Chapter 4.18: A Fear of Heroes

The thing that floats into the room is almost too difficult to describe. It’s a pale green orb of flesh, roughly the size of an adult halfling. Its back and top are covered with sickly yellow boils and pustules, all looking ready to pop. Actually, some of them already popped and are leaking a milky fluid. At the front of the rotting blob, each of its eight drooling mouths are accompanied by one yellow eye above them. The eyes shifts rapidly from one perplexed spectator to the other.
As the fihyr drifts further towards them, the black fog subsides and they can see tentacles in different shades and sizes dangle below the monster. Some of the tentacles hang completely still, while others try to reach for its preys.
“Don’t be afraid”, the priest says to them. “This is not the part you need to fear.”
“It gets worse?” Bruq’s loud voice feels deafening between these walls, especially as most of the others are awestruck.
Daemion chuckles.
“Let’s start with you then”, he whispers. “You’re the closest thing to a demon your group has.”
The satyr’s mouth falls open. He turns towards the sivak and points at him.
“And what about him? He’s evil, scaled, has wings. He’s basically a dragon walking on two feet. How am I more a demon than him?”
The fihyr makes a deep growling sound. Its eyes turn towards its master, who shakes his head in response.
“No”, he commands and he turns back to Bruq. “Dragons aren’t demons and not all demons are evil. Luckily for you, that’s a misinterpretation, told to younger generations by those who think themselves the victors in the wars waged against Abaddon. You have horns and when you get upset, your eyes turn black. It's happening right now. If you had wings and a few more arms, you would basically be a balam. Be glad you look like this. It may work in your advantage at some point.”
Daemion cuts off the conversation by turning his back towards the unblessed. He looks down the bottles and after hesitating for a few seconds, he picks up one of them. He circles it around for a bit and smells it.
“Oh, this is definitely yours, satyr.”
The souldrinker gives him a penetrating stare as he brings the glass mouth to his lips. He dramatically whips his head back and downs the viscous beverage. It moves than slower than they would expect, almost syruppy in consistence.
“Hmm…” Daemion closes his eyes and smacks his lips a couple of times. “It accompanies the smell very good. The initial earthy tones match the smell of a forest after rain. Nutty flavour with just a hint of berries… goodberries, perhaps? It’s off dry, good body, not too light, but not too full.”
They stare at this curious scene: a demon tasting their fear juice and describing it like he’s judging a glass of wine.
“The finish is a bit bitter, herbal. Hmm… curious. The aftertaste tastes like burned meat. It’s like I can almost smell the smoke.” Daemion licks his lips. “Your fear… Your fear is losing the hunt. Not just any hunt. A particular one, one that didn’t give a reward, but still offered a story to tell. You’re just too scared to tell it.”
The black demon puts down the bottle and looks at the back of his hand. The skin around his wrist quickly turns white. A new symbol has appeared: it looks the branch of a tree that wraps around three times.
A trembling sound grows louder and more smog fills the entire room.
“This is the part that usually freaks demons out”, the priest shouts. “Just don’t attack the fihyr and you’ll be fine!”
They lose sight of the monster, now completely hidden in darkness.
Daemion raises his arm and his new marking glows brightly. The trembling changes. Screams come from somewhere deep inside the mist: men, women, children. The crackling of a raging fire. The stunning and deep sound of bark breaking.
They’re all sounds Bruq remembers vividly. He hoped he would never hear these things again, let alone see this horrid spectacle. Out of the darkness steps his biggest fear, shaking the temple with every step: a giant walking tree, its bark black and its leaves burning, coming for the hunter.