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As word of the Christmas Eve battle spread, the crowds began to gather all flushed with holiday cheer, and only some of it in liquid form. The arena had been adorned for the occasion with holly, tinsel, and lights...or that had been the plan anyway. What had actually happened was the people who had promised to decorate had waited until four hours before midnight on the 23rd, then decked only about a third of the area with holly--though there were extensive outlines indicating where the lights and tinsel were supposed to have gone. "Apologies for the mess. We'll expand it later," the signs promised, but this being Cystia everyone knew they were just itching to rip it all down and stuff it in a garbage bin at 12:01 on the 26th. Bells jingling, Liminal and Wildblue pulled up in their sleighs promptly on time however, dressed in glittering holiday finery and carrying swords carved of ice while fireworks exploded on entrance. They looked ready to fight an incredible battle that would be the talk of the kingdom the entire next year. Several hours later, Mizal had managed to walk to the microphone. The swords had sadly melted, but the two still promised a grand fight to those in the audience still awake. "And here's Liminal and Wildblue! Their prompt: Foray into the forsaken lands."

Story A Mists and Lies Captain Stegerios paused his horse on a rocky ridge and looked back over the columns of mounted soldiers, trying to quell his doubt and uncertainty. Just two weeks ago he had been simply Josef, a regular soldier in the Royal Army, and then suddenly a hero who had captured an orc fortress when the battle had seemed lost. Receiving promotion the next day, he'd been swiftly sent on a new mission: recapture the forsaken Orsair Fortress in the Silent Lands. It was the kind of "honor" no other officer had seemed to want, and he had seen it in his thier eyes, they already considered him doomed. Since the fogs consumed the valley, the first expedition to reclaim in ten years ago had ended with the men twisted by magic into abominations that slew nearly all of the second expedition, while the third and fourth had vanished without a trace. "Fifth time's the charm," he'd heard his own men joke nervously to each other. It was a fear they all felt, but as captain he had to keep it in check again and again and project confidence. But now that the valley lay before them, he felt absolutely none, his mind turning constantly to the unknown creatures and forbidden magic that lurked hidden in its depths. Josef called for the soldiers to make camp. "We'll enter the valley early and travel swiftly so we can reach the fortress before nightfall." He went about sending out patrols and assigning guards, all the usual things, trying to distract himself with a sensible routine. All around the men went about their work, not talking or laughing as they usually did, and when they spoke at all it was in hushed whispers. Finally he could take it no longer. "Say something!" he rasped, "We're not in the Silent Lands yet! Let's have some games, some music!" Tomas, his nephew, whose job it was to feed the horses, took out his flute and begin to play a tune that got them all thinking of home. A few singers joined in, the men struggling to put aside their own fears. Tomas had been one of those captured by the orcs: that was what had driven Josef's bravery and enabled him to successfully assault the fortress when all seemed lost, the many innocents he knew would face a terrible fate unless something were done. Had his courage embarrassed those who had written them all off as lost? He suddenly wondered. Could that be the real reason he'd been chosen for this "honor", to dispose of an inconvenient reminder of their own cowardice? He looked out over all the others, some he'd known for years, now possibly chosen to die for this callous reason. Years ago when the fog had first rolled into the valley, the first thing it did was rob the voices of those who breathed it in. Those who remained there too long devolved into beasts. The Silent Lands it was called now. The former commander of the troops at the fortress, a man named Caldoch, reported that the fog had been caused by a wizard in the Royal Army, who had betrayed them and cast a forbidden spell. That commander was now Grand General Caldoch Orsair, leader of the entire Royal Army. His family had built that fortress long ago, it guarded the way to the mountains and the path to the kingdom's further expansion. For years now the King had tried and failed to take it back. "Captain?" He turned to see the leader of one of the scout patrols he'd sent out, and nodded to him. "Yes? Anything to report?" The man looked a little disturbed. "No signs of any danger close by. We found a boulder that the leaders of the previous missions carved their names on though, and some...strange skeletons." "Strange how?" "It's like they were human once, and then...changed." Josef thanked him for the report, and retired to his tent to spend a fitful night, dreaming of dim, twisted shapes in the fog. He tried to run, and when he did found his limbs were heavy and wooden, jerked along on strings like a puppet. Waking suddenly, he found the early