toadstools

[[The King’s Breakfast]] [[Erlking’s Daughter]] [[Chinese Lantern]] [[Purple Viscount]] [[Fox Candle]] [[Fire Imp]] [[Lady in Black]] [[Devil’s Chapel]] [[Black Wifebane]] [[Yellow Wifebane]] [[Witch Fingers]] [[Murder of God]] [[Roman Harlot]] [[Hell's Courtesan]] Please be aware that it is illegal to remove mushrooms from the grounds of the Pamogo State Wilderness Preserve and trespassers caught beyond the clearly demarcated public zone will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. This guide is only to be used for entertainment purposes and is not meant to be used as a guide for illegal mushroom harvesting. As a responsible member of the community, Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals vigorously discourages illegal mushroom collection and cooperates fully with all government investigations thereof. It is not the policy of Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals to purchase illegally collected mushrooms and certainly not at the going rate of $0.01 per toadstool. (link-goto: "Exit Guide", $lastPassage)

Fire Imp (Agaricus Infernus) The fire imp is one of the more common mushrooms of the Pamogo State Wilderness Preserve. It grows in small clusters of squat toadstools, distinguised by a spherical cap ranging from coral pink to bloody crimson in color and covered with small knobby protruberences resembling thorns. Can stain fingers red when touched. The fire imp is said to have a taste approaching that of bitter almonds. The fire imp is one of the safer mushrooms to consume, its psychotropic effect being limited entirely to the memory. Consumption inevitably causes the subject to have total amnesia of at least the previous 10 - 12 hours. Amnesia may extend back further, sometimes to the point of wiping all memories of the subject's previous life. Mycologists have found that the extent of memory loss does not depend on the amount of fire imp consumed and have theorized that differences in reaction must be dependent on the subjects' psychology. Amnesia is rarely permanent, but recovery can take from several days to several weeks. For this reason, it is also known as The Widow's Release and is much sought after by jilted lovers, cuckolds, widows in mourning and others who would have cause to erase past unpleasantnesses from the tablet of their minds. Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals vigorously discourages the emergency consumption of fire imps to avoid confrontation with [[The Forest God]]. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Fox Candle (Russula vulpes) The fox candle grows in large clusters of black toadstools. The stem is long and slender, while the cap is tall and peaked. The cap has a slick, oily appearance. It is said to taste like your mother's dying whisper. The fox candle grows exclusively on rotting flesh and can often be found on the bodies of deceased animals in the Pomogo woods; those found sprouting from the head are especially prized for their psychotrophic properties. The fox candle can, by a process little understood by mycologists, absorb the thoughts and memories of the animal upon which it sprouts and transfer those memories to anyone who consumes the fungus. It is thus much sought after by totemic spiritualists for vision quest purposes as well as by people of a certain lifestyle. Although Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals is certainly not in the business of purchasing illegally harvested mushrooms, were it to do so it would be imperative for the mushroom hunter to note the species of carcass from which their fox candles were collected. Raccoon, bear, and deer are most in demand. [[Back|mushrooms]]

