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“The name of the Vulvorian Sea is a mixture of ancient giant and modern language. Vulvorian meaning ‘in between the in between’ in the tough of giants. The suffix of sea was added to describe the constant shifting landscape of the dreamscape. Just like even on calm days, the surface of the ocean is still constantly shifting with waves and ripples.

“Mages who study metaphysics beyond our reality have theorized that the Vulvorian Sea is not so much a place as we usually think. Archmage Hema believed that the Vulvorian Sea was a compression of both time and space, allowing things to both not exist and exist at the same time. Therefore, it is a place and not a place. This theory is supported by time not operating normally in the dreamscape.

“Hema’s theory is what started to popularize calling it the Dreamscape. Because what is a dream, but not something that both exists and does not.

“However, there are many critics who are against Hema’s theory. The basis of their argument is built around the fact that all confirmed access to the sea was through dreams. They argue that due the difficulty in distinguishing dreams, it’s entirely possible for people to confuse a regular dream from the Vulvorian Sea, and it creates too many inaccuracies. Those same critics are also not entirely convinced that time works strangely in the sea, arguing that it’s just a distorted perception of time caused by dreaming.

“It should be mentioned that while there is no credible proof of anyone physically visiting the Vulvorian Sea, there is an ongoing debate of whether or not the Graylands are connected to it. Allowing people to physically enter the Vulvorian Sea through the mysterious Graylands.“

—“Spheres of Existence Volume 3” by Archmage Jenna Lor

Joe strolled down Telver Street, the towering spires of the Cathedral of Light casting long shadows over the cobbled path. The air was thick with the scent of incense drifting from nearby vendors, but Joe’s focus remained on the road ahead. His footsteps echoed softly, with a rhythmic cadence, as he passed by old stone buildings and others walking the route.

Soon, he slowed his pace as a familiar sight appeared on the corner ahead. There, nestled between two narrow alleys, stood "The Mortar and Pestle." Joe paused in front of the herbal shop, the scent of dried herbs and tinctures seeping through the cracks of the old door, stirring memories of his last visit.

It had only been a little under a month since Joe’s last visit to Wren, when he first uncovered his connection to a nameless cult. That revelation had surprised him, but what followed was even stranger. Wren, the peculiar shopkeeper who seemed like nothing more than a quirky herbalist, turned out to be not just a member of a cult but, bafflingly, completely harmless. The idea of a cult being harmless was almost unimaginable to Joe—it clashed with everything he\'d ever believed about them. Yet, his research had confirmed it.

The Putrid Rot Cult wasn\'t the malicious force he had thought. Despite their bizarre and unsettling practices, they posed no real threat to anyone. According to what Joe had read in the book he had taken from Wren’s shop, their obsession was with decay—specifically meditating near rotting objects in an attempt to commune with their so-called “Mistress of Rot.” Their beliefs were as strange as they were morbid. Yet, they didn’t seek power to harm others, or destroy— they only sought a strange form of spiritual enlightenment. Joe had struggled to accept it, but the more he learned about them, the more it made sense. They were harmless fanatics, nothing more.

In fact, some of the cult’s beliefs appeared to revolve around helping others, in ways surprisingly similar to conventional religions. Despite their fixation on rot and decay, their practices weren\'t purely self-serving or nihilistic. From what Joe had gathered, they believed that by embracing the natural cycle of life and death, they could offer healing and guidance to those suffering from loss or illness. It was a strange philosophy—one that saw beauty in the breakdown of all things, claiming that through decay came renewal, and through its acceptance, a deeper appreciation for life could emerge. For all their unsettling rituals, their intentions seemed oddly benevolent, if not downright altruistic.

Joe took a deep breath before reaching for the handle and pushing open the glass door of the shop. As the door creaked inward, a soft chime rang out from the small brass bell mounted above. The familiar noise signaled his arrival, alerting the shop’s owner that a customer had entered. The scent of dried herbs, earthy remedies, and something faintly floral enveloped him as he stepped inside, the door quietly swinging shut behind him.

Wren heard the bell\'s chime and swiftly emerged from the back room, his footsteps light and quick as he moved onto the shop floor. He began to slip into his usual routine, ready with a welcoming smile and a practiced greeting, but the moment his eyes landed on Joe, his expression shifted abruptly. The warm professionalism drained from his face, replaced by a flicker of dread. He paused as if caught between the urge to turn back and the necessity of facing him. It was clear that Joe’s presence was not a welcome surprise.

Wren: “Mistress of rot, whyyyyyy. Why him?”

Joe: “Hi Wren. Happy to see me?” he said sarcastically.

Wren: “No,” he said, half groaning. “Why are you here? Haven’t you ruined my life enough already?” he said as walked behind the checkout counter.

Joe: “I don’t know what you\'re talking about. I haven’t done anything to ruin your life,” he said as he stood in front of the counter across from Wren.

Wren: “You\'re going around telling everyone that I’m a cultist. Cindy and Jack are already asking if I’m going to ritualistically sacrifice them or something.”

