—beer, wine, cider—and a bartender was serving drinks to tens of sere customers, whose swollen cheeks flowered into Amaryllis red. For additional entertainment, the place offered sets of playing cards, which were left lying on most tables, and a dartboard, which was attached to one of the walls in the rear. And in the center of the room, there was a special set-up: a board for a drinking game known as Chase the Fox.

Vance and Fredrick stopped and spectated one round of this local original. The rules were simple. One player played as the fox piece, and three played as the one hound piece in pursuit. The fox started 18 spaces ahead and rolled three dice every round. The three hound players each rolled one dice, and the sum of their rolls was added to allow them to advance. Every turn they failed to capture the fox, the three players each had to drink—two cups for anyone who rolled a three or less, and one cup otherwise. The circular board was also sprinkled with “forest traps” that forced one party or the other to drink, or offered the opponent an advantage in the form of an extra roll.

And so the game would continue until the chased fox was caught or the three pursuers drank themselves into a calamitous collapse. In the one instance that Vance watched, the fox was unlucky and eventually got caught on the seventh turn. Consequently, he was forced to take off his armor and chug as many cups as the pursuers had drunk during the chase—a punishment that was rather profitable for the bar. As the poor fox drank and drank, the winners sang, “The fox is in a box! The fox is in a box! And we have the keys to his locks!” It was a very different atmosphere from that of Fort Hamadryad. There were laughs and smiles, not only because of the drunken games but also because of the women.

After the game ended, Vance and Fredrick sat down, and as soon as they did, two half-naked women joined them. Fredrick seemed to enjoy their company, but Vance found it rather distasteful. Whenever a woman tried to touch him, he would remember the House of Turncoats—he would remember how he had been drugged in a similar setting—and the memory would make him recoil. There were no signs of Redspine or similar potions, but Vance still chose to keep his guard up, since one could never be too sure. Even when the cold drinks finally arrived, he hardly touched them—forcing Fredrick to raise an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong, adventurer?” the second-in-command said.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t like the girls, and I get that. But the beer is top-notch.”

“Yeah, the beer is top-notch,” Vance repeated blankly.

“Is it the smell of the tree?” Fredrick continued. “It's strong, isn’t it? Made me feel nauseous the first time I came here. But you get used to it.”

“Do you mind if I step outside for a bit?”

“Not at all.”

“I need some fresh air.” Vance stood up.

“Enjoy.” Fredrick bit a woman’s thigh, forcing her to scream and laugh. Then he looked up, saw Vance going away, and added half-heartedly, “Don’t get lost out there, and don’t lose track of time. The only way back to the fort is locked up at dawn. No exceptions whatsoever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Vance walked through the intoxicated crowds, and when he finally exited the bar, he felt a strange sense of relief. He had had similar feelings of discomfort when he visited packed taverns in Cromsville, but they were never this strong. An inner voice had been warning him not to stay too long in the Foxhole, and he couldn't help but listen to it. Perhaps he had attracted unnecessary attention or raised suspicions by his sudden exit; perhaps he could have come up with a better excuse to leave. What’s done is done. He sighed aloud and decided not to dwell on the matter. Instead, he turned his attention back to his original plans.

I’m finally out of the fort.

It was time to meet with Timathor. He turned toward the unexplored dark of the forest and advanced with careful steps. After he had walked some distance, he found himself a secluded spot in the embrace of two trees. He retreated there and opened his leather bag. From among the items he had in store, he chose an instrument that resembled a turquoise ocarina. It was a rather expensive Ezran gadget known as a Lifeline Flute. Adventurers who were trapped or cornered used it to emit a gentle sound that could be heard only by allies within a certain radius. In many tense situations, it was the safest way to summon help without alerting nearby monsters, but in Vance’s case, it was his goal to alert one goblin.

Let’s hope you didn’t forget what I taught you, Timathor. Vance blew into the ocarina and played a single tone. He waited for a few seconds before he played the same tone again. And so he continued as if he were sending out a heartbeat to his little goblin. For weeks, Timathor had trained in Blackmoss Forest to trail Vance from a distance and rush to him when this sound was heard. It was a long lesson that used association and reinforcement. At times, the little goblin got distracted by the simplest things; at others, he simply forgot the task after long periods of separation. But the training paid off in the end, and its good results endured. Not 30 minutes had passed before the leaves rustled.