The King's Breakfast (Bovista Rex) The King's Breakfast grows as a solid mass of spherical white bodies, clumped so tightly as to give it the appearance of a large, misshapen omelet, hence its name. It is said to taste like the smoke released from a charnal house. The King's Breakfast is one of the rarest of the fungi found in the Pamogo Wilderness Preserve and is thus the prize most sought by collectors. The effects of the King's Breakfast upon consumption are little understood and extremely unpredictable. Subjects may experience extreme visual and auditory hallucinations, often leading to self-mutilation or even suicide. In 20% of consumption cases, the subject becomes immediately catatonic, their features frozen in a rictus of extreme terror. In 10% of cases, consumption is immediately fatal. So far, there is no known way to predict a subject's reactions. Among collectors, it is rumored that to consume the King's Breakfast will allow one to see the very face of God and understand the vast scope of His Plan, knowledge so terrifying and awesome in its vastness that the only possible response is to go insane. To consume the King's Breakfast is to become one with the forces beyond and to know that which no one can know. There is no evidence to suggest that this is the case. Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals vigorously discourages illegal mushroom harvesting and would certainly not pay $100 per fruiting body for the King's Breakfast. Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals strongly cautions against consuming the King's Breakfast. It is NOT for you. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Lady in Black (Amanita Mortis) The Lady in Black typically grows as a single solitary toadstool with a wide coal black cap resembling a wide-brimmed harvest hat and drooping protruding gills. Its stalk is also black. It can reach heights of up to three feet tall with caps up to seven feet in diameter. Consumption of the Lady in Black is invariably immediately fatal and is strongly discouraged by Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals. Do not eat the Lady in Black. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Purple Viscount (Clitopilus Violetus) The purple viscount has a wide rounded cap of varying violet to purple hues, topped with patchy wart-like scales. The stem is white to cream-colored and growing more bulbous toward the base. It excretes a sticky syrup-like substance when disturbed. It is said to taste of grave dirt. The purple viscount is highly toxic when consumed raw but safe to eat cooked. It has strong effects upon the anterior insular cortex, leading to increased feelings of empathy and tenderness. Research is currently underway to develop a drug for the clinical treatment of psychopathy as well as a lower grade supplement for sale to school teachers, hospice workers, and care givers. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Chinese Lantern (Lactarius Chinoiserie) The Chinese Lantern is a species of milk cap, notable for the thick blue fluid ("latex") it exudes when cut or damaged. The light blue flesh has a distinctive brittle consistency and a chewy mouthfeel. It is said to taste like a fleeting dream barely remembered. The Chinese lantern is prized as an aphrodesiac for its psychotrophic properties on the left dorsolateral prefrontal cortex. Consumption can stimulate extreme arousal in the subject beginning within 5-10 minutes. The effect is more pronounced in male and male-identifying subjects, who report an arousal increase of up to 20%, as compared to 10% in female subjects and 15% in non-binary subjects. Proper portion measurements are vital to achieve the desired effect. Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals discourages the unsupervised consumption of Chinese Lanterns, as this may result in prolonged emissions. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Devil's Chapel (Agaricus Basilicus) The Devil's Chapel is a hypothetical mushroom believed to grow exclusively within the boundaries of the Pamogo State Wilderness Preserve. Its appearance and coloration are unknown. It is not known what it tastes like. No one has ever seen a Devil's Chapel. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Erlking's Daughter (Bovista Sapiens) The Erlking's Daughter is a tall, slender toadstool with a sloping brown cap and a yellow to cream-colored stalk. The cap is smooth and cold to the touch, producing both the physical reaction of chills and a deep sense of existential ennui. It is said to taste like endless despair. The Erlking's Daughter is highly responsive to sound and is known to visibly twist its stalk toward any source of strong vibrations in the air. It appears to be especially attuned to human voices, with a particular "interest" in voices that carry heavy emotional fear and anger resonances. Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals is currently investigating the use of the Erlking's Daughter in depression and anxiety treatments. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Witch Fingers (Agaricus Strix) Witch Fingers are an uncommon, localized variant of the Mother of Groans, distinguished by tall, white, crooked stalks terminating in clusters of unusual keratin plates resembling human fingernails. Witch Fingers are the only known fungus to contain bones. They are said to taste of bad decisions rashly made. Witch Fingers have an unusual effect on the entorhinal cortex and has been linked to an improved sense of direction. Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals is currently investigating Witch Fingers as a possible treatment for left/right confusion. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Roman Harlot (Morchella Roma) The Roman Harlot is a morel fungus, noted for its gray tinge and honeycombed appearance. It is damp and sticky to the touch and projects an aura of deep uncertainty. It is said to taste like broken promises. Consumption of the Roman Harlot leads to an immediate reduction in inhibition as well as an immediate stimulation of the baser drives. Subjects report becoming overwhelmed by extreme hunger and sexual desire, to the point that the two drives can easily be conflated. Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals has conducted studies into the possible use of Roman Harlots as either aphrodesiacs or appetite stimulants, but so far success has been limited. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Black Wifebane (Psilocybe Noir) Black wifebane is a mushroom characterized by a deep black color and a shifting rainbow sheen resembling an oil slick. It has a wide convex cap and bulging, widely-spaced gills. It is said to taste of childrens' fear. Black wifebane is a powerful hallucinogen with strong potential for addiction. In particular, subjects commonly experience a strong sense of themselves as being in sync with their idealized self-image, leading to a heightened sense of confidence and fulfillment. For this reason, it is illegal to individuals to consume black wifebane and its preparation and use is restricted to corporate enterprises. Experiments are underway to market a less potent form of black wifebane for use as an appetitive stimulus to help reduce agitation among disgruntled laborers. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Yellow Wifebane (Psilocybe Blanc) Yellow wifebane is a mushroom characterized by a light cream color and a shifting iridescent sheen. It has a wide convex cap and bulging, widely-spaced gills. It is said to taste of a things salty and drowned and best left to the depths. Yellow wifebane is a powerful hallucinogen that carries with it a powerful sense of dissatisfation. Subjects commonly report troubling dysphoria within minutes of consumption, leading to feelings of shame, guilt, disappointment, angst, and paranoia. Tests indicate that yellow wifebane may be useful for fomenting a vague sense of despair and confusion in the populace, which labor would then sublimated into work for increased benefit to capital. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Murder of God (Lactarius Deo) The Murder of God is a dark purple toadstool that grows in bifurcated clumps resembling a pair of hands with interlaced fingers. It is carnivorous, catching insects and small mammals in the sweet-smelling but deadly sticky ichor that pools in its "palms." These creatures are dissolved and digested over the course of months. The Murder of God is warm to the touch and appears to throb gently when observed. Its stalk is laced with veins. The Murder of God causes intense paraoia, intrusive thoughts, and religious mania. Its effect has been likened to a intense case of Jerusalem Syndrome. In 20% of cases, subjects reported a deep sense of their own worthlessness and sinful nature. 10% became fixated on the fate of their eternal souls, convinced that they were lost to damnation. 5% experienced paranoid delusions of a religious or spiritual nature, including a fear that God had abandoned them or that other people in the room were not human at all but rather demonic in nature. 2% reported experiences consistent with Cotard delusion. The effects on subjects were similar regardless of the subjects' religious or spiritual beliefs and background when sober. Caesar psychopharmeceuticals is currently investigating possible commercial applications for the Murder of God. [[Back|mushrooms]]

