The streets themselves bore the heavy wounds of battle. Buildings stood like hollow shells, their windows shattered and walls coated in a thin, powdery layer of defunct spores that stubbornly clung to surfaces like reminders of recent nightmares. Flags and banners, symbols of civic pride, hung limp and faded, battered by the violence of a conflict they were never meant to endure.
The Velvet Order, once paragons of gleaming virtue, now moved with the cautious determination of veterans, their brilliant armor tarnished and battered from the harrowing struggle against the fungal tide. They led patrols alongside wary sentries and battle-weary members of The Number, their eyes sharp but tired, always scanning for threats both visible and hidden. Their slow, deliberate steps echoed gently, each a quiet tribute to the turmoil and losses they had endured.
Every alley and square was marked by the solemn labor of recovery. Citizens slowly emerged from homes barricaded and shuttered during the crisis, blinking in disbelief at the altered landscape of their beloved districts. Some, brave or foolish, ventured forth in groups, their voices low and cautious as they recounted personal horrors or whispered about missing friends and loved ones. Their faces, pale with lingering dread, bore silent testimony to the emotional scars left by witnessing their district on the brink of annihilation.
Though the immediate danger had passed, fear still permeated the air like a bitter incense. It settled thickly, almost tangible, in shadows and corners, where rumors and superstitions bloomed like weeds in neglected gardens. From window to window, door to door, hushed voices traded whispered speculations about the cataclysmic surge of magic that had erupted violently from the mysterious Veiled Pinnacle, a building whose brutalist form had long eluded their sight. Now it could be seen from the majority of the Flesh District which it resided in. It’s sudden appearance made an impact.
Now, the Pinnacle stood stark and unignorable, rising defiantly into the sky—a grim monument to secrets exposed and threats vanquished, yet unsettlingly unresolved. Citizens gazed upon it with conflicting emotions. To some, it appeared as a beacon, proof of hidden powers that had ultimately aided in their salvation. To others, it loomed darkly ominous, an imposing harbinger signaling perhaps graver dangers ahead. Around its base, a perimeter had been hastily erected, guarded diligently by a rotating contingent of sentries, their stances alert yet unsure, eyes flicking nervously upward toward its impossibly angular silhouette.
Amid this tension, small acts of compassion blossomed quietly, unseen by many. Members of The Number helped displaced families rebuild homes, paladins comforted grieving souls with words of gentle reassurance, and ordinary citizens banded together to clear debris and reclaim their city block by block. In these humble gestures, a faint yet enduring hope flickered stubbornly, defiant against the lingering gloom.
Thus, the City of Cities began its cautious ascent from the brink, a journey marked by wary optimism and the painful, powerful resilience of those who had glimpsed ruin and chosen, resolutely, to rebuild. Though certain districts lay partially destroyed, vast portions of the city remained untouched by the invasion, standing as reminders of strength and continuity amid the chaos. Yet, despite a death toll likely reaching into the tens of thousands, the city's sprawling bureaucracy remained largely indifferent, barely acknowledging the loss unless it threatened to spread further. The city's two prominent newspapers, however, prepared eagerly for a frenzy, ready to dissect every detail and assign blame with relentless fervor.
The morning after the invasion, Eugene found himself navigating debris-strewn streets, pausing as his eyes caught the vivid headline of The City Screamer lying crumpled on the cobblestones. He stooped to pick it up, his heart tightening as he read the furious rhymes that laid bare the city's grief and fury. With each biting stanza, he felt a surge of helpless frustration at the bureaucratic indifference, and yet, oddly comforted to know others shared his outrage.
Object: Crumpled Copy of The City Screamer
Condition: Soggy, Ash-Stained, Slightly Torn
Date: Today
Contents:
Fungus Spore Horror! City Bureaucrats Snore!
In our city's grim hour, vile fungi took power!
Spores spread with dark glee, while leaders sipped tea.
Thousands now mourn as families are torn;
Yet the city elite seem calm, quite discreet.
Buildings collapsed and survivors aghast,
As our rulers relax—will no one ask facts?
Their silence astounds, as our city confounds—
Who led spores to our doors? Why do they ignore?
Citizens quake at each bureaucratic mistake,
While officials assure there's no crisis du jour.
Stay tuned to The Screamer—we'll reveal every schemer,
For if it rhymes, it crimes—trust no official dreamer!
So, The Number had saved The City, but also it was their meddling and Eugene’s which led to the fungal invasion in the first place. Eugene couldn’t help but think if The Number were the good guys or not. Had he just joined the Mafia and not realized it? He needed to get back to the Veiled Pinnacle soon, but he needed some fresh air. The mood inside the Pinnacle was harsh, and Eugene could even sense a bit of jealousy from Krungus and some of the other Number members. It was a little like if he had just joined the Ghostbusters and then subsequently solved Manhattan’s ghost problem without the help of the actual Ghostbusters.
