Swamp Magic was usually late, but no less enthusiastic than those that came before him. He'd heard a couple things about a strange and potentially dangerous manifestation and he knew he had to see it for himself.

Walking towards the Hole, he surveyed the others in the area for any clues as to what was happening. He saw a Stag speaking to a zikwa and an acha - both without sight but not vibrancy. Yet another zikwa was dragging a creature he could not recognize away. This caught his interest, though that particular individual seemed likely to protect his prize rather than allow another to study it.

There were a few others scattered about, seeming to be recovering from something, but none that seemed particularly keen on enlightening him on the happenings before his arrival. It seemed he would be investigating by himself, then. The closer he got to the Hole, however, the more he felt wrong. It felt like wading into thick mud and drowning, something thick and oily coating the inside of his mouth and throat, but he kept forward.

He stopped as close as he could stand the feeling, his fur rising and chills running down his spine, and studied the phenomenon quietly. He couldnt see inside, only darkness. He didnt hear anything coming from it, nor did he smell anything that should be causing this sort of reaction. A frown appeared on his features at the thought that perhaps this was something the magic of the Swamp was trying to reject, causing him to be sensitive to it as well, but he had no proof of this.

After a few minutes of silent study, he took a pouch of herbs - nothing important by itself, but important to him - and tossed it into the darkness. Let the experimenting and learning begin.

Baneful wrote:

Swamp Magic’s gift had barely entered the hole before strange things began to grow from it, sprawling outward into the clearing like something regurgitated from a vast and ancient maw.

No.

The voice was calm and clear, and it rang out in the minds of all the kin gathered—or well, almost all of them. Will heard nothing at all.

A creature that was almost a crane and almost a kin alighted by the hole and shook its head, before looking up at the sky overhead. It was a sunny spring day. Sometimes things happened on spring days, just as they did in summer. The season had been dry, after all.

There was a low crackle, and fire kindled and began to spread from the shrubs nearby, licking at the heels of the strange creature. It strode in a patient circle around the hole, the fire obediently following it, and yet not seeming to harm it at all. The fire did, however, harm the encroaching plant life, the abominable flora withering and curling back to the safety of the dark below.

The flames rose higher, forming a bonfire’s crown, and many of the kin stepped back, driven by the searing heat. Still, the figure continued its ritual pacing, guiding the fire to where the Treel had fallen, and where the ambitious Zikwa hadn't quite managed to move it far enough in time to pilfer it. The fire took the Treel. It took the spilled candy. It took every trace of corruption. The strange growths turned to ash, unremarkable. Safe.

You will not disrupt order. it spoke without words, without a mouth.

The crane-kin spread its wings - because it did indeed have wings - and flapped them, extinguishing the fire in one fell gust, and in turn, also extinguished the strangeness in those gathered. The changed kin became who they had been, and the unfamiliar artefacts they had brought with them were gone. It was as though in a single blink, all was made whole again.

And then, the creature in another blink vanished without a trace

And all that remained were already scattering ashes in the grass.

And the hole was gone.

--


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