Little Bo Peep

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As Safer's Legion neared to the green and orange storm, more became clear. It was not a storm, in fact, it was a mountainous island, coated in a forest of green and orange mushrooms that stretched to its peak. The colors of the keyhole were clear, just as Irene had speculated.

The shores of this island were barren and riddled with twigs and chunks of half-eaten mushrooms. No Key would be unguarded, and the Legion knew that, prepared for a battle with swords, bows, and countless safety precautions.

The forest was surreal in nature, yet possessed no true natural quality. Fungi littered the ground and sometimes glittered in the nights, giving this island some otherworldly nature Soal hadn't yet seen in Yassón. He had ordered the Legion to the peak of the mountain, where the Legion would have a better vantage point from which to find the Key of Death on this island.

Near halfway to the mountain's tip, Safer's Legion encountered an interesting group of specimens. The looming mushroom forest was still very similar to its counterpart at the foot of the island, but these ones emitted an eerie glow. The ground was covered in disturbing, white mushroom roots- until, that is, they stumbled upon a path, about as wide as an old driveway, and appeared to be trampled by a herd of animals. Not horse-men or man-horses, those wouldn't have been able to do the job. Ordinarily, such a purpose- road-trampling- would be reserved to normal cattle.

Soal was becoming stricken with a true fear of the unknown. What he did not know haunted his mind, and he perpetually hoped with all of his might for something expected. Something familiar, like a line from "The World Turned Upside Down." That may have benefited him when the Legion encountered the source of the pathway.

They had come near a mile from their original start of the trail, following its right side it towards the island's peak. A small clearing at the edge of the beckoned, sporting a cavern mouth reminiscent of the one in which Soal's army camped in the Gardens of Scright long ago. After all, the sun was beginning to set.  Such caves were always a place of security. That is, unless there was a stray Shadow Hand lurking deep within.

Before this maw, a human (!) with a hunched back and a crosier in his calloused hands shooed a small herd of bipedal cow-like creatures into the cave, listening to their persistent moos and snorts in irritation. As the last remaining member of the livestock followed in his predecessor's footsteps (or hoof-prints), the elderly man turned around, and winced in startle.

"Mind you for us to stay the night?" Gorshaw, the interpreter, politely asked first and foremost, putting the Legion's typical "barbarian" attitude to shame.

The hunched man did not move, he only nodded slowly; and then turned his back again, so that they could tail him into the cave as well.

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