Joe: “What’s the big deal? Your cult doesn’t do that kind of stuff or anything particularly illegal. Well, there are the shrooms, but I’m not saying anything about that.”

Wren: “Easy for you to say. Most people don’t know that about the Putrid Rot clan. They just think we\'re all like the rest of those psychotic murders from other nameless cults.”

Joe: “You could just explain yourself to people.”

Wren: “You don’t think I haven\'t tried that before. I used to live in Port Vaal before I got ran out of that city. People don’t care. Once you get labeled as a cultist, nothing you say or do matters anymore, everyone wants you gone—or worse, dead. Cause they think you\'re a threat.”

Joe: “Well, we haven\'t been going around telling people about your weird cult. Just Cindy, as far as I understand. So, if you can smooth over your relationship with Cindy and Jack, you should be fine. Those two can keep their lips sealed.”

Wren: “Yeah, right. I know it was fucking Jack that sicked you on me. As if I can believe that traitor can keep a secret. I still can’t get over how he sold me out after I gave him all those free shrooms!” he half yelled angrily.

Joe: “What other choices do you have?”

Wren: “Not much. Oh, fuck me. My shop is so close to the church, if they find out…” he said, looking genuinely scared.

Joe: “Tell you what. You help me out, I’ll see what I can do to keep your little secret from getting out. How about it?”

Wren: “Sure, fine. I don’t have a choice anyway. I have to help you.”

Joe raised an eyebrow at Wren’s quick response. There was something in his tone. It felt as though there was an ulterior motive behind his willingness to help.

Joe: “Why did you say it like that?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Wren: “It’s exactly as I said. I have to help you. I did a shroom reading, and it told me to.”

Joe: “What’s a shroom reading?”

Wren: “You take dried shrooms and throw them on top of an array of ancient glyphs. Depending on where the mushrooms land in relation to the glyphs gives you a fortune. It’s the old ways. The stuff I know you don’t believe in and think is hocus-pocus. But, I believe it. And, it told me that for the third or fourth person to walk into my shop today, I have to help fully—even at my own personal cost. Which happens to be you.”

Joe: “That’s… the second time this…has happened,” he said, recalling his interaction with that fortune-teller in the red-light district.

Wren: “What is the second time that happened?”

Joe: “Never mind, I’ll see what I can do for you later," he said before changing the subject. “Can you tell me about rot slime? I assume you know a bit about it since you have buckets of the stuff in your basement. Heard it’s a bit difficult to cultivate.”

Wren: “Eh, not that hard if you know what you\'re doing. It is mostly the smell that gets people. I have to grow special types of plants capable of absorbing odors around my store to keep the smell localized in my basement. Otherwise, my neighbors would complain.”

Joe: “Not doing a great job of that. I’m pretty sure I smelled a whiff of that in the alley beside your store when I first came to you."

Wren: “Hmm, there must be a leakage somewhere. I’ll have to fix that later.”

Joe: “Back to my point. You’re what would pass as an expert on mold around here.”

Wren

: “I personally wouldn’t call myself an expert on mold, but sure.”

Joe: “Have you ever heard of rot slime that has no smell?”

Wren: “Rot slime with no smell?” he repeated Joe\'s question.

Joe: “Yeah, also, it\'s clear. Kinda looks like it could be mistaken for snot.”

Wren: “Rot slime with no smell and clear like mucus. Hmm, no, I can’t say that I ever heard about that. Rot slime is naturally supposed to be green and have a pungent smell for those who are not used to it. What you\'re describing is something completely different.”

Joe: “Based on what I smelled in your basement, I wouldn’t call that smell pungent. It\'s a whole lot worse than that. And, no. What I’m talking about is rot slime. I had it tested to confirm it.”

Wren: “That’s strange… Hmm, I feel like I have heard of something like this before. Are you sure the slime was clear? It wasn\'t red?”

Joe: “No, it was clear. What would it mean if it was red?”

Wren: “Just… something I remember hearing about a long time ago. Hang on a second.”

Wren turned away from Joe, disappearing into the back room of the shop without a word, leaving him standing alone near the rear of the store. Surrounded by shelves stacked with jars and bags of dried herbs, Joe glanced around, trying to pass the time. He idly browsed the collection, but his interest faded quickly. His gaze landed on a jar of pickled ginseng, its label indicating a price of over a thousand glint—far beyond what he was willing to spend. With that, any curiosity about Wren’s herbal remedies evaporated. He wasn’t about to pour his money into strange concoctions, especially not at prices like that.

The door to the back room swung open, and Wren returned, cradling a large tome bound in cracked leather, its cover fastened by a heavy metal lock. The weight of the book was evident as he set it down on the counter with a resounding thud. Without a word, Wren pulled a tarnished brass key from her apron, inserted it into the lock, and with a sharp click, released the clasp. Wren then opened the ancient volume, its thick, yellowed pages rustling as he carefully flipped through them, searching for something specific, the faint smell of old parchment filling the air.

Joe: “What’s that?”

Wren: “It is a book on plants and fungi for Putrid Rot clan members. Just give me a second while I look something up.”