A bit further down the street, Eugene found a sort of bodega that was selling both the City Screamer and the Aelintheldaar Gazetteer. He got closer to read the headline, and he cringed when he saw what it said:
[INTERFACE — ITEM INSPECTION] Object: Fresh Copy of The Aelintheldaar Gazetteer
Condition: Clean, neatly folded, still smells of ink and parchment
Date: The Day After the Fungal Outbreak
"Patterns of Catastrophe — The Number's Troubled Legacy Resurfaces"
In the wake of yesterday's devastating fungal incursion, which left swathes of our beloved city reeling and mourning, it is imperative we reflect not only on the immediate tragedy but on its deeper origins. It is no secret to scholars or citizens familiar with our city’s storied past that this is not the first time The Number has been involved in a citywide disaster. Records from millennia past, stored and preserved by this very paper, detail a disturbingly similar incident in which The Number's well-meaning but reckless interventions resulted in widespread suffering.
While many may look upon The Number as heroic figures of legend, one must not forget that legend is often built atop layers of selective memory. In their eagerness to wield powerful magics to save us, they have, more than once, endangered the very people they claim to protect. The recent emergence of the Veiled Pinnacle — a structure linked to The Number’s most enigmatic member, Krungus — stands as a towering reminder of the unpredictable consequences of unchecked magical authority.
Let us be clear: We do not suggest malice. The Number's intentions were, and likely still are, noble. Yet history has shown us that good intentions are cold comfort to the grieving. As reconstruction efforts begin, the Gazetteer urges the Council and the Velvet Order to conduct a full and public inquiry into The Number’s actions and the nature of the Veiled Pinnacle itself.
The people of the City of Cities deserve transparency — and accountability.
[Additional Notes]
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
- The ink is crisp, typeset with traditional care.
- Eugene notices the subtle but deliberate omission of any mention of the bureaucracy’s failure during the crisis.
- Marginalia: A faint watermark of the Gazetteer's emblem — a quill crossing a tower — decorates each page corner.
From there the paper had a few more articles describing the outbreak and the relief effort. Eugene found another which focused on the Number on the back page, this one a diatribe against B’doom.
[INTERFACE — ITEM INSPECTION]
Object: The Aelintheldaar Gazetteer, Special Feature
Condition: Pristine, extra pages attached for extended coverage
Date: The Day After the Fungal Outbreak
Special Report: "B’doom, Krungus, and The Number: Roots of the Fungal Catastrophe?"
By Archivist Ebran Molenthos, Senior Correspondent
In the aftermath of the tragic fungal outbreak that ravaged several districts of our beloved city, The Gazetteer has unearthed records from the depths of the Historical Ministry's sealed archives. These long-forgotten documents cast new and troubling light on the shadowy origins of the magical collective known as The Number, and the potential culprits behind the recent disaster.
At the heart of the controversy stands Krungus, the enigmatic and notoriously eccentric leader of The Number. History remembers him as a master of telemancy and oneiromancy — disciplines concerned with distance and dreams, respectively — but what many forget is that his authority extended beyond his personal specialties. As the leader of The Number, he bore ultimate responsibility for the actions of all its members.
Yet it is another name that has surfaced with alarming consistency in both historical and recent accounts: B’doom, a Loxodon druid whose mastery over balance and nature once made him a stabilizing force within The Number. However, multiple sources, including testimonies from The Number's own records 9,000 years ago, indicate that B’doom frequently experimented with fungal magic and mycology, even pioneering early psychomantic practices. This raises the harrowing question — could the recent outbreak be a grim echo of B’doom’s ancient studies?
Documents describe B’doom’s domain as the Green Sanctum, an expansive botanical district wherein fungal life was cultivated, experimented upon, and, according to some notes, weaponized under the guise of research. The recent eruption of spore-laden horrors bears uncanny resemblance to the results of one such experiment referenced cryptically as The Blooming. Though no official record of such an experiment’s outcome exists, the parallels are chilling.
While Krungus's leadership was unquestionably central, and his reclusive behavior regarding the recently revealed Veiled Pinnacle remains cause for concern, it is increasingly plausible that B’doom’s ancient work is the more immediate source of the city's suffering. Still, responsibility must not be deflected entirely. As Archwizard, Krungus would have had the final say — or at least, should have.