Hell's Courtesan (Russula Jezebelus) Hell's Courtesan is a white mushroom covered in large black spots, often forming a death's head pattern upon its broad, sloped cap. Hell's Courtesan pulses with a sense of barely contained malignancy. It is said to taste like vinegar and urine. Subjects report experiencing extremely intense terror, both generalized and specific. Subjects with pre-existing phobias reported those feelings were intensified while under the influence of Hell's Courtesan. Prolonged consumption of Hell's Courtesan can cause brain lesions and mental instability. [[Back|mushrooms]]

It’s easy to get lost in the forest. Compasses are useless; interference from the perpetual electrical storms that rage along the rims of the nearby Greentop Mountains plays havoc with magnets. Maps won’t help; the persistent vegetative creep of the forest’s undergrowth makes it [[impossible to record trails through the woods]] with any degree of accuracy and returning visitors report that foot paths almost seem to twist and change between visits.

There’s little help if you lose your way. You can wander for days or even weeks. If you’re lucky, you might blunder into the breach, the narrow stretch where the mountains approach the coast and the forest thins enough that you can glimpse the great blue vista of the Pacific Ocean and then, if you still have the strength and the stamina, follow the coast to civilization. More likely you’ll wander until you succumb to exhaustion, to exposure, to thirst, or to [[PCS]]. The only way to safely transverse the forest is by landmarks. Travelers with a certain kind of mind and a certain kind of eye might be able to recognize individual trees; many of the ponderosa and sequoia have stood here for millennia. But most visitors rely on more [[easily recognizable markers]].

Pamogo Catatonia Syndrome is a unique medical condition known to affect certain visitors who spend extended periods alone in the Pamogo State Preserve. Its early symptoms are similar to the nitrogen drunkenness experienced by deep sea divers: A feeling of inner calm and tranquility, of being one with surrounding nature. As the syndrome progresses, it can lead to exhilaration, giddiness, extreme anxiety, depression, or paranoia, but eventually it always gives way to a blissful catatonia. Veteran pickers call it “the bliss.” You've met a couple people who's gone through that. Not surprisingly, they'd all become [[Pattern Seekers|seekers]]. No one knows what causes it. Doctors believe that it comes from the unique stresses of transversing the forest, that the body and mind eventually rebel against the enveloping darkness and bone-chilling damp of the deep woods. More superstitious pickers believe that you get the bliss from the [[god of the forest]].

