>"Remember kid, food is ammunition for the body, and ammunition is food for guns."
>I nod along as Tony slices the garlic
>"I see all you kids running around like it's the fuckin Wild West. I guess the Deadfront is that, but really?"
>He points at me with his knife, waving it in the air as he speaks and he uses the blade to stick his points
>"You all fulfill two of the basic conditions of life with flying colours. Fighting, and fucking!
>The last word elicits a burst of hearty laughter that has his paunch belly bouncing under his chef's jacket
>"But you're forgetting the third one. Eating."
>A garlic skin flies off the knife and onto my wool tunic, I brush it off
>"That's what I want you to remember while you're out there in that pissant mud pit. To eat. You can't fight well if you don't eat well."
>Tony crushes the garlic under his knife and pushes it off the cutting board and into the tomato sauce
>"I worry about you kid. You're young and hot blooded, but..."
>He stirs the pot and has a taste
>"Here, kid, taste this, see if it's good or not"
>The steam from the kitchen billows out into the rest of the restaurant
>"Good right? More salt maybe? Ehhh… actually too much."
>He drops a peeled potato into the pot
>Some sauce splashes on my uniform
>"Wow, sorry kid. Didn't mean for that"
>He wipes it off with a cloth napkin, then stops.
>"Look, when you leave Silairno… be careful out there. I don't want to lose anot--- I don't, I don't… just look out for yourself alright?"
>He pats me on the back before spooning sauce into a jar
>As I leave the warmth of the sauce bleeds through my pack
>I shoulder my Trench Gun by the sling and wave to Tony
>He nods and gets out three small bags of onions, he tears them open with in an emotional fury
>Food is ammunition for the body… that's a great metaphor.

½ Mile in the Deadfront:

>"IF WE STICK TOGETHER IT CAN'T KILL US!"
>The squad leader aims his handgun at every cloud of fog larger than a man
>"IS SOMEONE BLEEDING MANA?"
>"No sir, we all were checked before we left."
>"J-J-JUST KEEP-P TOGETHER!"
>His voice is starting to waver and become hoarse
>"AND KILL THAT RADIO! WE ALREADY KNOW IT'S HERE!"
>I hesitantly turn off the power on the radio
>the angered, fanatical garbling gives way to a worrying quiet
>I have cotton mouth as I shoulder my Trench Gun
>Now that the radio is quiet, I remember how heavy it is
>I'm used to the familiar buzz of the electrics
>Now that the static of the white noise is gone I feel like the fog is closing in even more than it already has
>I could throw an orc further than I can see
>I hear a scream from behind and whip around to catch a white blur replace a squadmate
>then it's gone just as fast as it came
>It's like the fog decided to consume him
>"shit shit shit!"
>Someone fires his rifle into the fog 
>As he works the bolt the squad leader smacks him on the head
>"EVERYONE, JUST KEEP WITH ME, WATCH EACH OTHER'S BACKS"
>We march along, only the sound of our boots sinking into the mud and our breathing is what we hear
>it's a sensory vacuum otherwise
>All you are aware of is yourself
>I feel the ground disappear under one foot and fall face first into a trench
>I brace myself with my shotgun but still bang my helmet against the dirt
>"I'M OK! I'M OK GUYS! I'M ALRIGHT!"
>Look back
>there's no one
>my throat clenches
>The fog begins to mesh its hands together to create a figure
>It steps out
>The white emancipated frame is exactly the same colour as the fog
>a paper like shade of white and gray
>from its mouth is a rivelt of red
>I can see shards of a Brodie helmet suck in it
>It walks like a dog, its arms and legs bending the wrong way
>It is bald with a human head
>the ribs ripple, meaning it's eaten recently

>Drop the hammer on the Trench Gun
>The buckshot chews through the flesh, but the Wendigo isn't phased at all
>Iit makes no sound in response
>I high tail it down the trench line
>I come across a dugout and stare in
>beds on each side
>a little fire still lit
>was someone here?
>no time for that thought because the Wendigo tackles me
>I feel something crack
>It tries to bite through my tunic and I club it with the butt of the shotgun
>the teeth are warm… like coffee in a ceramic mug
>I scamper to my feet and sprint into the dugout as it clamps its hand around my ankle
>Let another cloud of buckshot out into its head
>It gives no response, despite tissue being blown out in a red cone
>It does loosen its grip
>I watch as the tissue in its head and chest begins to pulsate back together
>I stumble to my feet and hit the wall
>great
>this is it
>I'm going to miss Tony
>His knife waving as he speaks
>I freeze and remember a poem from a book he had given me when I first arrived in Silarino
>"Greed and gluttony, hunger and wrath. The Wendigo feeds on all in its path. A bottomless stomach in need to be filled, run it through there to make sure it is killed."
>With great focus I click my bayonet into place, my hands shaking and my lungs shivering
>I can't charge the Wendigo or simply shoot it
>I'm going to have to wait until it pounces
>if it doesn't… 
>worry about that later
>stand at the ready
>It rises to its… feet? Arms? Hands? 
>Clench my teeth
>If I flinch I'll miss my chance
>It pounces
>Yell as I drive the bayonet forward
>The Wendigo falls onto the blade and the hungry stomach foolishly sucks it in
>It simply falls limp and I have to ease the bayonet out of the Wendigo

>I have no food left, the cracking was from the jar of sauce from Tony, and the noodles are powder from the impact
>I look at the Wendigo
>"Heart of greed, heart of sin, but a blessed treasure does lie within. Send to purgatory of two hundred degrees, then this cursed organ can be used for thee."
>The thought makes my skin crawl
>I was never one for eating liver straight… I was also never one to be a butcher
>I use the bayonet to slice through the Wendigo's surprisingly spongy and brittle tissue
>The ribs fall apart like cardboard tubes
>The heart is a purple organ that causes my whole body to reject its presence
>my bones feel like they're biting down on tinfoil
>Quickly lay it on the ground and cover it with straw to keep it from bleeding mana into the air
>I don't want to attract more Eldritch with the "scent"
>Take advantage of the small fire and put a nearby pot over it
>Sit and try to keep the panic of being stuck in the Deadfront alone
>No compass, because the navigator was taking care of direction
>I'm the radioman… I just watch for Eldritch. Which, I failed at? It was the squad leader's decision to keep going instead of moving to evade the Wendigo. If he didn---
>water's boiling
>Brush the straw off the heart and drop it into the water
>boiling point of water is what… 212 degrees burger?
>The poem says nothing about how long, purgatory is a long time. I'll leave it in until night.
>Sit and let the steamy fire warm my body
>it pushes the cold, visceral fear out of my mind
>I fish the heart out of the water
>My bones don't reject it anymore
>I can see the water is swimming with… blackish purple tumours
>Quickly dump it outside of the trench
>All that's left is to juice the heart to get the broth out
>"The urge of hunger bites at thee, softening its teeth is the key, even if a cannibal's heart is not one's cup of tea."
>I put the heart into a rag and squeeze, I catch the purple fluid in a tin cup
>It bubbles around my fingers and they tingle from the contact