For the benefit of our readers, The Gazetteer has compiled a list of The Number’s known members, as corroborated by recovered archival records:
- Krungus — Telemancer, Oneiromancer, Archwizard
- Sharrzaman — Chronomancer, possible Archwizard
- Utopianna — Divinomancer
- Bahumbus — Artificer
- Gordon "Stinky" Malinky — Ludumancer
- Little Sister — Cryomancer
- Na’atasha — Toximancer, later exiled
- Taka Rangi — Lavamancer
- Algorix — Numeromancer
- Erasmus the Archivist — Bibliomancer
- Petir the Unyielding — Geomancer
- Kareem Al-Samaa — Aeromancer
- Rami the Bloomkeeper — Biomancer
- B’doom — Druid (Specialization: Fungal Ecologies)
- Layth the Omenscribe — Haruspex
- Fatima of the Hidden Path — Augur
The resurfacing of these records, long buried and ignored, suggests that the events of the past are not as dormant as once believed. The Gazetteer urges its readership and the Council to approach The Number — and especially its surviving members — with renewed scrutiny. Only a few of their members have made appearances in The City lately, but we expect to hear from the other members soon enough.
[Additional Notes]
- Some passages seem purposefully vague, possibly due to archival gaps or editorial discretion.
- The Gazetteer’s emblem is embossed proudly on the front page.
Eugene read the article twice, then a third time. The names on the list felt like a sudden landslide of history—half of them were strangers to him. He had only ever heard of Krungus, Utopianna, and Bahumbus in passing. Who were Layth? Fatima? Erasmus? Why had no one mentioned B’doom’s history with fungal magic, let alone the terrifying experiment called The Blooming?
A deep unease settled into his stomach. He had aligned himself, almost without question, with The Number—trusting them as the city’s legendary defenders. But how much did he really know? How many of these members were still alive? What parts of their history had Krungus chosen not to share?
Eugene’s world, already fragile, felt as though it had tilted sideways. His only sources of guidance in this vast and ancient city were The Number, Qlaark, and Galloquin—each eccentric, each with their own agendas. The thought gnawed at him: had he been a fool to trust Krungus so readily?
Yet, as he stared at the article, memories of Krungus resurfaced. The gruff old wizard wasn’t just a name in a record—he was the one who had rescued Eugene when no one else did, who shared strange but insightful lessons, who always made sure Eugene had a place to sleep and food to eat, even if half the food came with unsettling magical side effects. He was eccentric, yes, arrogant even—but not malicious. Not like the picture painted by the Gazetteer.
Krungus had never hidden his flaws, and in fact, had often ridiculed his past mistakes in front of Eugene with that crooked, self-deprecating grin. It wasn’t trust born of naivety—it was earned, piece by piece, through every small kindness the wizard had shown.
Eugene folded the paper and sighed. He would stay. He would keep trusting Krungus. For now.
Krungus scowled as he tossed the Gazetteer onto his cluttered desk, the pages fluttering open to the offending article. His fingers curled into a fist as he slammed it down. "Blaming me. Of course they are. Nine thousand years later and it's still the same drivel."
Utopianna, leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed and a soft smile playing on her lips, watched him with quiet amusement. "It’s familiar, isn’t it?" she mused. "You storming about, outraged at the papers, the Council wagging their fingers, the city misremembering half of what actually happened. Feels like home."
Krungus’s eyes flitted back to the parchment. The list of names. The Number. His Number. For a heartbeat, the fury softened, replaced by a flicker of something far older—nostalgia. He traced a finger along the names. Petir, Gzrft, Fatima, Erasmus. Faces flashed in his mind like half-forgotten dreams. Even B’doom, for all his recent faults, brought a tightness to Krungus's chest that wasn’t entirely anger.
"It isn’t the same," Krungus grumbled, turning away from the desk as if to hide the sudden heaviness behind his eyes. "The stakes were different then. It all felt... salvageable."
Utopianna chuckled, stepping further into the room. "You’d hate it if they praised you, you know. You’d wither. The scandal, the debates, the drama—it's the lifeblood of it all. You like them clutching their pearls when your name is mentioned. Admit it."
Krungus shot her a sideways glare, but it lacked bite. The corner of his mouth twitched, betraying the smirk he tried to suppress.
She closed the distance, gently tapping the Gazetteer with one finger. "Besides, if they ever got it right, you’d be terribly bored."
With a reluctant grunt, Krungus snatched the paper back and flopped into his chair. "I suppose I have missed the attention."
Utopianna grinned. "There’s my old wizard. Miserable without an audience."
They shared a rare moment of quiet laughter, the kind only forged through centuries of shared victories, failures, and the relentless scrutiny of a city that never seemed satisfied.