morning sunlight peeking in, and heard the others outside preparing themselves to move out. Josef mounted his horse and led them down the broken old road into the valley. Not far ahead they found the boulder the scouts had spoken of, and he solemnly carved his name and the date next to '5th Expedition'. Whether they all survived or not past today or met the fate of the others he knew could be up to him. The fog soon was swirling over their heads in oppressive clouds blocking out the sky, the only light that filtered in having an eerie purple tint. Josef like most of the men wore cloth tied over his face, to try and keep from breathing it in, though it felt like a useless attempt at protection. Everyone knew if any of the men suddenly lost their voices though, it was time to make a hasty retreat. There was more visibility than he expected, though the constant shifting of misty veils over the landscape kept him on edge. Every now and then they passed a crumbling cottage, or a strange, twisted skeleton lying in a ditch. Soon he heard shouts from some of the men, and his fears were confirmed. Dim, grotesque shapes could be seen loping through the fog, more and more soon becoming visible. They kept their distance, too far for an attack, almost herding him and the men towards their destination. The black towers of the old fort were soon visible looming from the mist ahead. Captain Stegerios held up a hand to halt the men, and peered ahead. There, standing in the gate, he made out a lone, hooded figure. His mouth felt dry, but riding forward several feet ahead of the others, he finally found his voice and said with a tone of confidence he didn't feel, "We are here to take this fortress back for the kingdom, stand in our way at your own peril!" The figure only laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "So it seems Caldoch sent another bunch of pawns. It isn't worth it, boy, turn back. He's already caused enough death in this place, the prideful fool!" "What are you talking about?" Josef demanded. "How do you know the Grand General Orsair?" The figure came forward a few steps, lowering his hood to revealed a scarred face, mottled by old burns, eyebrows and patches of hair singed away. As he moved closer, Josef recognized the cloak he wore, the style of cloak the Royal Wizards had, enchanted to protect from rain and cold and fire. "It's you!" he gasped, dropping a hand to the hilt of his sword. "You were the traitor wizard the Grand General reported!" The man only laughed again. "The Grand General," he said in a mocking tone, "Yes, I knew him, when he was not so grand. And I'm a traitor? He forced me to cast that spell. You've been lied to, boy." Josef felt his mind whirling as he struggled to make sense of this. "What? No, that can't be right. Orsair would never betray the kingdom, you're the one lying!" he protested harshly. "Listen here, I'm telling you the truth. The orcs had us surrounded--he had burned their villages, they had nothing left to lose. Caldoch took an ancient book from the family tomb, and I warned him of the dangers, but he insisted I cast the spell. Neither of us knew what it would do until it was too late of course. But afterwards he tried to burn the book, destroy the evidence. I went to stop him, I told him we must both confess what happened and face justice." Josef could only stare in disbelief as the man continued. "Caldoch, he pushed me in the fire and fled. Only my enchanted cloak saved me, and most of the book. Though we were both a little singed as you can see. You've barely been able to look away from these scars since you arrived, admit it." Josef tore his gaze away, having not even realized he was staring. He swallowed hard and tried to think of a course of action. "If you have accusations to make against the general, you should've taken it to the royal court! But you've fought the King's army here haven't you? It's you who destroyed the previous expeditions?" "I've learned a few things from what was left of the book," the man admitted. "And my family was well off, they had me trained in magic from a young age. And there are of course, my friends..." He gestured all around, and the captain didn't even have to look to know he meant the creatures who followed you through the fog. "Don't get me wrong, we wish no harm on anyone. But this fortress guards the pass, beyond it the survivors. Not all of them were as twisted by the fog as these. They live their lives there in peace with the orcs who didn't go to war afterwards. I have fully admitted to my part in things, and been chosen to remain here, defending the pass against invaders. And so if you give us no choice, we will destroy you." The silence stretched between the two men, having nothing to do with the fog. "Or," the man suggested, "You can turn around and leave." Josef turned and looked at the creatures on both sides shuffling closer in the fog, and at his frightened soldiers. Men he'd known for years, and many of them he'd risked his life to protect. He had risked himself to save those he cared about, and could he do any differently now? "And how will I make anyone believe this story?" The man just shook his head with a little chuckle. "You won't tell them the truth, it doesn't