>If only Tony could see me now
>I can hear him already
>"KID! HOW COULD YA! LYING TO YOUR STOMACH LIKE THAT? FILLING IT WITH THAT… THAT… CURSED CRAP? I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS!"
>He'd probably slap me and start throw Italian curses about my mother being a pig born in a beer bottle
>I gingerly sip the "Wendigo Tea"
>It burns on the way down
>But it soothes my hunger, it won't actually give me nutrition
>it'll do for now
>I stoke the fire and lie back
>I'll head out in the morning
>"Hello?"
>fall out of bed and aim my Trench Gun at the door
>"NO NO NO NO NO! DON'T SHOOT! I'M A FRIEND!"
>An elf steps through the door frame
>She has a Brodie helmet on, meaning she is maybe from Silairno as well
>In the left hand is an M1917 Enfield and in the other is a baguette
>She smiles
>"You got the fire going?"
>A strange trio of a British, Irish, and Scottish accent
>"Can I take a look?"
>I nod and put the shotgun down
>She rests her Enfield on some straw
>"Is that… tea?"
>"Technically yes"
>"Can I have some?"
>Let her take a sip from the tin cup
>She takes one taste and grimaces
>She gags
>"It's from that Wendigo over there."
>"You, made tea... from a Wendigo heart."
>yes.principalskinner
>"They dilute it with nine parts water to one part Wendigo… 'tea' for hunger potions"
>"oh"
>"It didn't burn or hurt your stomach?"
>She smirks and cracks off half of her baguette
>"Here, you're gonna need something to help settle your stomach."
>She pulls out an empty wine bottle and uncorks it
>Then pours the Wendigo "tea" into it
>On goes the cork and the bottle into my hand
>"In the future, try to leave potion making to experienced magic users. Not drinking straight mana is recommended as well."

>She pulls out a bottle of olive oil and pours it onto a small mess tray
>Brodie regals me with experiences as a combat medic
>She has a habit of arranging everything in an aesthetic way
>all the way from the way the bread is placed on the mess tray, to the position of the olive oil, and even her pack
>It's akin to a Wes Anderson movie
>Any deviation from it draws her silent ire in the form of a yelling stare
>The bread crackles mix with the fire making a muffled duet
>every drop of olive oil captures the light like a cathredral's stained glass window
>Brodie waves her bread in the air as she speaks
>"If you seal your magic artifacts up. There's no mana bleed, and the Eldritch see it being as magical as dirt."
>She dunks the bread into the oil
>"As a medic having extra mana on hand is great for healing wounds."
>"Are you a good medic?"
>"If I was a bad medic I wouldn't be discussin it with you now would I?"
>She says it with a smug smile as she crunches on her bread proudly

>"Ready?"
>I climb out of the trench
>Everytime you enter the Deadfront, fog greedily pulls the air out of your lungs
>Yet the cold forces you to billow out more fog with each breath
>the isolation returns
>The quiet blankets every shell hole and ruined machine gun nest
>My boots don't sink quite as far into the dirt, it's a little less wet today
>which is a blessing
>Shoulder my Trench Gun and motion for Brodie to climb up
>She somehow slips on the dirt
>I reach around and turn the radio on
>The empty static soothes me
>the electrics of the radio is warm to me
>"I always wondered, what's it like being a Radioman?"
>our packs and bandoliers clink as we walk along
>"I like being able to tell if Eldritch are coming or not"
>She nods and relaxes her grip
>"I mean can you believe, people used to explore the Deadfront without radios?"
>I turn the radio volume up as I talk
>"They explored on chance, until some guy brought a radio with him and people worked out that it could tell when Eldritch were near. Just think of that, exploring miles of foggy trenches with no idea who or what is coming at you."
>The radio responds with a burst of white noise, it lingers like a pendulum 
>Brodie's expression drops and her Enfield is raised
>"No, it's alright. That just means there's an Eldritch around, but far from us."
>"How can you tell?"
>I point to the radio dial
>"Each Eldritch has a different kind of sound it makes over the radio as it approaches. If you listen closely, you'll know what kind it is, but it's most clear if you set to a specific channel or frequency to 'listen' for it."
>"What is it set to now?"
>"A generic, catch all frequency, but…"
>I listen to the white noise
>Like a pendulum it sways from side to side like a tired rope bridge, I slowly twist the knob and the static disappears

>"I think it's a Corpo Seco"
>"What's that?"
>"We'll worry about it when we come to it, as long as we move in such a way that the noise doesn't get louder or clearer, or god forbid angry. It won't be a problem."
>We march along, our boots sinking into the dirt
>"Wait, if you have your radio to listen for a Corn-o Septic, then what if a Wendigo shows up again?"
>"You can hear the sounds blend through, a Wendigo sounds like a stomach rumbling, and a good Radioman can hear the blends and tune the radio to keep track of multiple Eldritch at a time."
>The swinging of the pendulum hastens
>I freeze, as does Brodie who holds her rifle even closer
>The pendulum begins to ring sadly as it reaches its peak
>"What do we do?"
>"Keep moving"
>We change direction and the radio quiets back to the old creaking of the rope
>Every so often a sad ring jumps out of the radio
>It can't be following us just yet… 
>Unless…
>"STOP!"
>Brodie goes prone
>"W-WHAT?"
>I slowly walk around her, using the direction the Enfield is pointed as a temporary north
>I hear ringing east and west, strongest north
>"Fire one shot"
>The shot rings out, I wait for any change
>A sudden burst of angered bells
>I help Brodie up by the pack and she follows me as we run to the south
>White tendrils can be hardly seen in the fog
>wrapping far around us in a circle
>We outrun them just as they close and contract the circle's area
>I sit watching the tendrils convulse as they form a horizontal set of jail cell bars
>"Corpo Seco, body that's dry. Poison creature, never to die. Neither heaven or hell do want its soul, shows it wrath with a white tendril."
>"Oh don't recite bloody poetry at me, we can shoot it right?"
>"Only if you want the tendrils to snap off and gut you like a flechette, they hunt by encircling an area with their tendrils."
>"oh"
>The radio is still angrily creaking and clunking
>"We outran it, so we can just go around it."
>further south the radio returns to a rhythmic creaking

