Okay, I know I've been a fucking louse lately. Medical issues and general malaise have left me pretty much incapable of sustained creativity, so the idea of putting together a continuous narrative has been equal parts insurmountable and agonizing. But things are getting better and I love writing B&S so I'm gonna soldier on today. That brings us to our sponsor: Getting Your Shit Together.
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We set out briskly after a sparse breakfast. The locals seemed happy to watch us go, for all their hospitality I imagine they feared the barbarians at their gates taking their kindness to us as some kind of affront. In truth I at least was glad to be underway in earnest. The old man's tales of dark Gods and evil magics had festered in my dreams and made me desperate to learn their truth. Our journeys had given me glimpses of the knowledge and power I craved. I became more convinced than ever that if only I could learn the wicked secret behind the horrors that these cults summoned to their aid I could be a vaccine. That I could use their sickening craft to fight them. If only I could find the Will to look upon their works and the strength to understand. But I digress.
The forest air was thick and stagnant. Oppressive. At least the undergrowth was soft and, for a while at least, yielded readily to our axes and machetes. Though the stink of the bleeding flora made our eyes sting, and their vital juices had dulled our blades irredeemably by midday, we were mostly in good spirits. There was a small clearing near a stream where we stopped for lunch. It was a quiet place, more so than the stretch of jungle we'd passed through. A persistent quietude that one of the younger volunteers, Simmons I think, commented upon with some measure of trepidation. He was right to be concerned, it turned out.
We had nearly finished our lunch when a shrill cry filled the forest, as though the rage and pain of all the world was being forced through the bent and twisted trees. It made my soul ache and my vision swim. Dear friends I wish from the bottom of my heart that I could tell you what transpired over the next few hours, but the cry, that horrid shriek, robbed my of consciousness. I did not wake until at least that night, and the waking was cold comfort.
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