matter." Josef's eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm some liar?" "If you leave, it means you're someone smart, someone who cares about your men and that you're good at surviving. There were witnesses to what happened before, and I've told this story to others. They all keep it to themselves in the end...or else someone powerful shuts them up." The man turned then with a shrug and walked back toward the gate as if the conversation had ended, and he didn't have a care in the world. "They'll send others," Josef called after him. "Even if we go back, they'll send more until someone succeeds. This fortress and this valley belong to the kingdom." The man paused then and turned. "Have I told you my name?" "No." "It's Hochal...Hochal Orsair. Caldoch was my little brother. This fortress was our family castle before the kingdom even existed, and I am the rightful heir. Myself and these others, we've suffered enough. We have no king but we're our own people, we're eked out a living here through the darkest times when the fog was thickest and everyone was afraid, with no help from the rest of the kingdom or the so called Grand General. We'll fight to the end to defend our lands and our homes." When they returned, Josef tried to tell the truth, he really did. But the captains, the generals, the royal advisors, they set a document in front of him repeating his statements as a confession of having been swayed by the evil wizard's spell of madness, and looking at each of them in turn he knew what would happen if he refused to sign it. He was afterwards labeled of "unfit mental state", and assigned to a useless post in a far corner of the kingdom. He lay awake the night after that, knowing he had been silenced after all, and it had nothing to do with the fog.

Story B Wanderers in the Fog ”Out. Get out.” The words are burned into your brain, all you can remember while the harsh winds scold your face. You give your dog a few pats on the back and begin walking out and away. The endless night and darkening clouds greet you while you walk, the safe haven of home getting further and further. The dog follows you, the soft pitter-patter of his footsteps giving him away. Within a few minutes, you sigh, turning to send him home. “Henry, go back.” You chastise, clenching your teeth. Even being built for this weather, you worry about his safety in the ruins. But as you tell Henry to leave, he sits on your old leather boots and rubs his head on your arm with a stubbornness more human than you have seen from your people. Whatever. If he is determined to stay with you, he’d stay with you. You adjust the pack on your shoulders as it digs into your flesh, tap the pistol at your side for reassurance, and continue walking. A low, soft melody drifts toward you on the breeze. Immediately, you turn around and begin walking opposite of it while readjusting your earplugs. The melody grows softer as you walk, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you see Henry, still trotting close behind. Your eyes feel heavy as you wander through collapsed stone structures, and you know eventually you’ll have to find a place to rest. When you come upon a half-standing hut, you know that this is it. It’s the only place for miles with half a functioning roof, and the first few drops of rain steadily approach. Tipping underneath the small door, you find a dry corner with remnants of a bed and set down your pack and holster. Henry immediately walks to it as you collapse beside him. The heat radiating from his fur comforts you a little as you pull out a handwarmer, grateful for the foresight you had while throwing this bag together. Just in case, you always told yourself. You never expected it to actually happen. The odds of being thrown out of the town into the Barrens were minuscule, considering all the hard labor that needed to be done to protect the area from Faders and Wanderers. You had thought the only reason to be thrown out was doing something horrendous, like murder of a young, fit person, but your crime had apparently been ‘much worse.’ You wonder briefly at how sleeping in for three hours was worth being thrown into a wasteland full of certain death, and muse on the ridiculousness of your fragmented society’s regulations. Words like 'home' and 'society' seemed altogether ridiculous to you right now. Home was just as much you sitting with Henry in this decaying shack as it was that falling wooden house on the outskirts of town. Society was just as much the Faders and Wanderers as it was the Elders and Workers. There was no point in building a home anyway if it were to be jeopardized by the radical idea of one person sleeping in once. That was no kind of place to live. Leniency be damned. Resting your head on Henry’s back, you close your eyes, breathing softly. Sleep greets you, for what feels like a moment, as an old friend. The rain begins to fall outside, and the sound relaxes you further, piercing through your earplugs. Footsteps. An echoing screech in the stone half-building you shelter yourself in. Your eyes shoot open, but your body stays still. From the screech, you can tell it is a Fader, and will detect any movement you make. Your gun will not work. The only way out of this situation is to