>Brodie's elf ears suddenly perk up
>"Did you hear that?"
>They perk again
>"Is that a dog?"
>I listen
>there's a distant bark
>"Anon, is it a hellhound?"
>"No, I would have heard it"
>I didn't hear any blends
>I frantically check each frequency, the clarity of the creaking is the only thing that changes
>"BARK BARK!"
>The distant fog it spits out two figures
>Two bodies, one with a dog head and one with a man head
>Closer I can see one is a dogbold with Germanic trench armor
>Instead of the familiar Frankenstein bolts on the Stahlhelm are two holes for his Husky ears
>His friend is a thin human proudly brandishing his Gewehr 98 with another Stahlhelm to top it off
>"Oh thank God, other Fogwalkers!"
>They slow from their sprint as they draw near
>His eyes glitter at the ambient yellow glow of my radio, it's a lot like a lampost on a foggy night
>"A radio! And a face that isn't an Eldritch, wonderful!"
>The butt of his Mauser goes into the dirt as he leans on it
>"'I'm Eisen and that is my good friend, Hund"
>Hund says hello with a tired bark
>Eisen gestures to Hund
>"Hund is a fantastic navigator, but like most Dogbolds, uncanny sense of direction, but no sense of danger"
>Eisen coughs up some spit as he catches his breath
>"Dry Bodies on all of our sides but this one, so we thought we'd try here."
>Brodie turns pale and sits defeated
>"We ran into a Corpo Seco in the direction you were running."
>"Ahh, that is… disappointing to say the least."
>I put the shotgun over my shoulder
>"But do you have any food?"
>"Some pork skins and win---"
>"Give them to me"
>He confusedly hands me the pork skin
>"And the wine"
>"My friend, we just met you. This wine is a rare Fren--"
>I toss him the mana bottle
>"We can trade, return it when we get around the Corpo Seco"
>I stand in front of the group
>The radio rings and creaks angrily

>"Dry Body, whose heart is so full of sin but love is empty. If a safe path is what you wish to take, pack bread to happily break."
>I hold the pork skins in one hand and wine in the other
>The others follow close behind
>I step over a white tendril scoping the ground like a tripwire
>I follow it to the source
>I can see the white tendrils flow overhead and all around
>like a child who was playing with silly string
>Each one of us takes care not to even so much as glance a tendril
>lest the Corpo Seco sense us and sting or flechette us
>Brodie nervously blurts out, breaking the silence
>"I saw it once, the tendrils detach and crystallize, they fly out like claymore balls, and the crystals are so brittle they snap and cut the wound more if you pull them out wrong"
>The entire party looks at her
>"S-S-Sorry…"
>"Jesus Brodie, you can keep that to yourself"
>Hund barks in agreement with Eisen
>I pat her helmet gently
>I motion for the others to wait
>The silhouette of the Corpo Seco is right ahead
>I approach, he's looking down solemnly
>I take a seat
>there's an awkward pause
>"Hey, how's your day goin?"
>It looks up to me as I offer him the pork skins
>The top half of the body is all that remains, the skin flayed like it dried off.
>Its planted itself in the ground and white tendrils have exploded out the left side of its back
>from its heart…
>The Corpo Seco takes the pork skins and opens the bag
>"You want some wine with that?"
>We sit and eat
>"You know, we've been having some pretty nice weather. Not as wet, and not too cold either."
>The Corpo Seco nods confused
>"I prefer the cold to hot weather though, I'm an easy sweater."
>"I was too…"
>We make pleasant small talk about all kinds of things
>he's a really nice guy
>he was a doctor in his past life, specializing in resurrection
>"It's a fine line between necromancy and resurrection, necromancy is taboo but resurrection isn't."

>His demeanor reminds me of Walter White
>As we talk the tendrils begin to retract and a bit of color returns to his odd stump he's planted on
>"Now, the difference is resurrection involves a soul but necromancy does it with the absence of one. Think of finding your way in the dark with a flashlight, that's resurrection. Now do it in a pitch black void, that's necromancy."
>"And you did necromancy? Must have been hard work."
>His face contorts in wrath
>"No one gave me any respect, they cursed me, cast me out, not even the Devil wanted my presence."
>The tendrils swing out
>"hey, don't worry about it."
>they calm again
>"I'm not here to judge you, no one is."
>Offer him a pork skin
>After a while I stand and brush off my pants
>"Are you leaving?"
>"I have to, sorry buddy."
>The Corpo Seco is saddened
>"You're probably expecting me to give you a little speech about redemption right?"
>He nods
>"You know what you want to be, you know what is good, and you most certainly know what is bad. You're smart, you can take it from here."
>I kneel to give him a hug
>His dried flesh crackles against my tunic
>If a monster could cry, he would
>stuck in an endless foggy hellscape for the rest of his life
>a fate worse than purgatory
>As I leave he waves bittersweetly
>I'm actually going to miss him.
>The rest of the party waves as we pass by
>Hund and Eisen agree to join our travels, seeing as they need a Radioman and a medic, and we need a Navigator.

