Before the group’s eyes, the mushroomy flesh peels away. It bubbles, gently, like a simmering soup, then rises into the air like a foul vapour.
“Maybe this is what made the miasma around the dome,” Cang says, trying not to cough.
Shyan drags Fassn’s prone form away from the melting puffball mushroom.
Soon, a viscous smog fills the clearing.
Fighting a retch, Shyan says to Cang, “This is like the dome.”
Vision obscured, Burbaloo calls out, “Mr. Jashenzizok!”
A voice through the swirling corruption. “I’m here, Burbaloo!”
The smokey putrescence soon lifts, revealing a short human man with a beefy, solid build. His head has two ugly gouges for eyes, and a ragged slit for a mouth. Otherwise, it’s the perfect image of a puffball mushroom.
“Uh…” says Burbaloo.