“Brat, are you sure this is the place?” the Soldier asked, scanning the surroundings with practiced efficiency. He was a gray-bearded old veteran who had exchanged the orderly life in the army for the freedom and uncertainty of an adventurer.

  “We are halfway between Noreburg and Ironwall Castle, so this must be it,” the Archer replied matter-of-factly. She was a teenage brunette with freckles and wild hair, the daughter of a hunter who met his end during the monster invasion. “Two witnesses saw intense gate lights around here. This is all the information the Guild had.”

  “Remember that we only need to identify what gated in; this is just a recon mission,” the Wizard reminded them with his usual dour demeanor. He was a handsome man in his early 20s who took up adventuring with the same enthusiasm one has for filling out tax forms.

  They formed an adventuring party that had no shortage of work these past few months. Hunting odd monsters that plagued the region had become routine at that point, with the same adversaries causing the same mischief.

  But a gate could spill any sort of new problems, and that put them on edge.

  The party followed a stone road of ancient imperial design. To their left was an unkempt field with destroyed houses in the distance; the peasants who tended those fields had fled or were killed during the invasion. To the right were hills with sparse trees, their remaining leaves dried and yellow, just waiting for the chilly wind to finally pluck them.

  “It is getting dark” the Archer closed her cloak tighter and rubbed her arms vigorously. “Don’t you think we should make camp?”

  “Near a gate we know nothing about?”

  “Do you have a better idea?” The Archer stared at the Wizard.

  “In fact, I do. Look, there is an inn further down the road.” The Wizard points at a distant building half concealed by the trees.

  “It is true” the Archer confirmed squinting her eyes “we can get there before nightfall”.

  I don’t remember an inn near this road, she thought, but decided to ignore it in the face of the promise of warmth and real food.

  They arrived there when there was still light. It was a wooden building with two floors. Light was coming from the inside, but it was surrounded by an aery silence.

  “This looks like an old tavern I visited with my father when I was a boy” the Soldier reminisced, examining the wooden building with admiration. He caressed the rails at the stairs, feeling the coarse texture. “I like this design; they don’t do this kind of craftsmanship now days.”

  “An old building when you were young… It must be ancient!” teased the Archer with fake surprise.

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  “Shut up, brat! Respect your elders.”

  “I will give you an extra dose of respect them” she replied cheekily.

  The Soldier grunted, but let it slide. They entered the inn. It was clean and well lit, with a counter, tables and some chairs. There was a door behind the counter, probably leading to a kitchen, and stairs that went to the second floor.

  But there was no one there.

  That, in itself, was not unexpected. Travel in south Central was still very risky, something only the brave or the foolish would attempt. It would not be unusual for this place to be deserted. But then, why was it so well kept?

  “Hello! Anyone here?” Asked loudly the Soldier with a husky voice.

  There was a heavy, oppressive silence. It was not just the room, there were no sounds of insects or birds.

  “Maybe we should go…” suggested the Wizard, the uneasiness starting to gnaw on him.

  “Pray, tarry but a moment, for I shall be on my way forthwith.” A feminine voice came from behind the door.

  Who talks like that? Wondered the Archer, cocking an arrow on his bow.

  In unspoken agreement, they all grabbed their weapons and tensed, ready to fight.

  The Soldier came close to the side of the door, his long sword in a double-handed grip.

  “Ma'am, are you ok?” He asked.

  “Pray, tarry but a moment...” The voice on the other side of the door replied.

  He extended his arm and forced the door open, and to his surprise it opened with no resistance.

  They cautiously entered the kitchen.

  It was clean and orderly, the counter was spotless, the cooking utensils stored in a cabinet, there was spices drying in a rack … but there was no smell, good or bad.

  “… for I shall be on my way forthwith.” The voice was coming from the end of the room, behind a set of barrels.

  They moved with coordination born from countless shared ordeals, circling the barrels. Sword drawn, arrow cocked, magical circuit preloaded.

  “Pray ... moment ... forthwith...” The voice cracked and distorted, as if shards of glass scratching one another could emit words.

  And it came from a mouth, with sharp teeth and thick purple tongue, embedded in the wall.

  “The house!” Screamed the Soldier: “The house is the monster!”

  But it was too late.

  From every surface sprung mismatched eyes, mouths and tentacles. Thorns and claws. The walls waived and melted into a dark, oily substance.

  The entry hall collapsed, the pseudo candleflames extinguished, trapping the adventurers in a dark, shrinking bubble of eldritch horror.

  The Soldier tried to hit the amorphous mass with his sword, but he could just as well try to slay the water from a pond, the effect would be the same. A crown of spikes grew instantly from the “floor”, piercing his legs in multiple places, making him fall.

  An intense light illuminated the nightmare scene as a jet of flame burst from the palm of the Wizard’s hand, hitting the monster only because it would be impossible to miss. It appeared to have some effect, but it was short lived as a sickle like appendaged swung from the ceiling and cut off his arm. The Wizard took two steps back in complete darkness, screaming and holding his bloody stump, and stuck his foot into a gapping mouth that closed with a snapping sound.

  The Archer shot two arrows in blind panic at whatever with no result. Tentacles sprung from the “walls” and grabbed her. All she could do was scream and beg as she was slowly absorbed into the oily mass.

  And it was over. The three, still alive, merged with the creature as the void collapsed, three new screaming voices in an already overcrowded psyche.

  The creature abandoned his disguise, the form of an old inn melted into a puddle of eyes, mouths and appendages. It shrunk to the size of a horse, and from it sprung thin insectoid legs. And, as an asymmetric, arachnid-like creature, it walked away in search of new prey.