1 mile in the Deadfront:

>"The fog is a lot thinner today"
>We can see for almost 50m around. It's fantastic.
>Eisen chimes in 
>"Less fog also helps Hund find us a Lighthouse easier."
>"How does he do that anyway?"
>"Well, unlike being a Radioman. Being a Navigator requires a literal 'sense.' They fill the spotlights of Lighthouses with burning Hehku flowers."
>Our boots sink deep and squelch with each step. Pools of… water? Pools every which way.
>It feels like the fog has condensed into the soil instead of just disapatting.
>It makes me wonder if it can still birth Eldritch from the soil
>"For some they can just sense the burning of the flowers, it's like a magnetic pull to them. Hund here can sense it."
>Hund barks proudly
>"He doesn't use maps?"
>The Mauser almost goes into the mud as Eisen laughs
>"Elf, many have tried to map the Deadfront. By the next morning the land shifts
>"oh"
>"The trenches don't even follow conventional measures of distance. What is fifty feet one day, is twenty the next, and seventy the following night."
>Brodie's eyes widen and she mumbles
>"Why the fuck did I come here?"
>I jump in
>"Mana! Artifacts are worth a great deal and if you bring back mana ingredients or refined mana. Even more money there."
>Eisen shoulders his Mauser and aims it to the east
>"Hey, there's a guy out there."
>he's just standing there, MENACINGLY
>"HEY HELLO?"
>none of us are sure what to do
>"You all are real right?"
>He slowly approaches with a Webley in hand
>His uniform is covered in gashes and blood
>"Boy am I glad to see you"
>He pokes Eisen
>"Oh thank god you are real"
>His name is Dwet, another elf 
>He is a mana prospector
>"You know I was heading from Silairno to Amuskeet, shame to have such a rigorous change of scenery."
>"I came from Silairno as well."
>"Wonderful food right? Beautiful blue bay outside the town… god that harbor was so heavenly."

>Dwet relaxes as he walks
>"God, I had this one meal, sauteed sausage and potatoes put into this bun full of curry sauce."
>Brodie's mood improves
>Dwet and her reminisce about Silairno
>The beautiful food, the wonderful weather, gorgeous ocean views, and the calm, content atmosphere
>Meanwhile Eisen, Hund, and I are still stuck here in the dark mud and smell of decay
>yearning to be there instead
>"Storm coming up, masks on."
>Eisen beckons up front by Hund
>Sure enough the clouds of gas can be seen in the distance, yellow sparks fly out from it like lightning
>Brodie's breathing is hurried
>"Do we have to walk through that?"
>"It might pass us by, the damn things don't even follow the wind."
>"Can't you track it with your radio?"
>"The radios work better with denser fog, and it wouldn't pick it up anyway."
>I point with the muzzle of the Trench Gun
>There's a little bit of condensed fog hanging on the heat shield in the form of mischievous dew
>The billows of mustard gas expand outwards, the fingers of the gas stretch out groping for lungs to kill, and it's approaching fast
>Hurriedly take my gas mask out of my pack
>I fumble with it as I see the fingers of gas reaching for us
>The claustrophobia is already settling into my mind as the yellow clouds gallop
>The clouds hit and I can feel the yellow sparks of lightning bite at any exposed skin
>Not enough to burn or scald it
>Just enough to prick at your nerves as they panic
>"Hey Dwet, put on your mask buddy"
>We turn back to see Dwet choking on the gas
>None of us have any spares
>We can only watch, grateful we aren't him
>the gas rips its way down his throat and pulls out his soul with its fingers through the capillaries in his lungs
>there are no coughs, just a silent short death
>He falls to the ground
>Sinking into the mud like quicksand
>I have to pull Eisen away because he is stuck in shock

>Outside of the gas storm we sit in silence
>The fog envelopes us again as if to laugh at our failure
>The thick clouds are nearly as billowing as the gas storm that leaves as fast as it came
>The radio cruelty breaks the quiet
>"Is that water?"
>I kneel down by the speakers
>It sounds like dozens of small pipes dripping water at different pitches
>The running water grows louder in volume quickly
>On comes a thruming like a piston
>"GENTLEMEN, PREPARE TO DEFEND YOURSELVES"
>Raise my Trench gun
>"Oh Dobhar-chú with mustard blood. King of otters, king of mud. Burrowing through dirt, flesh and blood. Choking presence, choking gas, stays to feast when all have passed"
>Hund pulls out Stielhandgranates out of his pocket
>One large one with spikes attached, and others just vanilla
>Eisen brings his Mauser close
>"The king otter are very territorial and follow mustard gas storms sometimes, they will eat anything that was killed in the gas storm."
>In the distance are the dirt moves every so often
>"Like Dwet?"
>Brodie pulls down her helmet, but her ears prop it back up
>"Anon? I don't suppose you know some trick this time around?"
>"Nope, just point and shoot."
>Brodie nods
>"BUT DON'T SHOOT THEM IN THE HEAD, IT RELEASES MUSTARD GAS!"
>Here's the thing people don't tell you about combat
>it's not like a video game, you aren't behind a screen where the penalty for dying is a respawn
>You're stuck there
>this is your entire world
>stuck in the muck with a very real existential threat
>There isn't your chair behind you, there isn't the doorway over there, it is just you here
>Standing your ground
>Everything is closer and further than it should be
>Nearby objects are much larger
>Far objects are much smaller
>All of your perspective is skewed and limited
>and the adrenaline…
>it amps everything up
>you can never get enough information

>I remember what Tony told me
>How if one doesn't eat well, he can't fight well
>Well guess what party hasn't eaten in a day?
>I unleash a cloud of buckshot into the lower torso of a Dobhar-chú, sending it flying into oblivion
>The Dobhar-chú jettison themselves out of the ground with a geyser of mustard gas
>then they try to bite you
>One billows out from beneath me, I club its head and empty a shell into its stomach
>We hold our ground for a short period
>but then I hear Eisen yell in pain
>I turn to see a king otter's teeth sinking into his side
>I frantically load a shell and shoot the otter
>I hear another scream as Brodie tries to pull one off her neck
>BAM
>I knock it off and out of this plane of existence
>Three of them jump from opposing sides
>The cumulative gas obscurs our vision
>One lands on my shotgun and hisses
>I turn the barrel and smack it against the ground repeatedly
>I watch as out the corner of my eye one falls with a .30-06 sized hole in its shoulder
>The last one is beaten to death by both Eisen and Hund
>Hund hits the skull with a metallic BONK
>It explodes into a mist of mustard gas
>Brodie sits by Eisen and applies disinfectant to his wound
>Hund and I sit just glad to be alive
>The usually damp and disgusting foggy air is a welcome change from the bitter, sour mustard gas
>"You said the king otter are territorial right?"
>Eisen winces as Brodie slaps him to remind him to stay still
>"Well maybe you and Hund should go check what they were protecting"
>As we walk in the mud suddenly Hund's nose goes into the air
>He barks and runs off
>I follow and run into him when he stops
>Eggplant
>Just a dozen eggplant plants sitting in a shell crater
>They're purple, black almost
>beautiful
>We pick as many as we can and return
>We dump the eggplant on a sheet of cloth
>"We're going to have to cook them to get any toxins out, I know that from experience on the Eastern side of the Deadfront."
>there is no kindling around
>I swear everything in the Deadfront is always damp and soggy