You read once about Mount Everest, about how people die on the slopes of that mountain every year. About how, with the extreme altitude and the extreme geography, no one can bring down the bodies of those who perish on those great heights. About how the bodies just lie there, stiff and frozen, as successive teams of mountaineers pass by, unable to do anything. About how climbers rely on the bodies as grisly markers, milestones to track their progress and mark their path. It’s not so different from how things are in Pamogo. [[Keep walking.|keep-walking]]

It's [[raining]]. (set: $inv to (a: "scrawled map", "guide book", "[[red mushroom]]")) (set: $lastPassage to "")

That's the first thing you notice as you come to. The rain, falling in a light mist. You open your eyes, blinking in the dark. You look up, but all you see is the darkened canopy above. The trees are so thick that you're not immediately sure whether it's day or night. There's nothing but darkness on the forest floor. You're standing in a dense, wet thicket of ferns. The air is humid and thick with insects, drifting in crazy loops despite the mist. There are trees here, so tall that their upper reaches disappear into the darkness. You suddenly realize that you have a [[knapsack|knapsack1]] slung over your left shoulder. You're clutching a [[broken mushroom]] in your right hand.

You're clutching what was once a delicate red toadstool, now crushed into a wet blob in the palm of your hand. Your skin is stained a deep crimson where it touches the toadstool. A chunk is missing from its side; it looks like you took a bite out of it? Without thinking, you probe your tongue over your gums as if to seek out any stray fibers that might still be clinging between your teeth. Is there anything there? No. But still. You don't remember eating this mushroom, but you're filled with an overwhelming certainty that you must have. >[[Eat the mushroom.|eat]] >[[Look in knapsack.|knapsack1]]

You peek into the knapsack and find a large assortment of neatly folded plastic bags, each one carefully labeled with a numbered sticker. They are empty. You also see a [[book]] and a [[folded scrap of paper]].

The book is a slim paperback volume, dog-eared, the pages warped and brittle with water damage. The cover sports a close-up photograph of a bulbous pink toadstool sprouting from a log. The title is: [[Field Guide to Common Mushrooms of the Pamogo Forest]]. Oh, right. The Pamogo Forest. Now you [[remember]].

You crack open the [[book|commonmushrooms]].

"Greetings, fellow mushroom enthusiast! If you're reading these words, it's because you too have decided to join the exciting and rewarding world of mushroom hunting. The Pamogo Forest is well known throughout the mycology world as the home to a stunning variety of unusal mushroom species, many found no where else on Earth. Of course, harvesting Pamogo mushrooms is strictly prohibited as the forest is a nature reserve, but we've assembled this book merely as a guide for the curious. It should in no way be construed as an endorsement of illegal mushroom harvesting. On the following pages, you'll find a wealth of information about some of the [[species of mushroom that you might encounter in the Pamogo Woods.|mushrooms]] Learn and enjoy! T.F. Greengarb Staff Mycologist, Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals"

(set: $inv to $inv - (a: "[[red mushroom]]")) It's [[raining|raining1]].

Vaguely, at least. Your memories are fractured and incomplete, blurred around the edges. You can remember scaling the chain link, a ridiculously easy feat for you but then the authorities probably didn't expect that anyone would ever try, not with the very clearly posted and very ominous [[THE PAMOGO STATE PRESERVE IS UNDER THE DUAL STEWARDSHIP OF THE CALIFORNIA DEPARTMENT OF PARKS AND RECREATION AND THE FEDERAL ACCUMULATION AGENCY. TRESPASSERS WITH BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW UNDER THE NATIONAL REDACTION OF INTERLOPERS (NROI) ACT]] sign.

That's what scares most people from even trying to enter the Pamogo State Preserve. You know that, because, in the rare times that you speak with friends or acquintences about your work, that's what they always ask: What if you get caught? Aren't you afraid of getting caught? You know, you could get caught. [[They don't understand, but how could they?]]

When you live in the city, in America, you can't imagine that there remain uncharted regions of the world. It's almost unfathomable to think that every inch of the globe hasn't long since been mapped and cataloged. It's hard to imagine that there are still places where you can get truly and fully [[lost]].

