Chapter 318: 319: An old secret

Gone are the days of spring sunshine and summer glows, gone is the autumn and its gentle, nudging winds that would so often coax one to go back home, to slowly seek shelter and warmth and comfort. Now, the winter is here and it has brought with it a front of cold and unforgiving air.

Fresh looks at the breath that is floating out of her mouth as she exhales, standing in the library. The spriggan is down in front of her and seeing her do so, it seems to puff itself out for a moment as well and then also lets out a breath of air.

The two of them stand there, watching the vapors of their bodies float away towards the ceiling.

“What am I even supposed to start with this?” asks Jubilee, watching them from the stairwell together with Basil.

Fresh blinks, turning towards Jubilee together with the spriggan at the same time. “Hey, guys.”

“Don’t you have something productive you should be doing?” asks Jubilee. Fresh nods, turning back to the ceiling and slowly taking in another deep breath before exhaling and watching the dampness of her air float away once more. “If you breathe one more time, I’m going to hit you. Get to work.”

“But Jubilee!” argues Fresh. “I am working!” she says, making sure never to inhale so that Jubilee doesn’t actually hit her. “I’m trying to…” Her throat feels scratchy and strained. “To…”

“You can breathe, dumb-ass.”

Fresh gasps, drawing in a lungful of fresh air. “I’m trying to find out where the cold air is coming from!”

Jubilee sighs, shaking their head. “It’s coming from outside. It’s winter.” They look at Basil. “If I cry, are you going to tell anyone?”

“I’ll keep it to myself,” promises the priestess, placing a hand consolingly on Jubilee’s shoulder. Fresh puffs out her cheek, frowning. They don’t understand. She looks back down at the spriggan that is waving its stubby arms around, exhaling once more. She had recruited it for this task. It seemed surprisingly amiable to her cause for only the few nibbles of bread she had to bribe it with.

She watches the trail of its breath rise away and watches as a tuft of its damp vapor is pushed to the side, as some unseen air current breaks its rising. Sharply, Fresh turns her head to the right, looking at the direction the draft is coming from. Bending down, she grabs the spriggan. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?”

“Pakew!”

Grabbing the spriggan with both hands, she stands back up and holds it out in front of herself and walks through the library. The spriggan keeps exhaling deep, slow breathes of warm air and she wanders around, trying to find the origin of the air-flow.

“I’m going to go with Shamrock to the dungeon,” says Basil. “We’ll make some money for today’s dinner,” she promises.

“I’ll stay here and make sure that she doesn’t get eaten by the spriggan,” says Jubilee. “And that she actually does some work,” they say sternly.

“I am working!” protests Fresh, turning her head around before she vanishes behind a shelf. “Oh, hey!” she calls back. “Basil, there’s a book on cheap recipes here!” she calls out.

“Really? Set it to the side please!” calls Basil, turning and heading down the staircase. Fresh nods, grabbing it. There are a lot of interesting books here, honestly. They just haven’t had the chance or the comfort to really sit down and sort through them. Though she has seen Jubilee peruse the area a few times, apparently being secretly excited about this room, which she finds very endearing. Jubilee still has trouble showing themself. But they certainly like reading a lot.

The spriggan’s breath moves sidewards, as if some gust had pushed against it. Fresh blinks, turning to the right, to a shelf against the dungeon-facing wall. She leans in, holding the squirming spriggan against herself as she looks into the gap where there are no books.

There’s a small handle.

“Thanks, little guy,” says Fresh, squeezing the spriggan once and setting it down before reaching for the handle. She cups a hand by her mouth, yelling. “Jubilee~!” she calls, rather blase. “We have a secret-bookshelf-wall.”

“What?”

“Secret-bookshelf-wall!” calls Fresh again, looking back to the handle as she turns it. The bookshelf swings open, like a door on a hinge. “I think there’s a murder-room!”

“…What?” asks Jubilee, looking around the corner. “I told you this was a murder-house,” they say. Jubilee comes over and helps her swing the bookcase open, it swings out into the library.