>Brodie suggests her idea
>"I went to a magic academy and they specified that Dobhar-chú spines are phenomenal kindling. The material is already amazingly flammable with treatment, and can burn in a vacuum. They store oxygen in their spine to help them burrow for long periods."
>We return to the red mess of dead king otter
>She sits down and opens her medical kit, arranging everything carefully
>She takes a Dobhar-chú and slices open its back
>The spine is right there
>Up close they don't have arms or legs, or tails for that matter
>rather they have squidlike jets I assume for mustard gas
>who the fuck named this an otter?
>Then Brodie freezes
>"I think it might be good to know that if you rupture the brain, it will explode when it reacts with oxygen."
>"What?"
>"Their brain is their gas gland, or, wait… no the gas gland is their brain. Their brains are film laid across the gland."
>She points to it as she cracks the skull
>"Gray matter and tissue"
>"What if you crack the spine?"
>Her jaw tightens
>"The spine explodes like a pipe bomb, it's flammable with treatment, explosive without it."
>We all back up a little
>"WELL LEAVE ME A TOMBSTONE WHY DON'T YOU?"
>With the first three Brodie gets many clouds of mustard gas
>then she manages to disconnect the nerves from the spine without cutting the gas gland
>I've never seen this much focus, usually she's a klutz
>But then the bigger issue is actually detaching the spine from the body
>She manages to pull the stalk part way out, then the spine cracks
>creeper.hiss
>Everyone runs as the spine explodes in a bony cloud
>it's repeated a dozen more times
>if this doesn't work we don't eat.
>Brodie is livid and when a spine cracks she tears it out and kicks it into the fog
>She sits fuming 
>Eisen takes a peek at the Dobhar-chú she has prepared
>the spine is all that needs to come out
>He rolls up his sleeves and pulls out a hammer
>"Fuck this"
>"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
>"I'm a smith, this is what we do"
>SMACK.EXE

>He hits the bottom of the spine
>the damn thing just pops out, like a gumball from a machine
>He kneels in front of each and just smacks the bottom of the spine
>With unprepared ones it detaches the nerves as well
>Eisen smugly raises a baker's dozen of spines over his head
>"HOW DID YOU KNOW TO DO THAT?"
>"I didn't I guess they're more durable at the bottom"
>that smug grin
>"Hammer beats scalpel"
>Brodie grabs Eisen by the Stahlhelm
>absolutely livid
>"NEXT TIME YOU GET SHOT I'M PUSHING THE BULLET IN MORE AND IF THERE'S AN EXIT WOUND I'M SHOVING THE BULLET BACK IN!"
>"and if there's no bullet?"
>"I'LL SHOOT YOUR BLOODY ASS JUST SO THERE IS ONE!"
>we douse the spines in cosmoline to neutralize the explosive pockets, it leaves the oxygen alone
>Eisen cooks
>"I came from steppe country, eggplants were a dish my family would prepare"
>He pulls out a small tray and places the eggplant on it, cut lengthwise into strips
>"Now the mistake most people make and the reason why most despise eggplant"
>He places the tray over a burning spine
>"They don't get the water out, if you don't get the water out of eggplant they end up all mushy. Good eggplant is tender"
>He grabs a burning spine and holds it over the tray
>"Hey Eisen? You ok doing tha--"
>"I'm a smith remember? I'm fine around fire."
>about 10-15 minutes later he pulls it out of his makeshift oven
>A pan comes out of his pack and he drizzles it with olive oil
>The smell of frying eggplant is heavenly
>it only gets better
>he begins to season them with a little bit of salt that catches the foggy light as it falls onto the eggplant
>he minces garlic and drops it into the pan
>the smells of the eggplant and garlic sing together
>he adds a little bit of onion and it joins the song
>In goes some more pepper, and then he puts in a generous helping of red pepper flakes
>not like the kind you would put on pizza, it's far more aromatic, fermented too
>As he stirs the eggplant we sit in excitement

>The smell fills your lungs with its weight, it grabs your head with the kick of the spice, and it warms your body with the crackling of the oil
>He spoons them off and we eat
>They're tender and spicy
>They fill your entire mouth with the hearty taste
>The oil mixes with the spice, coating the already amazing eggplant
>Each bite is full of flavour that causes your mind to sit back and just bask in the moment.
>food is better with company
>We'll keep moving at nightfall, when the Eldritch and the fog are gone.

>"The sun went down what are we waiting for?"
>"Shh, Brodie just wait."
>Eisen looks at his watch
>"It's been almost 11 minutes since the sun went down. The Hehku flowers will come up any moment now"
>Exactly 11 minutes and 11 seconds after the sun has set one can feel a sudden tonal change in the air
>Small circles of light appear just below the surface of the mud
>each one lights up with a silent tone
>the glow resonates with your soul, as if it is listening to a piano
>where each glow is an entirely new note in an orchestra of light
>Then from each spot small stems begin to sprout, pushing out of the ground and climbing onto the fog
>The stems thicken into coral and out the top olive green buds push their way out
>when they bloom, they begin to fill the air with an ethereal green glow
>The fog rapidly dissipates with an attitude
>as if it were a small child told to go to bed
>it settles down on the ground in wisps
>now frail and heavy
>the wisps swim through the coral flowers like koi
>the coral roses sprout two antenne each
>each pair points in different directions as if pleading for somebody to bring them there
>you can see for miles on end, the sheer scale of the Deadfront is very apparent
>yet beyond the horizon lay more of these glowing flowers
>making it seem as if a green moon is about to rise
>one could confuse the scattering of these coral roses on the trench ridden earth as stars
>like how a lake reflects the stars in the sky, the Deadfront reflects the stars above in its own way
>We all carefully step around the young coral roses
>I reach around to turn off the radio on my back
>the ambient yellow glow abashedly lets the green of the Hehku flowers have their time in the spotlight as it dims
>Brodie looks worried

