The letter didn't leave much to leave off, apart from the shack; he couldn't see any sign of humans. The idea that anyone survived long enough to not only find others but to create a community with them seemed too far out of the realm of possibility for him to take seriously. However, there was the black fumes.
Globs of black ooze had been traveling upward from the grass; it was impossible to avoid them, so from the very beginning, he hadn't even bothered. But from the note, if he had to guess, whoever wrote had died from it. There wasn't much other than to take that leap and continue forward. There needed to be a way back.
Leaving the sanctuary of the wooden shack, Gryce continued through the open land, an eerie silence traveling along with him. The stories had always described the Forbidden Land as chaos incarnate, but all Gryce could think of was how dead everything seemed. How far he'd gone without seeing a thing, in a way, he'd hoped for anything to break this feeling of isolation.
Things were getting bad; nothing was happening, but he was sure a part of him was beginning to get weaker, and soon enough, his stride began to falter.
"What the hell is going on?" He fell to his knees and heaved. Gryce looked around and noticed that the density of black ooze floating from the ground began shooting upward as rain reversed. Starting far away but soon enough enveloped where he stood, masking him in a wave of darkness that only a few seconds of clarity could allow any form of sight. Streaks of light spawned from the ground, striking the sky, creating links of lightning forming what almost looked like roots in the sky.
Through the few seconds of vision the rain allowed, he made out a dancing flame in the distance. It wasn't there before he was sure of it; it was a trap, there was no doubt about it, but at this point, there was no other choice. Using the last of his strength, he managed to move the rest of his strength to his legs and bolt toward the flame. Quickly, he'd noticed the terrain below him begin to change; he'd felt it many times before on the mainland. He'd found a cobblestone path, and there was a building just ahead.
As the flame grew larger with each burst of speed, he braced for whatever came after. Coming his way, unbeknownst to him, there were a few steps leading to a large door; in a flash, he'd trip and slide against the floor, the door opening just before he'd strike it, closing it right after.
He held his stomach and winced, taking in several deep breaths before he gained any strength back. The floor was jagged, with shards of exposed pieces of wood eviscerating any flesh it came in contact with.
"Shit," He held his hand in front of his face as blood streamed down his arm. Gryce turned his attention to what seemed like a hallway shrouded in black.
"Who opened that door?" He managed to say through labored breaths.
Distance breathing filled the void. Click, click, click, whatever it was, it needed a cane to walk; that sound of wood against wood was unmistakable.
"Are you human?" There was no response.
"Please, I need your help. I'm hurt pretty bad right now". A deep guttural voice burst from the darkness.
"You have larger problems than that wound, human". The monster continued to walk.
"You can talk?"
"Should small talk truly be in your list of priorities? Here," a wooden box slid across the floor, tapping his foot. "Having you die here proves no worth to me. Clean yourself, and we can talk". He didn't have much choice but to comply. It wasn't uncommon for monsters on Toblitche to have the ability to speak, but having one be fluent made him feel more vulnerable than if it didn't. His eyes scanned every surface they could find, even so, there was nothing.
Hesitantly, he grabbed the box and opened it. Inside was a roll of bandage and stitches.
"I assume that's enough to stop the bleeding." Gryce didn't respond; he only began stitching his wound with the dim torch above guiding him.
"So many of you stumble inside here. Such an easy trap this land has made for the lot of you. Your naivety has caused your death".
"So you won't kill me".
"Haven't decided".
"Huh… haven't decided." Gryce winced as he continued stitching. "There are things on Tobltiche that can mimic human speech. You don't seem like anything I've seen before".
"Comparing me to those plebeians? I was made in the image of Erebus, not that feeble Eye and its spawn. It's only natural that we creations can achieve more than mere mimicry".
"So most things here can speak?"
"If they choose to do so, yes. Finding prey is much easier when you can speak their language. Many think the method is too easy; the game is over before it even begins. Either way, there is no general favorite of ours".
"So why am I still alive?" The monster paused for a moment.
"There are many methods of catching prey. Your time hasn't come yet; consider yourself lucky and leave it there".
"Fine, how about you tell me what that black rain is?"
"Oh, that?" Strands of lightning struck the sky, momentarily lighting up the monster's bumpy skin and black cloak as it stared outside. "It's how this sector of the island obtains its nutrients. You noticed that once you set foot here, your energy waned, did it not?" Gryce's silence became admission.
"The storm has an end; unfortunately, you or I will never be there to see it". Gryce stopped mid-stitch.
"What do you mean?"
"I mentioned the trap, did I not? This building here was designed to trap people like you, naive and young, it's familiar, isn't it? You felt it as soon as you started following the path".
"That stone path?"
"Of course, you'd never find something so civilized in an uncivilized world, nothing else like it exists here and never will. This building is stuck in an endless loop; it'd suit you well to accept that".Gryce finished the last stitch.
"Yeah, I can't do that". He struggled to stand up, pulling himself up from a piece of loose metal on the wall. "You said other people have been here; where are they?"
"Hm, you'll see soon enough. If you need me, find the double doors and knock thrice. I'll come out shortly". The tapping of its cane fell into the distance and disappeared just as quickly as it came.
Gryce looked back outside, "hasn't let up". For the time being, at least, he was stuck here. But where "here" was proved more of a problem than simply being lost in the forbidden land. From just the hallway windows, this place had a second, maybe even a third floor.
He wrapped the bandage across his body and held his side tight. Grabbing the torch on the mantle, he dragged the flame along with him as he went further into the building. Deeper into the clutches of living soil.
The inside of the building was a strange mixture of oddities and familiar assets from all varying locations. With the little light he held, he found a plethora of flags brandishing the sigil of King Solomon: a shrewd eye facing upward, and two swords following it. Most of the rooms were a barren mess of cobwebs and filth, dark tumors extruding from the walls, shriveled up and squirming as Gryce passed the flame beside it. In terms of signs of light, that was the extent of it. That was until he stepped onto a piece of loose wood and sprayed something wet across his face. As he slowly peered down, a sloppy piece of bulging flesh pulsated below a loose eye trained on his own, forced back to the day of cornoation.