Sternmelos

Noun

Translation: Star Mushroom

Pronunciation: /'ʃtɛʁn.me.los/

Definition: The "Sternmelos" are a rare variety of mushrooms known for their bioluminescent properties. These fungi emit a celestial glow and are typically found in regions rich with the ley lines energy, known as "Ormsaat." The Sternmelos is a catalyst for powerful hallucinations that weave together the realms of dreams and nightmares. Ingesting Sternmelos can precipitate a journey through the psyche, revealing visions that oscillate between the reality of the now and the fabric of the Veilla, often leaving the user in a state where those boundaries are temporarily dissolved.

CAUTION: Sternmelos are highly addictive! Please, consume them with moderation! If you consume don't operate in heavy machinery, don't consume while pregnant, and be sure to be with someone sober. Stay safe!

Zora and Jericho descended into the pirate ship's depths. The distant echo of voices dwindled behind them as they moved downward through narrow, claustrophobic corridors toward the lowest deck.

Finally, they arrived at the end. The atmosphere here was markedly different—eerily silent and devoid of the life that animated the upper levels. There were no footfalls, shouted orders, or clinking of gear. The corridor was deserted, a forgotten space that felt more like a sealed tomb than part of a working ship.

The air was markedly colder, a chill seeping into their bones that was not entirely due to the temperature. A peculiar odour permeated the air, thick and suffocating, clinging to the damp walls and stagnant air.

Jericho's reaction was visceral. As the smell of rotten cabbage invaded his senses, he pressed his hand against his mouth, his face contorting as he fought the urge to vomit. The stench was overwhelming.

Zora walked without a flinch; she couldn't smell anything, but she could see the suffering of the human. Jericho struggled to maintain his composure, the dignity he clung to slipping with each nauseating breath he took. Then, the corridor filled with unsettling sounds that escalated their fears: low growls resonated against the metal and wood, accompanied by the eerie clicking of tongues and the occasional clang of something sharp striking metal.

As they reached the end of the corridor, they came upon the epicentre of their fears—a large chamber that seemed to serve as a holding area. The room was filled with cages containing creatures that defied natural description. Their forms were grotesque, a mishmash of limbs and features that belonged to different realms of nature, and their eyes—six of them—reflected a malevolent glint.

The creatures snarled and snapped as the pair approached. The place smelled of decay—indeed, like an open grave—yet there was a cold calculation to the way these beings were kept, suggesting they were not merely captured but used, possibly as weapons.

They couldn't have imagined that when Monica had used the term 'children', she was being literal. Nothing could have prepared them for the grotesque reality of its true meaning.

The cages, cruelly small, contained beings that were, without a doubt, 'children'. Each child bore the disturbing mutation of six eyes, their gazes wild and tormented. They gnawed at their own flesh and the cold iron bars with a desperate ferocity born of starvation and madness.

"We, we should kill them," he uttered, overcome by horror and compassion. His hand went to his belt, drawing a small dagger—a meagre weapon, but all he had to offer.

Zora's arm shot out to block Jericho. "It won't do anything, they can't be killed."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I once thought I killed her."

"Who?" Jericho's question hung in the air, but as Zora turned to face him, the understanding dawned on him. "Monica?"

Zora nodded slowly. "I cut her head off... how did she survive?"

"What do we do?"

"This seems like..."

"A lost battle?" Jericho finished for her.

"I think we have enough... we should return and let the others know."

"There is no hope?"

Zora's hand brushed against the coarse, scarred surface of the wall. Her fingers trailed over it with a subtle, searching motion, feeling for the intangible—that perfect alignment of shadows that could serve as their cloak and portal, their passage away from the Nightmares.

"I don't see it now," she murmured. "...hope."

Turning to Jericho, she reached out to him with her hand. "Let's go, we've had enough."

The chill of the Long Night settled over the beach where Zora and Jericho had called the meeting, far from Shuri and the main camp's prying eyes. The air was bitingly cold, and the relentless wind of the sea whipped around them, carrying with it the salt spray that seemed to crystallize instantly in the frigid temperature.

As Jericho and Zora relayed what they had witnessed aboard the ship, the horror of their discoveries was reflected in the flickering shadows cast by the bonfire around which they congregated. The usual lively banter that accompanied their gatherings was absent, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to absorb the crackling sounds of the fire.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Claramae sat slightly apart from the others, her fingers idly sifting through the cold, frozen sand, creating small, aimless patterns that were quickly swallowed by the wind.

Jaer, with his face set in a hard line, stood with his arms crossed against the cold, his posture rigid as if bracing against not just the physical cold but the chilling prospects they now faced.

Mediah, on the other hand, paced restlessly. Each turn he took seemed to wind him tighter, his mind racing through the implications of the intelligence, struggling to find a foothold in the slippery slope of despair they all seemed to be sliding down.

Finally, unable to contain his frustration any longer, Mediah exploded, "This is bullshit!" His words, rough and louder than he intended, broke the silence like a clap of thunder. "There is no Ormsaat around here, I would know!"

The group's reaction was mixed. Some nodded, wanting to believe Mediah's confident dismissal, clinging to the hope that perhaps it was all a misunderstanding or misinformation. Others exchanged uneasy glances, but they all knew the stakes were too high for denial or wishful thinking.

Standing by the fire, Zora watched each of her comrades wrestle with the news. She understood their fear and reluctance to accept the reality of a threat that seemed both unbelievable and inevitable. But she also knew that disbelief or despair would not protect them. It was time to plan, prepare, and act—no matter how dire the outlook seemed.