>"Radios don't work at night remember? I told you."
>"W-Why?"
>"There are theories at least."
>Brodie kneels next to a Hehku flower admiring the green glow, it's as if she's been reunited with a lost friend
>"It's obvious that the fog and the Eldritch have a relationship right? This is the only place I know where you can pick up Skinwalkers on the radio. So the Eldritch here are special in some way." 
>Brodie nods as she sits entranced by the rose
>"Many times it seems as if the fog creates the Eldritch in front of you or that it shrouds them as they draw near. It's more a question of 'are the Eldritch children of the fog?' or 'is the fog brought by the Eldritch?' Maybe it's both"
>She picks up the rose by its coral stem, its luminescent touch still caressing her cheeks
>"Those strain of Hekhu flowers only bloom here and it seems that when they feed on the fog. Because the very instant they bloom it disappears and when the sun rises and touches the flowers, they will die and the fog returns."
>Eisen chimes in
>"Maybe they ward off the Eldritch?"
>"Maybe… the funny thing is that if you hold up a radio next to them. You can hear static. So maybe it's the flowers breaking the radios. The legend is that many a Radioman has gone insane from leaving his radio on at night, because we naturally listen for voices."
>"On the other side of the Deadfront, near Amuskeet, we call them the 'Whisper Roses'"
>"W-Who's whispering?"
>"Most say the dead."
>"Which brings me to my next point, during the day Fogwalkers roam and deal with Eldritch, but during the night Greenboots roam and deal with Troopers. That's why combat oriented parties travel at night"
>"The Troopers come with the flowers, that's why they say the dead whisper through them. The presence of so many undead cannot be a coincidence."
>"The more superstitious say they are dead souls reaching out to the Troopers in a desperate ploy to escape the after life."
>We come across a party of dead Greenboots

>Multiple bullet wounds, holes from bayonets, and burns
>Eisen pulls out a small bag of charms
>he places them on any guns or valuables
>Brodie lovingly touches a coral rose, as if thanking it for something
>"Why do you put the charms on them?"
>"You can't seriously expect us to carry all of this right? All you need is the return rune"
>he jingles a small silver charm in his pocket
>"And you can pay a wargunlock back in town to teleport them back to you"
>She nods as she looks back at the flowers
>still fascinated by them
>Everybody else, especially Hund, is far more interested in the Lighthouse in the distance
>we're so close now
>warm showers and hot food await
>The spotlight pulses green with your heart
>As Brodie picks more of the flowers, she notices the antenne have begun to point all in one direction
>"Hey Anon? The Hekhu things are doing something!"
>I shoulder my Trench Gun
>I can see an ocean of figures moving in the distance
>Adrian helmets and Lebels
>I pull everyone into the nearest trench
>"SLEEP! THEY WON'T HARM YOU IF YOU SLEEP!"
>"Bu--"
>"JUST PRETEND!"
>The beating of boots against the earth comes near
>Yet instead of the cliche stomping, there's something else
>It's like a phonograph playing music underwater
>you can faintly make out La Madelon de La Victoire
>I love the song, but the way it quivers in the air, like what an alien would think singing is like
>I peek out one eye to see Brodie in pure terror as they come near
>I make a shushing motion and close my eyes
>the Troopers walk off into the distance
>We climb up to see their backs
>Relief washes over us
>The Lighthouse comes ever closer in the distance
>We're so entranced by it, we miss the many Adrian helmets poking out of a shell hole

>SHUCK SHUCK SHUCK
>The Chauchat misses me
>I pump many shells into the brim of the crater, and get the Chauchat gunner
>I turn to check the others
>Getting shot is not fun, I wouldn't recommend it
>the bullet burns through your body
>it's an ecompassing, radiating pain
>your entire being shrieks as it is suddenly aware of things be wrong, very, very wrong
>It bores through your flesh
>In my case it flies through my right rib and through my lung
>It fills with blood as I feel like I'm beginning to drown
>I can't scream or yell, all I can do is gurgle red bubbles
>I fall face down in the mud
>The sight of the Lighthouse and its green spotlight mix with the black earth and green Hehku flowers
>Before my head hits the mud, it feels as if I'm falling through a green starry sky

>Resurrection magic is not fun
>First all you are aware of is the black void
>slowly you come to feel like your in a deep slumber
>as more magic flows through your body
>your soul feels like it's being pulled up through miles of river, while you're still drowning
>Then you see a light and are pulled out of the river Styx
>I wake up with a gasp
>and immediately cough out water, it's stagnant and burns worse than stomach acid
>I struggle for air as Brodie pats me on the back
>The Lighthouse has clean birch floors with white brick walls
>The wood reflects the golden light of the lamps
>The best word to describe it, is safe
>Eisen and Hund comfort me as I try to get my bearings
>"The Moth is getting the radio ready to send us back home"
>The Moth comes in and flutters happily
>It's odd seeing Moth here, as far as I know they only live in a magical land of Hehku flowers to the far north
>But the extreme mana potential of the Deadfront can sustain them; however, the flowers here have minimal amounts of mana
>the glow is from something else
>So they drink refined mana or distilled coral rose liquor
>It's a pity they can't fly here
>their massive glowing wingspan would make every Moth a comet through the sky
>Eisen thanks the Moth, he can't understand the signals from the Moth's wings but I can tell the Moth is glad I'm alive
>"What are Moth doing here?"
>Eisen grins, and Hund does as well as they look at each other
>"What? Mr. Encyclopedia doesn't know about the Moth?"
>"Fuck off"
>"Well the legend is the Moth and Lighthouses were here before people even arrived. The Troopers ignore the Moth and the Eldritch avoid Lighthouses like the plague."
>I can see the shining fire of the Lighthouse's spotlight outside
>We're going home

>The Moth sits us in a small room with a radio
>Below us is the spotlight
>A burning pyre of Hehku flowers
>The things burn in a vacuum
>There is no need for reflecting surfaces
>It's all from some odd steam they exude
>The fire pulses as the radio is turned on
>It has a green ambient glow from its electrics
>Brodie is terrified, again…
>"Just close your eyes and let the music take you, that's how the radio sends you by signal. Become one with it."
>You don't even know you've traveled by Lighthouse, all you know is that you open your eyes and you're in another place
>I stagger to my feet and leave the room
>I stumble to the balcony
>I can see Brodie, Eisen, and Hund all standing in the courtyard of the fortress
>I look out to see the peaceful grandeur of Silarino
>the blue ocean beyond the coast and pristine white houses along the hill
>The salty, crisp air is a blissful change from the gross, toxic fog of the Deadfront
>I'm going to go see Tony now

