The howling wind threatened to snuff out the light of my torch. The dancing flame fought for its life, casting shadows every which way as I continued down the rough path that led through the woods. All around me, I could sense the denizens that would normally haunt the night. Once in a while, I could even make out the glowing eyes of the wolves that wisely stuck to the brush. Whether or not it was lucky for them or for myself, I couldn't tell. I'd probably fuck them all up no problem, but I had to admit that my thoughts were elsewhere.

My task was grave indeed, and I needed my mind clear of all other distractions. I had to be focused.

Steadily I continued forward, the chill of the night nipping at my unmasked face. The glow of amber from my eyes illuminated the inside of my hood, the hem of which I gripped tightly with briar-knit fingers to keep it from shifting too much in the breeze. The cold air found its way through the gaps and folds in my rough woolen robes, making me wish I had packed a sweater or something to fight it.

Overhead, in the breaks of the boughs of the forest that surrounded me, not a star was visible. A storm had moved through earlier in the day, leaving behind a canopy of dense, rolling clouds. The ground was still wet from the rain. Mud was caked onto the worn leather of my shoes. Thankfully, this pair was quite disposable--I just hoped I didn't lose one of them before I arrived at my destination.

One of the pack that watched me the entire time decided that he had enough waiting. Slowly, the animal emerged from the bushes to my left, teeth bared, a snarl cutting through the wind. The light of my torch glinted off the wolf's black eyes as it skulked closer.

I shot it a fully-erect middle finger.

Big mistake, as it turns out. Apparently it wasn't the first time someone flipped the thing the bird. Crouching down, the muscles in its legs winding up like springs, the wolf paused for a brief second before making its move. Leaping through the air, its jaws widened, preparing to bite down on the unprotected vines of my throat.

Instead, it was only met with a jet of acid.

The pain was immediate and severe. Coughing, hacking, and gagging, the wolf half-yelped, half-gurgled as the fur of its face and the wet flesh of its mouth melted away to bone and muscle. The beast scrambled back to the nearby underbrush, quickly disappearing into the night. The only signs of our brief meeting were a few bloody drops of smoking goo and the soft sizzle of rapidly-decaying leaves.

I was left alone for the rest of my trek.

- - - - -

The shack was... well, it was exactly what I expected it to be, for something that was planted in the middle of an area of the forest where you would hang Here Be Monsters signs to keep adventurers away. All four walls were constructed with rotting wood held together with scraps of metal and planks of less-rotted wood. Bleached skulls of various critters decorated the space around the asymmetrical door frame. Moss and weeds grew on the roof of the small home. A small plume of smoke rose from a stone chimney. The windows lacked any sort of glass whatsoever, opting instead to use tattered linen sheets to keep the elements out. I was almost certain that a stronger breeze than this one would've toppled the whole structure.

Similarly, the yard was in poor condition. I wasn't expecting a perfectly-tended half-acre surrounded by a picket fence with a fresh coat of white paint, but it was clear that the hermit took full advantage of not having any neighbors to impress. The grass was choked by weeds and briars. The desiccated body of an animal which I couldn't even identify laid off to the side, swarmed by various bugs. A small stable sheltered a plain brown horse with an even darker mane. By the front door sat a barrel that collected rain water.

Satisfied that I was as thoroughly unimpressed by the hermit's decorum as I knew I was going to be, I waded up the uneven mud and stone path towards the front door.

The soft light of a dozen candles glowed from inside. Through the curtains, I could hear the crazed mumbling of an old man. I raised a hand to knock on the door, but hesitated at the last second. The muttering suddenly came to a halt. From beyond the door, I could hear him scrambling to his feet, knocking shit over as he rushed around his small cabin.

“She's here,” he rasped, quietly at first. “She's here! She's here!” His voice grew with a violent, frothing intensity as his bare feet slapped against the knotted floorboards. ”She's here! SHE'S HEEEEEERE!”

Crazed laughter shook the walls of the As the doorknob fidgeted and the locks were undone, I dropped my torch into the barrel. In an instant, I was enveloped in darkness. Just in time, too, as no sooner as the last of the smoke dissipated in the wind, the shabby door was flung open.

Stood before me was a disheveled wretch of a man, his skin dotted with boils and blackheads. His grin stretched from ear to ear, and displayed maybe five or six rotted stumps that were one time teeth. The hermit was balding, but his chin was covered with a patchy, graying beard that had—yep, that was definitely lice crawling around in it.

I was quietly thankful that my sense of smell is greatly diminished, because I already wanted to throw up. I didn't dare show it, though. I was here with a purpose. This... this man, I guess... This psychotic, lonely, dirty bag of bones was my key to the future. And he fucking knew it.

His glazed eyes were a maelstrom of emotion, filled with glee and awe and fury and purpose and a million other things that I won't waste my time or yours describing. The old man shook with the vigor of a child at a festival, his hands fidgeting and playing with bits of his tattered, dirty clothes (if you could even call his outfit clothes).

I remained stoic and aloof, standing there in the freezing wind. I tilted my head up slightly, casting my amber gaze down on this poor soul.

“Gaster,” I addressed him, my voice flat and emotionless.

This threw him into a sudden fit. A dog discovering you have a stick made of treats and you're ready to play fetch kind of fit. He threw himself at the ground, his knees and elbows cracking against the uneven, damp boards.

“My liege! My goddess!” He pressed his face into the floor, smashing his forehead in the process. If it hurt him, he didn't show it. “You have finally come to me! After all the messages you sent, all the nights spent awake with fevered visions, you have finally made yourself known to old Gaster!”

I stifled a grin.

I could get used to this.