That night when you drift off to sleep, you find yourself in a forest. It feels familiar, though in truth, it could be any forest. Blanketed in the quiet of night and watched over by a hawthorn moon, it feels familiar, though it doesn’t look like any place you know well.
There is a stream ahead, and you are heading toward it, perhaps to quench your thirst. The water is inviting, the trickle of the brook over the riverstones gentle and soothing. You are about to lean down to drink, when you notice on the other side of the brook: a pair of eyes, watching you.
Startled, you take a step back. Your eyes adjust to the darkness of the forest, and you realise the eyes belong to an owl. This makes you feel no less alarmed, for owls, you know from the stories, are omens. The owl, unperturbed, blinks slowly.
It is then that you catch a scent, one which immediately turns your stomach. It is rotten, acrid, burns your nose like acid. It is the smell of death - you seem to know this, even if you have never seen death before, never experienced it for yourself.
Drinking from the brook would surely soothe your senses, but the owl presiding over the water gives you reason to pause… perhaps you should investigate the smell instead?
Drink from the stream OR investigate the smell
The smell is truly overwhelming, and the first laps of the water are refreshing. Your senses are quick to clear, and you feel much calmer, as the rotten smell seems to dissipate.
Something catches your eye below the water’s surface - one of the many stones which line the bottom of the brook seems to be glowing ever so faintly. Curious, you dip your nose below the water to deftly fish it out. On the bank, you can see the stone seems to be notched with a strange marking. It’s an ancient runestone.
Before you can register the shape of the marking, you hear splashes. You look back to the stream, and are taken aback to notice that the water is now giving off a faint, blue glow. The surface begins to splash in different places, as though rain was falling on the surface.
A sound begins to flood your ears - chanting.
.̷̛̝͍̘̀̉͐̐̄̀ͅ ̶̢̛̺̪̅́̃͊̐̉͊̈́̇́͘͠.̶̛̳̗͇̱̲̘̠̲͓͈̹̥͌́͐̈́͑͋̈͝ ̶̞̲͖̬̳̮̠̻̻̐̎̀̆.̵̻̟̩͓̰̼̠̙͙̦̎̿̔͌̀̏̀͛̀͐̉̕ ̷̛̰̻͈͉̰̩͇̺͖͈͉̝̎̀̾͒̋̉̎͜͜͝ḁ̴̢̬̟̗͒́̄̃̔͠͝ ̸̡̹̣̟͕̟̤̏͆͜ṵ̵̖̺̩̙͕͉̗͙͙̼̩̮̳̯̽͋̏̀̈̈̉̅́͠͠ ̷̛̠̮k̸̡̨̢̺̻̟͍͙̙̥̻̣̳̃̀̀͊̍̉̆̍̕̚̕͝ͅ ̴͚̰̞͖͈̆̀ͅa̶̞̤̩̳͚̱̪̠͍͓̘͇̲̝̜̒͊̑̄̍̀̉̇͘̚͠͝ ̷̣͈͙̩͇̺̲̺͓̝̕.̴̜̉͋̓̓̈̂̓̇͘͘͝ ̸̧̧̗̦̭̲̝̬͔̱̭̖̥̟͝͠.̸̥͎͍̄̀̓͆̂̉̌̂͛͘ ̸̰̟̝̳̭̝̯̲͕̰͈͖̬̂̈́̓̒͆͋̊̌͛̃̉͘̚͠.̶̨͈͎͖̯͕̩̑͛̏̃͗̈́̊ ̴̜̞̹͚͙̞͉̜̣̇̒́̚