You never have to worry about being found in the Pamogo Forest; you have to worry about [[not being found]].

[[Shit]].

(if: $eatwhitemushroom is true)[ You blink. Your surroundings haven't changed, yet somehow you suddenly have a nagging suspicion that west is THAT way. In fact, you seem to suddenly have an innate sense of direction. You could go [[west]], [[east]], [[north]], or [[south]]. Each direction is equally choked with ferns and brambles, equally crowded by looming trees. You wish you could remember how long ago you scaled the [[fence]]. [[Staying put]] is not an option. ] (else:)[ You have no clue where the cardinal directions lie. You could go [[straight ahead]], [[back]], [[left]], or [[right]]. Each direction is equally choked with ferns and brambles, equally crowded by looming trees. You wish you could remember how long ago you scaled the [[fence]]. [[Staying put]] is not an option. ]

Straight ahead is as good a direction as any. You [[trudge forward|getlost]], picking your way through the wet squelching brambles.

Back is as good a direction as any. You [[turn around 360 degrees and start walking|getlost]], picking your way through the wet squelching brambles.

Left is as good a direction as any. You [[turn left and trudge onward|getlost]], picking your way through the wet squelching brambles.

Right is as good a direction as any. You [[turn right and trudge onward|getlost]], picking your way through the wet squelching brambles.

At the very least, that would give you an estimate of how long you've been in the woods. Then maybe you could hazard a guess about how far you've traveled. And maybe that would help you figure out which land mark you should be watching for. You could go [[straight ahead]], [[back]], [[left]], or [[right]].

The Parks Department claims that it regularly patrols the deep woods, but you know from sources within the department that's mere bluffery to scare away intruders. They haven't patrolled the forest for years; too many rangers got lost. To your knowledge, the Federal Accumulation Agency has never patrolled the forest, instead relying on the Parks Department's reassurances. No one is coming. You will have to find your own way out. You could go [[straight ahead]], [[back]], [[left]], or [[right]].

The God of the Forest is either the cause of or a symptom of PCS, depending on whom you ask. You once met an older picker at a meet-up who told you that during an expedition in the eastern reaches of the Pamogo Forest, right where the trees started to climb the foothills of the Greentop Mountains, the God of the Forest had appeared to him in the form of a mighty green giant with long beard made of grey-blue Spanish moss. At an underground exchange once, another picker told you that she saw a creature in the Pamogo treetops -- a bird, she said, with the head of a lion -- that she interpreted as a manifestation of the God of the Forest. When you first applied to work as a contractor for Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals, you asked the interviewing agent about the rumors. "Hmm," she said. She looked at you with bored disdain, like she'd heard that question a million times. "Are you afraid of the god of the forest?" [[yes]] [[no]] [[should i be?]]

There is no God of the Forest. [[Back|Fire Imp]] [[Back to Contents|mushrooms]]

Greensleeves > 5m west > Mr. Bojangles > 2m north> Big John> 10m west> The Dark Traveler [[Back to your knapsack|knapsack1]].

You unfold the [[paper|map]].

There's no mistaking him. He is lying toward the bottom of a sharp gorge, his back to you, his head tucked under his arm, his legs curled up against his belly, contorted by rigor mortis into a fetal position. From your vantage point, you can barely make out the bright neon green on his tattered raincoat, dusted with black blooms of creeping mold. The raincoat is why they call him Greensleeves, since no one actually knows his true identity. He died here, on this [[slope]], many many years ago, long before you ever even thought of venturing into the forest as a mushroom picker. Who knows how long he lay here until he was discovered. It's not worth it to get him out of the forest now. But he serves a purpose here, in this lonely place. He's a marker, a roadsign, and, to you, a godsend. Now you can actually [[figure out where you are]]. There is a [[cairn of stones]] at the rim of the gorge, probably a tribute left by some subsequent picker. You can see [[small trinkets]] set around the base of the cairn. No one has ever given Greensleeves a proper burial, but that's not to say that pickers don't feel a sense of duty to him.

You face Greensleeves. If you remember correctly... last time that you were here, if you stood facing Greensleeves, that would mean... that west would be to your right? You know that 5 miles west of Greensleeves is [[the next marker]].