Behind it is a small room, covered in roots from top to bottom. It isn’t so much that there are roots and plants coming through the gaps in the walls as it is that there is simply nothing here but roots and plants. It’s a small room, a passage made up entirely out of gnarled wood and plant-matter and on the far-end of the six-step room, is a portal. A cut-off space. Blue fog.

“…What the fuck?” mutters Jubilee, looking around. “Is that the dungeon?”

“Is that possible, Jubilee?” asks Fresh, blinking. “I thought there was always only ever one dungeon gate?”

Jubilee turns to her and looks, shrugging. “Never heard of it before… but, well, there it fucking is.”

“Maybe it doesn’t go to the dungeon?” she considers. “Maybe it goes somewhere else? Like the adventurer’s guild?”

“One way to find out,” says Jubilee. “Stay there. Let me check it out,” they warn, holding a hand out to block her as they step towards the swirling fog. The spriggan runs in after them. Fresh yelps, trying to stop it, but it squeezes past her before she can. Not sure what else to do, Fresh runs in after Jubilee.

“I told you to wait,” says an annoyed voice a moment later.

“Sorry, Jubilee,” apologizes Fresh. “The spriggan ran in and I got scared that it would get hurt,” she admits.

“You got scared because the spriggan went inside?” asks Jubilee. “But not when I did?”

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Fresh scratches her cheek, thinking about it. “You’re strong, Jubilee,” she says, explaining why she wasn’t worried. Fresh looks around the area. They’re definitely inside of the great-tree, by the looks of it. “Are we in the dungeon?” she asks, just to be sure.

“Sure fucking looks like it,” replies Jubilee, looking around the area.

The room is a bit unusual however, for the dungeon. Rather than being one of the gnarled, rooted arenas that she’s gotten used to during their prior explorations of the dungeon, this place rather is a large, open area. The ground is covered in lush grass and mushrooms sprout out in all directions, popping out of forgotten mounds of dirt that run in long, vertical rows.

In the center of it all, is a small, gnarled, leafless tree that twists and turns around itself over and over, as if it had constantly decided to change directions on which way to grow.

“What is this place?” asks Fresh, looking down at one of the long lines of dirt on the floor.

Jubilee pokes the ground, watching as the spriggan runs off towards the odd, dead looking tree in the middle of the room. “Looks like an old, overgrown farm, actually,” they say, puzzling. Jubilee plucks a mushroom. “Aren’t these the same kind that Basil made last night?”

Fresh shakes her head. “I dunno. We better let her look at them, but…” she looks around the room. This is clearly the dungeon, but there’s no way out from here, apart from the blue-fog behind themselves. It’s like there’s a secluded room, somewhere deep down in the dungeon and the only way to get inside of it is through their house.

Jubilee drops the mushroom back to the ground and the two of them walk towards the tree that the spriggan has started to oddly dance around. It lifts its little, stubby arms into the air and does an odd prance as it moves around the gnarled tree in a circle, humming as it does so, its leaf bouncing on its head.

“Aw, look, Jubilee,” says Fresh. “He’s playing.”

“He’s praying, dumb-ass,” notes Jubilee. “Haven’t you ever seen a cultist before?”

Fresh shakes her head. “Basil doesn’t dance when she prays.”

“Thank fuck.”

The two of them look at the little spriggan that continues its odd dance. The tree starts to move. Jubilee grabs her and pulls her back a few steps as the knotted, old, gray and leafless tree begins to unwind like a frozen serpent unstiffening itself. The ancient, dried bark begins to crackle and break as it falls off from the movements, like dried, flaking skin off of an old burn.

The tree spreads its branches, revealing a brighter, newer branch in its center that it had hidden. It then begins to extend it outward towards the dancing spriggan. With a crack, it swings one of its own branches against the new one, snapping off the fresh, leafy limb and severing it.

The spriggan does a little flourish, chiming and shaking its leaf as it ends its ritual. It bends down and grabs the freshly fallen branch and drags it back over their way.

The two of them look down at this newest oddity.

“Pa-fucking-kew,“ mutters Jubilee, staring at the very proud looking spriggan.

Razmatazz

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