>Of all the people to be happy to be back in Silairno, Brodie isn't really
>I'd expect Eisen and Hund to be less enthusiastic seeing as they are from Amuskeet on the other side of the Deadfront
>and that they keep getting long stares from people
>she just looks lost as if she recognizes that small corner, but then her gaze moves away just as quickly
>"I'm telling you, Tony, he's a goodfella you're gonna love him. Amazing chef, wonderful food.
>Eisen and Hund are eager to try the food
>Brodie tags along, almost fearful
>the fuck is wrong with her
>I push the door into Tony's restaurant
>"Tony?"
>"AYYY! KID! YOU'RE BACK!"
>Tony barrels out of the kitchen with plates already in his hand
>"And I see you brought friends!"
>His eyes approvingly look over Hund and Eisen
>Then they freeze on Brodie
>they widen
>and fill with tears
>the plates fall to the ground 
>when they break, so does Tony's composure
>"B-B-Brodie?"

>Brodie looks confused at Tony
>"How'd you know my name?"
>His hands shake as he opens his arms, his jaw tight
>"Brodie. It's me. Your old man. Don't play this kind of a joke on me after all this time."
>More tears run down his cheeks
>I've never seen Tony beg like this
>he's always been the macho, 'I WILL BURY YOU AND YOUR MOTHER'S CUT OFF CLIT IN A SODA BOTTLE!' kind of guy"
>"I don't know you."

>He's seeing a ghost
>He walks up to her, carefully as if not to scare a deer
>"Brodie… it is me, your father. How do you not recognize me?"
>She shys away, disgusted
>"Again, I don't know you."
>His wonderment that was souring to terror becomes agony

>We sit at a table in the dining room
>Brodie, Eisen, and Hund sitting in another across the room
>Tony sits biting his knuckles, unsure what to do
>his eyes red
>"Tony, you never told me you had a daughter."
>"I didn't want to talk about it kid, it just never came up."
>"Well it came up now."
>"Don't get smart with me. Not now."
>He bites his knuckles again, hard.
>"Brodie! What's your favourite colour?"
>"I… I don--, r-r-red?"
>If he bites any harder he's gonna chew through his hand
>He gets up and pulls a chair out at her table
>She recoils from him
>I can see his body tense as if he's been stabbed
>"Brodie… honey… it's me."
>"I. Don't. Know. You."
>She looks at me angrily
>"Anon, can you get this guy to back off?"
>"I mean, I know Tony he wouldn't ju---"
>"Brodie, just… please."
>"Fuck off."
>He sits back defeated, staring at his feet
>Eisen steps in
>"Brodie come on, at least… like… talk? To him?"
>"I don't know who this is."
>Tony turns to me
>"Does she still arrange things very carefully? And gets a temper when she's frustrated?"
>"Yes actually."
>He puts his head between his hands
>"Brodie, when I let you go to the Deadfront. I did it because I loved you."
>"That's nice you would do that for Brodie, but I'm not that Brodie."
>He points to her helmet
>"That Brodie helmet, the metal came from one of my dwarven steel pots. There is a red tag of paint on the back inside of it, you put it there, because you wanted to know which way was forward. You couldn't bear to have your helmet on 'backwards'"
>"Take off the helmet Brodie."
>She looks at Eisen
>"Don't tell me you believe this guy?"
>Hund barks in agreement with Eisen
>"Brodie, just do that one favour."
>"FUCK IT. FINE!"
>She pulls off the helmet
>there's a red mark on the backside
>but there's something far worse
>"JESUS CHRIST BRODIE WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?"
>Everyone stumbles back in fear and disgust
>Tony turns pale and has to grab the edge of the table to stay upright
>he's about to faint
>there's a worm
>it has scales
>burrowing into the back of her head
>it's the size of one's thumb
>it pulsates with each beat of her heart
>"ANON HOW DID YOU NOT PICK THAT UP?"
>"MAYBE IT'S NOT ELDRITCH?"
>"IF ANYTHING IS ELDRITCH, IT IS FUCKIN THAT"
>Hund howls in fear
>"SOMEONE GET A DOCTOR!"

>Tony and I stand in the darkness of the kitchen the only light comes from the dining room
>aside from the cigarette that burns in his fingers
>"Kid. You believe me right?"
>"I'm not sure Tony, I--"
>"Do you know what it's like to lose a child? Your only child? Your. Daughter?
>"No?"
>He clenches his fists as he begs me
>"I watched her grow up."
>He points to the dining room
>"She played in there as a child, and she waited tables as a teen."
>He throws the cigarette in the sink
>"I let her go because she wanted to find her mother. My wife, Persa, was a soldier and died in the Deadfront"
>His teeth grit as he begins to cry
>"I had let her go because she was relentless, but I should have known better."
>He slams his fist on the metal countertop
>"I HAD TO SIT. FOR YEARS WITH THE GUILT THAT I KILLED BRODIE. LIKE I KILLED PERSA."
>He leans against the counter
>"I killed Persa because I didn't have the guts to stop her, I killed Brodie because I didn't have the guts again. I let them both go to the Deadfront and die. Me, I did that."
>The tears are falling down and onto the counter illuminated like snowflakes by the still lit cigarette
>"I lived with that guilt, staring up in bed every night. It eats at you, it sours your stomach."
>I realize there was a reason why with every meal, Tony would leave a small portion as if waiting for someone
>"I would always leave some for Brodie, hoping that by some act of God, the smell would lead her home. KID. I DID THAT. FOR EVERY MEAL. THE MONTHS I SAT HERE, STILL HOPING SHE'D MARCH THROUGH THOSE DOORS, A JUBILANT SMILE AS ALWAYS. I NEVER GAVE UP HOPE. EVEN AFTER OVER A DECADE."
>I have to steady him as he breaks
>"YOU COULD STARVE ME FOR WEEKS AND GIVE ME ONLY A FUCKIN CRUMB. AND I WOULD STILL LEAVE IT FOR BRODIE. I WOULD LEAVE IT FOR HER!"
>He looks into my eyes, nothing but desperation
>"And now, when she comes back, she doesn't know me. With a fuckin worm in the back of her head? AFTER ALL THIS TIME, THIS IS WHAT I GET?"
>He grabs a knife out from the rack, I lunge to stop him from stabbing himself
>but instead he brandishes it, showing it to me.
>It's the very same knife he cut garlic with before I left
>"This knife. You see it? She bought me this knife. She saved her allowance up for months, just to buy me it for my birthday. We went to a knife shop down by the harbor."
>He shows me the writing on the top of the blade
>Brodie
>"WE CUT THAT INTO THE METAL TOGETHER. SHE WAS TOO SMALL TO HOLD THE ENGRAVER STEADY, SO I HELD HER HAND."
>The knife goes into the cutting board
>He stares at his hands as if blood runs down his wrists
>"That little smile she would have every time she saw me cutting with it. Knowing it was my most prized possession, the most important thing in my life, besides her."
>Eisen pokes his head in through the kitchen doors
>"Doctor is here"