"We need to consider all possibilities," she said, her voice steady and more assertive than Mediah's. "We can't afford to dismiss anything until we know for certain." Her gaze swept across the group, challenging them to rise above their fear and find the resolve that had brought them all together in the first place.

"We could ask the Spirits if they know something," Claramae ventured her suggestion more a whisper of possibility than a confident proposal. "If there is an Ormsaat, there are Spirit in the area."

"Claramae, there are no Spirits here. This is almost bare land!" Mediah shot back, his frustration swirling with every agitated gesture.

The group fell into a heavy silence again; each member was lost in their thoughts. As seconds stretched into moments, all eyes gradually turned towards Zora, who stood unusually still, her gaze distant and her posture rigid against the dark horizon.

"Lolth?" Jaer's voice broke the silence. "Would you..."

"I... I might know... one or two Spirits," Zora stammered.

"One? Or two?" Mediah stopped pacing and turned to face her fully, his brow furrowed. "Would you like to explain?"

Zora's eyes dropped to the ground, her voice barely above a murmur. "I... well, I might have one..." The admission seemed to cost Zora her early composure.

Mediah looked around, his gaze sweeping over the group, finding hints of understanding in some faces—a nod here, a shift there—that suggested this wasn't entirely new information to everyone. "Am I missing something?" he asked.

The fire crackled, its sparks thrown into the night like fleeting stars, as Jaer stepped closer to Zora, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. "Zora has connections with the Spirit world that not many of us can claim," he explained with respect and reassurance. "If there's a chance Spirits can help, then we should explore every avenue, no matter how slight it might seem."

"Okay, Zora," Mediah said, more gently this time, "tell us about this Spirit. Anything that might help."

The assembled group watched as something small and dark began to emerge from beneath Zora's robe collar. A black spider, distinguished by its missing leg, making it a seven-legged creature, crawled slowly up to her shoulder.

"It's just a spider..." Mediah started dismissively, scepticism clear in his voice. But as the words left his mouth and he connected the dots, his casual dismissal turned into stunned realization. His eyes snapped to Jaer, widening with a sudden understanding. "The Spider?"

"The Spider," Jaer confirmed with a nod.

"I thought Spirits only had one master and..." Mediah's voice trailed off, the implications of Jaer's confirmation rewriting his understanding of what was possible. The notion that Zora, whom they knew as a fierce and capable battlemage, also harboured a connection to the spiritual, just like Yeso with the Sun, Noctavia with the Howling Night and Veilla with the Spider Spirit.

As the group digested this new revelation, Zora gently allowed the spider to crawl back under her robe, protecting it from the biting wind. Her eyes met each of her companions in turn, "Now more than ever, we need every ally we can muster," Zora said. "Lolth has been with me since the day I was born. If we are to face what's coming, I believe her guidance is something we can't afford to ignore. I would trust her with my life."

"Lolth? The Spirit's name is the same as your name? The Spider Spirit only had one Master, Veilla. There is no way you are..." Mediah's words trailed off into the frigid air, hinting at accusations he couldn't yet fully articulate.

Jaer quickly interjected, cutting through the brewing storm with a practical suggestion, "So we could ask Lolth to check with other Spirits if there is indeed an Ormsaat around. In the meantime, you and I will need to work seriously on defence and offence. We must train everyone to at least survive this attack."

"How will we win?" Claramae asked, cutting into the discussion with the weight of their collective fear.

"I have a plan... we might not be able to kill them... but I might have a solution. I will work with Shuri on that," Zora responded calmly, her demeanour steady despite the swirling doubts and the burden of a leadership role she didn't know she was prepared for. Her plan, still vague, hinted at strategies forming beneath her stoic surface.

Mediah regained his composure, his earlier agitation settling as he considered Zora's words. He looked at her seriously, his gaze intense in the flickering firelight. "You and I will have a serious conversation about your stay in our ranks after this."

"So... Jaer and Mediah are going to prep the camp, Lolth and... Shuri will work on a trap... and I will work with the Spider," Jericho summarized, setting the stage for their next moves.

"And me," interjected Claramae, stepping closer to the circle of light, her usual gentle demeanour sharpened by the urgency of their cause. "I'll help you with the Spirits. If you need to find an Ormsaat, you'll need a faerie for sure. And I am the best at finding the most delicious star mushrooms. Never had a customer who complained."

In our world, the role of faeries is as indispensable as it is inscrutable. Attempting to elucidate the workings of the Ormsaat—those nodes and ley lines enveloping our planet—without mentioning faeries would be akin to describing the ocean without acknowledging water. It's a foundational element, you see. Faeries lead to star-mushrooms, star-mushrooms lead to an Ormsaat, and where you find an Ormsaat, rest assured, spirits won't be far behind. This sequence might sound overly simplistic, but sometimes simplicity is the gateway to understanding the complexities of life on the Map. The reason spirits gravitate towards an Ormsaat is rather straightforward, though my academic peers might argue that my explanations lean too much towards the pedestrian. Typically, Seeders, like my father—whose ability to uncomplicate the simplest of matters is quite unparalleled—utilize these nodes to orchestrate planetary management. Spirits will linger around these nodes, assessing whether any of the Seeders' machinations are worth their allegiance. I think you know a few of them by now. Thus, we observe a peculiar ballet of raw magical mechanics: masterless spirits, like cosmic vagabonds, wandering around an Ormsaat, drawn not by the allure of servitude but by the potential of something worth serving. This, of course, is a gross simplification, but as I often remind my students (and myself in moments of existential doubt), even the most complex theories begin with the simplest observations. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer

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