“Vance!” Timathor appeared on a branch and jumped down.

The little goblin ran and hugged Vance as if he had missed him. The forest must have been dark and scary for him, and Vance noticed that he had a wound on his left foot. Another monster tried to grab him from behind. It was a claw mark that seemed to belong to a jaguar or a similar cat monster. We should take care of this immediately before it festers. Vance took out a potion and made Timathor drink it. Then he treated the wound and wrapped it in a bandage. After he was done, Timathor appeared thankful, or perhaps the little goblin was unaware and was simply showing happiness at the reunion. Either way, it made Vance smile. He gave Timathor some food to eat and clean water to drink. Then he looked for the right words to start a conversation.

“Ow-gehra-khujmani.” I-be-happy.

Timathor looked at him confusedly.

“Timathor-ushga-Vance,” Vance continued. “Ow-gehra-khujmani.”

“Chen!” Timathor grinned. “Ow-ushga-Vance!”

“Timathor-baijaqa-idri,” Vance said. Timathor-travel-long.

“Chen! Ijhedanya-gehra-maraakhi!”

“Wekhe-tghit-hajhaali?” Where-something-interesting?

“Hajhaali?” Timathor paused.

“Tghit-gehra-jikwe.” Something-be-close. “Tghit-gehra-hajhaali.”

“Hoohowe! Grechen-mi-zaal!”

Goblins were skilled scouts, and through this short exchange, Vance hoped to benefit from little Timathor’s abilities. He told me to follow him somewhere. If I’ve communicated with him correctly, he should lead me to any locations of interest nearby. Vance placed a bet on the little goblin’s intelligence and followed him deeper into the darkness. He seems to be leading me to the higher levels of the forest. His face lit up with hope, but the final turn proved this hope misplaced. To his disappointment, Timathor only led him straight back to the trade route and showed him a crash site, where there were a lot of corpses and a lot of food. I guess, in a sense, this is a location of interest.

Despite the inadequate outcome, Vance still petted Timathor on the head, praised him for his find, and repeated the question: “Wekhe-tghit-hajhaali?” Timathor paused to think. Then he rushed down to the lower levels of the forest again. Vance followed with care and caution. Eventually, the little goblin arrived at a gigantic tree hollow. It was a cavity that existed at the same level as the Foxhole but stood twice as far from Fort Hamadryad. What’s so interesting about this hollow tree? Vance looked confusedly at Timathor, but the goblin pointed toward the hollow with fear in its eyes. This expression forced Vance to bring out a torch and light it.

“Kvu-ikhe-hajhaali?” Why-here-interesting?

“Ikhe-gehra-enami! Ikhe-gehra-laghdari!”

Laghdari means death. Vance sniffed the air. There’s a sweet smell coming from inside. Timathor pulled his shirt with fear and unease. After this warning tug, Vance decided not to step forward and instead used his torch to peek from the outside. The light revealed a wooden floor covered in fungus and moss. At first, it seemed to be a normal cavity, but then as the torchlight traveled right and left, monster bones peeked out. The fungus and moss weren’t growing on top of the wood alone but also on the remains of dead monsters. This hollow lies inside the barrier, so these monsters must’ve been killed recently. They were lured here by the smell after the barrier collapsed. But what killed them?

It was time for an experiment. Vance headed back to the crash site that he had found earlier, and from among the half-eaten corpses, he picked one that seemed fresh enough. He dragged it down the network of roots. And after a lot of effort and some help from Timathor, he finally brought it to the ominous hollow. Now let’s see what happens when you step inside. With the help of his parasitic feet, he gave the corpse a strong kick and sent it flying into the tree. It landed among the monster bones, among the moss and fungus, among the sweet aromas of death. Silence ensued. The fungus released its white spores—a paralyzing dose that coated the corpse. Then something stirred. Now that’s an interesting find …