Joe took a step back and leaned against a nearby shelf, crossing his arms as he watched Wren. As he waited, he couldn’t help but study the man more closely. Wren looked as though he had just wandered out of the wilderness—his tattered, dirt-streaked jacket hung loosely on his frame, and his wild orange hair stuck out in every direction as if he hadn’t seen a comb in weeks. Then there was the smell—an earthy, unwashed body odor that Joe hadn’t noticed during their first encounter, but now it was unmistakable. The pungent aroma of herbs and dried plants that filled the shop mercifully masked most of it, but occasionally, Wren oder would waft through the herbal haze.

Most people imagined druids as one of two types: the mysterious robed figures with masks fashioned from wood and animal bones, or the ragged wild men who had spent months—or even years—living deep in the wilderness. Wren certainly fits the bill for the latter. With his scruffy appearance and the earthy aura that clung to him, it wouldn’t have surprised Joe if someone had mistaken Wren for a druid in the past. The resemblance might have even drawn more customers to his store, given that druids were often perceived as being close to nature, brimming with knowledge of plants and natural remedies.

But Wren wasn’t a druid. He wasn’t anything close to one. His appearance, though it might have convinced others, was nothing more than a surface-level illusion. He was just an eccentric storekeeper with peculiar affiliations.

As he thought about Wren\'s relationship with druids, something just clicked in Joe’s mind.

Joe: “False…druid.” he quietly mumbled.

Wren: “Hmm, did you say something?“ he said while continuing to stare at his book.

Joe: “Nothing. Did you find out what you were looking for?”

Wren: “I think so. It seems that rot slime is one of those plants that is sensitive to changes in natural order. If its nature changes and becomes unusual, it means something is influencing it.”

Joe: “Natural order? What are you talking about?”

Wren: “Oh, you don’t know about natural order?”

Joe: “I wouldn’t ask if I knew.”

Wren: “Um, well, how do I explain? Natural order is the way nature operates and arranges things. How rain forms and falls, how the wind blows, the rising and setting of the sun, the barrier between our world and the Vulvorian Sea, and even the passage of time are all part of the natural order. They’re kind of like the laws that govern our world. Forces that are fundamental to our existence.”

Joe: “Sounds like basic science to me.”

Wren: “Kinda. Science just observes and records how the natural order works. It doesn\'t control it or change it. It can only explain how it works.”

Joe: “Hang on a second. You said rot slime is sensitive to changes to natural order. How can something that sounds so fundamental to our existence change?"

Wren: “Well, there are some prime forces that can’t be altered at all. But, changes in the natural order are more common than you think. Pretty much anything that uses aether is a deviation away from the natural order.”

Joe: “So magic itself goes against the natural order. Does that mean someone cast some sort of spell on the rot slime? Is that why it seems so unusual?”

Wren: “Maybe? I’m not sure. The only reason modern magic is not a complete violation of the natural order is because aether-based spells are temporary. Whatever changes you make with that magic will eventually reverse itself. So, if there is magic cast on that rot slime you found, then you should be able to detect it. Or, it should have gone back to being normal green rot slime eventually.”

Joe: “I see. There was no enchantment or aether on the slime. What else could make it deviate away from what it’s naturally supposed to be?”

Wren: “There… is one other thing that can change natural order. Outsiders. Specifically, nameless gods.”

That was the last thing Joe wanted to hear. If nameless gods were involved, then cults were almost certainly part of the equation as well. This realization turned the entire investigation into something far more perilous. Now the investigation carried the dark weight of forbidden rituals and fanatical followers, all of which made the situation far more dangerous than Joe would like.

Wren: “I have heard that most plants are sensitive to the presence of nameless gods, some more than others. They mutate or die just being near their influence. If a nameless god is involved, it might be enough to change the nature of the rot slime.”

Joe: “So, gods like yours can mutate plants and things. I guess that makes sense. I think I heard somewhere that people can mutate from cult worship. So, that kinda tracks.”

Wren: “Don’t compare my mistress to those other evil nameless gods! She respects the natural order and would never mutate us or anything else. She only wants us to appreciate the parts of nature that people take for granted!” he half yelled, feeling insulted by Joe comparing his god to other nameless gods.

Joe: “Sure, whatever,” he said, followed by a deep sigh. “This is… not good. It’s definitely pointing more and more to Rattle Bone involvement.”

Wren: “Why do you say that?” he said while looking confused.

Joe: “Doesn\'t it make the most sense? Rattle Bone cultists would probably use rot slime to clean the flesh from the bones of the corpses they collect.”n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Wren: “Sure, but Rattle Bone cultists are not known for dealing with slime. They’re more about manipulating the undead.”

Joe: “Was there another cult you were thinking about then?”

Wren: “Well, there’s a reason I asked you if the rot slime was red. There is a very specific cult that deals with slime that I have heard about. It was an old cult that was around a long time ago. I believe their god can specifically affect rot slime in a very horrific way.”

Joe: “Who are they?”

Wren: “They’re known as the—”