>"It's a Dimenticare, it lives on the memories of its host."
>"And?"
>"I'm surprised she isn't a husk of a person by now, you're lucky she still has personality, much less remembers who you are."
>Tony has stopped his weeping, only has a defeated dead look on his face
>"We can arrange for a surgeon to come in a couple months, but by then"
>The doctor sucks his teeth as he examines the worm
>"She'd probably be dead by then"
>"JESUS"
>Tony puts his hands on his head
>"JUST GET THAT FUCKING THING OFF MY DAUGHTER'S HEAD!"
>The doc puts his hands up in defeat
>"I'm not a surgeon, you need a pair of steady, careful hands to remove it. Remove it wrong…"
>he sucks his teeth again
>"Her mind dies with it or her body dies. Either or. I'd recommend doing something, generally Dimenticares wipe more of the mind with each moon cycle."
>The doc glares at me
>"All this time, when you were in the Deadfront. You never considered something was wrong?"
>"No?"
>"She came up to you at night, suddenly with food. She clearly had been there a while, yet was clueless to most things? If you met her at night, how did she not even know about the Hehku flowers?"
>"I… I never thought it'd come up."

>Tony pulls me back into the kitchen
>it's much quieter and calmer
>maddeningly so
>"Green."
>"What?"
>"That was her favourite colour… green. Green is."
>He shivers
>"Kid. What do I do?"
>"I don't know Tony."
>"I… I… kid. I just want my daughter back. She's right there in that room. Sitting as pretty as the day she left, she hasn't aged a day."
>He points to his graying, balding head
>"I've aged, oh god I've gotten older. Clinging onto the hope she'd come back. I'd sit there at night, watching the door. Waiting for it to ring and her to yell 'DAD I'M HOME!'"
>his eyes are red and a constant river runs down his agonizing face, his jaw tight and neck tense
>"I spent those years thinking I killed her, and if I cut that thing out again, I'll be killing her again."
>His hands grip the counter again
>"With. My. Own. Fuckin. Hands."
>I get up and pull the knife out of the cutting board
>I hand it to him
>His hands shiver
>in all the time I've known Tony.
>the way he carefully would dice onions, mince meat, and cut carrots
>his hands never wavered once
>He takes the knife and we go to the dining room

>"Hold her still"
>Brodie sits terrified
>first she's told her life isn't real, second she's told this man is her father, and third the mystery man needs to cut into her head
>"Ok, Tony is it?"
>"What do I need to do doc?"
>"It's a simple, perfect circle cut around where the worm meets the head, cut half an inch in."
>"HALF AN INCH?"
>"Half an inch."
>He puts the knife down and walks over to face Brodie
>"I… I love you Brodie."
>There is no anesthetic for this, the Dimenticares is fused with her nervous system, to sedate it would kill any memories it's feasting on."
>Tony eases the knife into Brodie's skull
>she screams
>A spurt of blood paints Tony's white chef jacket
>He moves the knife around, coaxing more screams of pain out of Brodie
>every millimeter is agony for Tony
>I can see it in his eyes
>I've only seen this emotional fervor when he was cutting onions when I left.
>When he finishes the cut
>Brodie's head hits the table as the worm drops to the floor
>I fucking curb stomp that bitch
>Tony stands
>dumbfounded
>"Tha-- JESUS MAN!"
>The doc wrestles the knife away from Tony's wrists
>"GIVE IT AT LEAST FIVE MINUTES CHRIST!"

>Tony and I sit outside
>Waiting for Brodie to wake up, if she does, and hopefully with her memories
>"Kid."
>"Yeah?"
>"I should be honest right about now."
>"Sure."
>"I… I used you."
>"What?"
>"By all means with Persa and Brodie, I should have never let you go into the Deadfront."
>"Bu-"
>"I used you. I wanted to prove that it couldn't take another loved one from me. That I wasn't cursed. That I didn't actually kill Persa or Brodie by letting them go, it was the Deadfront."
>A single tear runs down his already wet cheek
>"I love you like a son Anon, and I used you, like a pawn."
>More tears
>"I almost killed you too, and yet by some miracle. You brought Brodie back to me."
>We sit in silence
>five minutes pass
>ten
>fifteen
>twenty
>with each second, Tony's will to live diminishes
>with each minute, Tony dies as well, his heart killing itself
>thirty
>fourty
>fourty-five
>"I-I-I think I'm gonna go lie down for a bit kid. Don't wake me up."
>As Tony gets up we hear a voice
>"SHE WOKE UP!"
>In the dining room Tony walks with caution as though he's walking across a minefield
>Brodie and him make eye contact
>it's pained silence
>"Dad?"
>He breaks down crying, falling to his knees
>Brodie gets up and hugs him
>"Dad? Are you ok?"
>He has no words as the pain of over a decade of waiting hits him
>He holds her close
>"I KILLED YOU!"
>"I… no that's not."
>He kisses her on the forehead
>"How did you know to come home? Of all the people, how did you find Anon?"
>She reminiscences for a moment
>I… I woke up in this bed of flowers. They were glowing."
>She holds Tony close
>"I was in this stupor wandering around the trenches."
>She smiles
>"Then I smelled tomato sauce, your recipe. I'd know it from miles away, I did know it from miles away."
>Tony begins to cry again
>"I didn't know who had made it, or what it was. I just knew it meant home."
>I remember how I had fallen on the jar of sauce Tony had given me.
>"I wanted to come home dad."
>Tony wipes his tears and stands.
>"It's ok"
>"You're so old now!"
>"I am…"
>He can't help it when the tears leak out
>He holds her by the shoulders
>"Now that you're home."
>He steels himself and regains his composure
>"Are you hungry?"