Chapter 40: Unexpected (2/2)

“The bodies were… heavily damaged, but fortunately the citizens of Kazar called upon their prime investigator who recognized the precise cuts used on the remains. Missing thighs, cheeks, calves, biceps. She called us in turn. I do not need to tell you what this means.”

She looked very confused.

“Errr. You do.”

Again, a genuine reaction. She was innocent.

“You have never heard about Gomogog?”

She did not move in her seat. Her immobility betrayed an attempt to hide her reaction. To Denerim’s experienced eyes, she might as well have been babbling.

“Very well. Gomogog is the dark god of flesh, renewal, and hunger. He offers immortality to his followers in exchange for the sacrifice and consumption of sapient flesh.”

“Those cuts mean that someone harvested meat from the bodies…” she realized with widened eyes. The Kark made the sign of Enttikku, goddess of death. A shiver shook her mighty frame. Orkan just rolled his eyes.

“Precisely. Prime investigator Tars correctly guessed that the bodies were killed every two months or so, but also that the most recent one dated to a full year back. I suspect that the cultist changes the burial location from time to time to avoid gathering too much attention.”

“How do you know that it’s one cultist and not several?”

Oh? A relevant question. Usually, the first thing people did was to claim that their beloved town could not possibly have such a monster in its midst.

“The cuts are practically identical. Individual cultists always prepare the... meat... themselves, it is part of their ritual.”

“I see. Why not dispose of the bodies farther into the woods, by the way? Monsters would help them disappear.”

“Unreliable. Although people eaten in such a ritual never rise, body parts can still be found in monster lairs in case of a purge. We were really lucky to find those graves. Whoever that cultist is, they have patiently fed on drifters and scavengers over the years. The proximity of the Deathshield Woods and the convoys going to forts means a myriad of ways to explain a disappearance. Our quarry is clever, yes. Hmmm. They could have been operating for a century and we would not know.”

“How dangerous is a Gomogog cultist exactly?”

Denerim refocused on the conversation.

“Depends on their food reserves. Alright, I need to delve into the depths of their depravity. Disciples of that foul god sacrifice others to stave off their own mortality, adding their victim’s flesh to their own. They are… larger on the inside, so to speak. They will grow to monstrous size in combat, thus revealing to the world the extent of their corruption. The disciple consumes flesh to heal flesh. So long as they have reserves, they can close even the most grievous of wounds, mutating in a mass of ever-changing musculature.”

“Also they stink,” Orkan added helpfully.

“They can regrow limbs?” the witch asked with a frown, one finger idly scratching the dragonling’s spine.

“Yes. Grow, regrow, multiply. Older disciples can reach prodigious size, but they are always revealed in the end. The insane hunger of their masters spreads through their unholy bodies until they can no longer control themselves. It is always a matter of time.”

“Alright. Do spells work against them then?”

Denerim and his apprentice exchanged a glance.

“Yes,” the inquisitor explained, “you see, they might resist them like all highly magical beings, but they use mostly life mana.”

“Really? That is… unexpected.”

“Life mana to sustain themselves, a little black mana to corrupt and change. As such, foreign black mana spells are extremely effective against them. As the antithesis of life and preservation, they burn and disrupt the ability to regenerate efficiently. I read Lieutenant Cernit's report on your inspiring contribution against the undead. Your specialty would serve us well in this struggle.”

“I see so that’s why you wanted me to join. Just to be on the safe end of things, there is another caster in Kazar we shou…”

The witch frowned and Denerim saw realization in her widening eyes.

“You are suspecting her,” she exclaimed.

Denerim felt the witch’s intense distress at the thought that Lady Varska, the resident witch, could be the culprit. She was not afraid, but worried. The two knew each other well.

“We suspect everyone,” the inquisitor continued, “but there are signs that can point us in the right direction. For example, disciples of Gomogog try to dwell in places with a high life mana attunement, and Kazar has one such place.”

The woman frowned.

“The tree?” the Kark asked.

“Precisely,” Denerim said with approval.

“Aw no, anything but that,” the witch continued, “what other signs?”

“Well. They tend to be very protective of their personal space, for obvious reasons. And they would tend to eat a lot, mostly meat.”

The witch relaxed.

“Yeah that’s not Varska at all. She is a herbivore. Mostly. Except for her sweet tooth, really. Though I suppose a disciple would gorge in private?”

“Most of the time, yes. Be careful with your suspicion, young one. The mind tends to focus on its own worst fears instead of searching for the truth.”

“A disciple would live alone, right? Away from their family, if they had one?”

“Yes.”

“... I’ll try not to focus on my fear.”

“We can go tomorrow and assuage your concerns, and ours. It will be fine.”

“Yeah. Fine. Pass by after daybreak?”

“We will see you there. Be careful and make sure that your house is secure. Our arrival could have been noticed, though we have done our best to be discreet.”

There was a hint of defiance in the witch now, as she sat back into her throne.

“This place is safe now. I assure you.”

Truth. Or at least, she believed it was the case. Denerim had to remind himself to be careful, as being truthful and being correct were two entirely separate propositions.

“See you tomorrow. Take care.”

They left.

The door closed behind the inquisitor and Viv did her best to take deep breaths. It would be fine.

“It’s not her,” Marruk said.

Viv turned to the one who had started as precaution but was quickly turning into a friend. The Kark warrior’s big, honest face showed a level of confidence that Viv wished she could share. Varska was an exile with little to lose. She bore a stigma in her flesh that Gomogog could perhaps heal. She lived near the Kazaran tree. It did not look too good.

On the other hand… no it would be too weird. Too big of a coincidence. She had invited Viv to her home. But what if it was to eat her… No. No. Or yes?

//I agree with Marruk’s assessment of the situation, Your Grace.

//Although mine is based on rigorous observation rather than fleshy wishful thinking.

//I have slain Gomogog disciples in the past.

//If your… ‘mentor’... were a follower of a dark god, she would have acted before.

//Gomogog followers are not known for their impulse control.

//It is not her.

“Are you sure?”

//Almost entirely, yes.

//Set your mind at ease.

“Ok. Ok..”

Marruk locked the front door and placed a chair under the knob to block the access, for good measure. She yawned mightily, showing her large flat teeth in an uncharacteristic display.

“I’m going back to bed. Big hunt tomorrow.”

“Alright. Thanks for being there.”

“Always. Good night.”