It's a stack of rounded river stones, smaller ones piled upon larger ones, coming to about the height of your knees. Some previous visitor took the time to build it, maybe out of some misguided guilt for using Greensleeves' corpse as a marker, maybe out of superstition, who knows. [[Several trinkets|small trinkets]] are placed around the base of the cairn.

You see coins, bits of string, small plastic rings and toys -- the sort you get from vending machines -- and a [[compass]].

Greensleeves lies toward the bottom of a deep gorge, so choked with brambles and moss that Greensleeves nearly disappears among the green. Slightly down the way, a chunk of earth has fallen into the gorge from the crest, clearing a path of upturned red earth through the brambles. It must be recent; nothing stays red for long in the Pamogo Forest. You can already see green runners and creepers stretching across the red path, ready to reclaim this fallow area for the forest. For now, though, it would give one slightly easier access to the bottom of the gorge, were one interested in [[chancing it]].

[[Go down into the gorge]]. [[Don't go into the gorge|figure out where you are]].

You keep walking. The rain keeps coming; you hope that you won't be caught in a downpour. It's just sprinkling for now. That's not so bad. You can deal with this. Just keep walking. [[Keep walking.|walking]]

Of course, the god of the forest isn't really a god. [[Keep walking.|forestgod]]

The God of the Forest isn't a very good name for it; it makes superstitious people start to imagine all sorts of things. But it's really no more mysterious than the [[Pamogo shadow phenomenon]] or the [[raccoon graveyards|Brecht's hunting moss]]. But pickers who claim to have met the god of the forest. Well. It definitely [[affects them]]. [[Keep walking|keepwalking]].

The Pamogo shadow phenomenon is unique, though, in that the electrical charge created by the storms on the Greentop Mountains affects the projected shadow so that it moves independently of its caster. This is, of course, quite normal, but knowing that does not make it any less startling to witness. In the Pamogo Forest, you may observe your shadow slowly raise an arm to wave or salute you, even though you keep both your arms firmly placed at your sides. You may observe your shadow turn away from you, so that you find yourself viewing it from an angle that your logical brain tells you should be impossible to view it from. You may find that sometimes, even though your lantern is bright as day and makes the trees cast long and ominous shadows, your own shadow is nowhere to be seen. It's all quite normal. It is not something that you should worry about. Nevertheless. [[It's disquieting.|The book does not mention The God of the Forest.]]

The Pamogo shadow phenomenon is similar to the Brocken spectre of the Harz Mountains or the Dark Watchers of the Santa Lucia peaks, a strange phenomenon that happens in places where the interplay of light and mist causes the viewer's own shadow to be projected ahead of them onto water droplets in the air. This gives the impression that one is viewing some sort of giant otherworldly being. The phenomenon is actually quite [[well documented]], though it is still unsettling to experience.

[[oh my god]]

[[it can't be]]

[[no goddamn way]]

You're saved. Goddamnit you must be the luckiest son of a bitch that ever was here you are, wandering through the woods like an idiot, just some dumbass with no clue, NO CLUE where they're going, and BAM, in a forest that covers 8000 square miles, that cuts across 2 states, you somehow manage to find the one thing that you need the one thing that can tell you EXACTLY WHERE YOU ARE and set you back on the [[right path]]

You have found [[Greensleeves]].

There are, apparently, raccoons in the Pamogo Forest. It stands to reason. There are raccoons all through California and Washington; they live in forests to the north of Pamogo and to the south. It's part of their range. It makes perfect sense that raccoons should live here. Besides all that, there's evidence that they live here. Ample evidence, collected in neat tidy piles sporadically spaced throughout the woods. Tall piles, about the height of a man, tall piles of teeny tiny fine little bones - skulls and ribs and femurs and especially tiny little delicate finger bones, but all raccoon and all neatly piled into big tall towering piles. The reason, of course, is that raccoon bones are quite fine. The unique wind currents, generated by the alternating pressure system of the Greentop storms and ushered through the forest by the trees' unusual growth patterns acting as natural wind tunnels, pick up bones as they pass through the woods before converging in specific spots, known scientifically as terminal gyres. It's perfectly natural. [[But still unsettling to see|The book does not mention The God of the Forest.]].

"Yes," you said. "I am." "Hmm," said the agent. "Too scared for this job? Because frankly, if you don't think you have what it takes... that's your prerogative. It makes no difference to me. If you can't do it, there are 100 other guys out there who can." You needed the money. So you decided you [[weren't that scared after all.|The book does not mention The God of the Forest.]]