Ancient words you don’t understand - ̸̷̨̢̛̛͎͎͙̭͚̹͕͓̥̩̺̟̠̤̳̥͍̱͙̭̜͕͂̎̔̍͑̐́͛͒̆̋͋́̌̐̉̚ͅͅ.̴̨̡̪̜̟̣̫̣̜͐͑̂̈́̕͠ ̴̝̻̩͖͋͐̾̑́.̸͈͈̩͔̠̪͎̩̤͕̱̎̆̎͑̌̀͝ ̸̳̥̰̬̇̉̆͊͛̎̄̑̐̄̆̃̌͛̌.̶̼̘̱̝̭̟̯̻̲͚̤̻͓͋̀̓͑̄̉͑̂́̓̒̈́͜͝͝ ̴̡̨̣͓̙͙̠̰̩͙̺̣͗͒̍e̷̡͎̘̥̹͇̖̔̊͆͒̒̑͜͜͜ ̷̧̗͈͎͇̩̠̻̗͙͉̪͂̉̇̀̑ͅĺ̸̞̼͈̟́̋̈́̉̈́͂ ̷̞͈͖̠̋ą̸̺͍́̔̽̋͗̈́̄̽͘͝ ̸̜̤̦̻͙̫̖̺̿̆̀́ȓ̴̢̛̛̛̪̖̹̪̪̼͎̖̱͕̲͕͍͉̉̏̿̾̑͐͆͝ ̶̢̙͇͇̦͈̆͐̌͘ų̸̛̞͙̤̬̗̯̝̋̂͌̒́̓͋͗̿̎̕̚͝͠ ̸̡̨͖̠̣̤̂̓̓͗͘͠͠l̷̡̨̲͚͖̗̞̜̮̠̓̌̕ ̶̧̧͈̞̯͔̲͈͙̭͉̏̈͜͜.̷̲͔̦̼̞̳̣̎̃̎́͑̿͆̄͛̓͆̈́̚͝ ̴̛̺͖̻̩̏̽͌̈́͊̒̓̔͆͂͘͘ͅ.̸̗̜̙̹͚̤̓̃̒́̆̄ ̷̺͉͊̊̒̐.̵̧̳̝̤̬̦͕̩͍̬̣̪̥͘ͅͅ
̸̢̛̳̝̟̩̬͇̯̦̆̋͌̍͌͌̀̎̿̈͊̕͘͠
̶̱͎͇̼͇̦̭̪̗̭̗̼͖͔̔̂̈́͗̎͋̏̽̚͠͠.̵̡̡̧̤͙̫͖̤̗̲͈̇̈́̈́̇̍̈́ͅͅ ̵̜̅͑͊.̸̡̻̪͈̙͊̈́̌̂͘ ̴̛̘͍̯͈̪͚͈̟̘̝̌̃̓̐̓̄̚̕͠͝.̷̧̤̰̩̰͕̯̘͙̥̃͜͝ͅͅ ̷̧͔̼̜̖̲̮̺̄̽̅̿̆̃̔̒͋̾n̴̢͙̳̺̼̦̊̑͗̽̉̑͌͗͊̄̋ͅ ̶̧̭̺͍̜͙̭̗͊̀̽͛̓̾͆͒̃̌̚u̷̳̗͓̮͗̽̾ ̸̛̜͒́̈́̂̉̉̑̇s̴̱̞͎̩̒͆̉̈̅̿̿̑̕͜͝͝ ̵̨̼̮͉̻̪̦͕̻̳̦̀̎̓́̈́̌̀̐̓k̶͈͎̃̍̂́͒͊̕ ̴͚̲̥̲̘̮̟̞̞͈̯̲̺̊͑̋͒̽̄̊͊̓̐̉̉͠͠ę̵̧̢̡̜̩͈̩̪̱͎͕͍̜͕̿͗̊ ̶̢̮̞̫̦͈̣̣̮̳̞̝̏̈́̀͛͘͜s̵̹͚͒̈́͐̄̿͋̕ ̸͚̺̺͔́̐̓͌̿̍͋̋͊t̵̝̯̠̟̜̀ ̸͇͋̀̕į̸̛̹̙͕̻͚̦̺̝̲̝͙̦̘̈́̀̂̽̐͊͋̈́̉̈́̋͘ͅ ̴̭̫͕̾͛̑̇̊̉̽̄̄͗́͘.̸̝̻͎͖̗̣͇͉̈́̀͑̋̌̔̈́̔ ̷̧̧̨͚̞͎̤̬̟̰̱̻̬̎̀̌̂̇̎̃͑̈́̈́ͅ.̶̧̛̪̞̉͗̎͊͋̀͝ ̸̟̝̼͓̮͓͎̪̳̪̈́̄̚.̵͖͚̗̼̤̮̼̰̈́̎̉̔̎͑̒̍̽̾͑̕̚ The earth below your paws starts to rumble.
The chanting grows to a crescendo, but you catch a tiny whisper in your ear -
o̡҉̯̺̭̟̭̹͚n̯̞͓̙e̸̡̱̜͉͈̰̥ ̵̢̯̤̙͈͚̲̹͘b̵̬̼̫̳͝ǫ̯͎̦̀u̬͇͎̯̳͟n̸̬͖̟̳͓̪̬ḑ͔̝̣̻́ ̵͓̺͉̠͉͎
͘͏̭̦
̭̗̲͢b̵̢͏̞e̸̢̳̞͙͟l̸̛͈̯͘ͅò̢̘̟͖͈̲͡ͅw҉̼͇
̵̡̳̖͕̦͎͔̲
̧̪̬̫̦ ̷̺̞͎t̙̺͎͠h̞̝̦̞̭̲͍͜e̡̻͙̼̱ ̨͡҉͇̠̳̘l̡̠̠̖͕̰͈a̷̝̠̲͓̗k̵̡̰̮͚e͎͉̦̳̺̜̥͢
̩͟
You whip around, but no-one is there.
AWAKE.
You follow your nose to the source of the smell, which only grows stronger and more rancid as you go on. The scent leads you through the forest until the trees begin to thin. The land opens before you, and ahead you see the spire, but it does not seem as you remember it. It is crumbling - rocks still falling here and there, crashing upon the ground.
You watch a rock falling, and it is then that you see it - the body of a wolf. Quite recently dead, but most certainly the source of the smell. You are uncertain. The scent is as though it has been dead for weeks.
Without realising how, or remembering choosing to walk there, you are standing over the body. Four shadows grow on the ruins of the spire, and a voice rumbles bitterly -
What. Have. You. Done.
AWAKE.
Sadly, it’s not enough to earn a clue.