stand still. Henry, a smart, well trained dog, is acutely aware of this as well. Your heartbeats seem to thrive on each other, growing louder with each passing second. Time seems to slow down as you hear the click thud of the Fader’s steady gait. It pauses in front of your shelter, and you halt all movement, even that of your breaths. A part of you prays to a long forgotten god that you will be passed by. A light appears from far away. You hear loud clanging, unlike the noise of the Fader. It turns and begins to run as you hear gunshot after gunshot, and finally, a loud thud. A separate type of footsteps come for you now. Lighter, practiced. Wanderer. You would cuss under your breath if you weren’t still so resigned to not moving, knowing that it still will not save you. Clawed, darkened, unnatural hands grab hold of the entrance door. A face, human-like and yet, so wrong, peeks through the doorway. It points at Henry and tilts its head. A question. Your silence is broken, if from nothing other than nerves. “This is Henry. He decided to come with me.” You’re not sure why you expect an answer, Wanderers are famously mute, but as the strange thing approaches, you sense its curiosity. It pats Henry on the head, and when he responds by sticking his tongue out and wagging his tail, the Wanderer leaps up and down, a smile on its unnerving face. It runs out, dragging back another Wanderer. The second, more apprehensive, approaches Henry and lightly taps him on the head. Henry’s response is to look around, confused, as if he was expecting more attention. He places his head on your lap, looking at you expectantly. You laugh, patting him. For a moment, you almost forget the monsters at the door. The two Wanderers glance at each other and seem to come to a consensus. The apprehensive one gently lifts your 84 pound dog as if he were made of glass, cradling him with all the gentleness of a mother and her child, and the curious one tosses you over their shoulder like a sack of flour. You manage to grab your bag before being dragged off, praying you’re not about to be killed and eaten. The pistol lay forgotten on the stone ground. Ten other Wanderers are gathering up the Fader’s corpse, trying to fit it into a comically small bag for the twenty foot monstrosity. Its bare-bone structure easily crumples in, leaving you astonished. A couple creatures look up curiously at the sight of you, but the others seem unbothered. The only Wanderer not carrying the corpse points out into the Barrens and gestures for all else to follow. The thing carrying you turns to one of its friends and seems to have a full conversation without moving their mouths. You glance over at Henry, who is now fully comfortably snoring in his new captor’s arms as other monsters walk over to pat him, which he enjoys. Traitor. Eventually - and you can’t help it, two minutes of sleep was not going to last - you doze off on your own creature’s shoulder. A light shake causes you to rise from your sleep. You see that you’re in a well lit living room, the couches from a time where fabric was not a luxury. In front of you is a new Wanderer, wearing a grey mask and holding a strange device. Henry sits loyally by your side, as if he wasn’t just cuddling up with a bunch of monsters. “Hello. I am deeply apologetic about taking you without permission. Two of the younger ones gained entertainment from you and thought you could perish out there.” The sound came from the device, mimicking human speech. But something, as always with the Wanderers, was off. Maybe the word choice, or the stilted tone. But something. The Wanderer tilts its head as if waiting for a response. You contemplate, unsure how to respond. “I wasn’t doing very well on my own. That Fader might have gotten me. I thank you.” You hope this will be sufficient for whatever they want from you. The Wanderer considers your answer. “Yes. It was hunting for the joy creature’s scent. It was good that you both stayed still.” You’re still trying to process that she called Henry a joy creature when a familiar looking Wanderer wanders into the room. It’s the curious one, bouncing still up and down at the sight of Henry. You suppose that proves one point or another, but as the kid crosses to Henry, Henry leaps on it and begins nuzzling its warped face. The young creature falls to the ground, kicking its legs with joy. The Wanderer with the device turns to you. “It would bring them much joy for you to both remain here. I know you have been exiled from the place you previously resided in. This could be beneficial. We need a talking thing.” The Wanderer tilts its head again as you hesitate. The decision seemed obvious, who would stay with a group of mutated creatures? But you do consider it. The more you do so, in fact, the more you like the idea. Safety. Food. Care. Finally, you smile at the Wanderer. You can see a new home being built after all.

Thought it was interesting that the prompt didn't mention fog at all, but both authors just went there for the alliteration it seems. Anyway, you guys got served up with two excellent stories this time, looking forward to seeing how the vote turns out. If we can keep up this quality level going into 2026, holy heck we're going to have a good time.