"No," you said. "I'm not afraid." "Good," she said. "Then why are you asking me about this? If there's anything you want to know about anything, it should be in the book." The book, you remember now, cost $25. They took it out of your payment, so you didn't actually receive a check until after your fifth venture into the forest. Those were lean times. But what else could you do? By that point, you were a reliable picker. Reliable enough that the agent seemed to remember you between visits, sometimes even complimenting you on the consistency of your work. That was... three years ago? Maybe four? Caesar Psychopharmeceuticals still only pays 2 cents per mushroom, though. Incidentally, the book turned out to [[not say anything about the god of the forest.|The book does not mention The God of the Forest.]]

"Should I be?" you asked. "Not my call," she said. "But if you don't want this work badly enough, then maybe this won't be a good fit. Maybe you should consider some other line of work." You had, of course, considered many lines of work. You had no particular love for mushrooms. One toadstool looked the same as another to you. But there was no work in the city anymore. And you had no skills, no connections, no leads. What you did have, however, was - a self-starter attitude - an ability to work alone without supervision - a willingness to think outside the box in a fast-paced environment - your own bag which, according to the ad you answered, were the main traits necessary to excel in an exciting career field which the ad did not identify at a company which the ad also did not identify. [[You've done okay so far.|The book does not mention The God of the Forest.]]

[[This is bad]].

You are somewhere in the Pamogo Forest. You have no idea where. You have no idea which direction is which. You have no idea how long you've been here. You have no supplies. You are utterly and hopelessly lost. If you don't get unlost, you will not last long. [[Shit.|2shit]]

You are standing in a [[thicket]]. The pines and redwoods tower far over your head, their topmost branches disappearing into the night sky. The sky is dark, no sign of a moon or stars... You can't tell if that's because the clouds are obscuring them or because the tree cover is too dense. There is no path. The only option, it seems, is to [[wander blindly]] until you see a landmark.

The compass is useless. The needle spins wildly, no doubt due to that peculiar electrical charge that lingers in the air here in the Pamogo Forest. Everyone knows about it. You can't imagine that even a first time picker would make the elementary mistake of believing a compass could be reliable here. It makes you wonder about the person who left it here. Hopefully they brought it knowing that it wouldn't work, always intending to just leave it here as an offering. You hate to think that someone was actually trying to use it. Who knows what would have happened to them. Behind the compass, sprouting from between the stones of the cairn, you see a pair of fused [[purple toadstools|purple toadstool1]].

You pick it. You now have a [[purple toadstool|a]]. (set: $inv to $inv + (a: "[[purple toadstool]]"))

The rain is still falling. You are standing at the precipice of a steep gorge. Judging from Greensleeves' position, you now might be actually able [[figure out where you are]].

[[Rest for a while]]. [[Start walking|startwalking]].

You carefully pick your way down the red path, stumbling toward the end, and lurching your way into the bottom of the gorge. You're now only a [[few feet away]] from Greensleeves.

You slump against a [[tree]] and slide to the ground, exhausted. You can afford to rest for a little while. It's not like you're on a schedule. Ordinarily, you might hope to be out of the woods by nightfall but... the sky above you is dark. It may well already be night. You wouldn't know. Your feet hurt. Your back hurts. You're soaked. All this trouble hardly seems worth it. But, you remind yourself, if you can find a major cluster, that'll pay for another month of living. It's possible. You've been lucky before. You're not lucky everytime, but you're lucky enough that it keeps you in the game. Unfortunately, you don't feel like you've been very [[lucky]] on this trip.

You pause to wonder, for the first time, why you ate the fire imp. You must have had a [[good reason]].

It's not the first time, of course. In all your years of picking, you've swallowed fire imps at least a handful of times. Of course, since your memory of those times has been blanked, you have no idea in any instance [[WHY]] you did it.

Some pickers say that the only reason they would EVER eat a fire imp would be if they [[met the god of the forest]].

If they came face to face with the unknowable, terrifying majesty of the god of the forest, if they looked into the face of a thing so far beyond any human understanding that they were forced to wipe it from their memory just to maintain their sanity. You're not convinced that the god of the forest is something that would warrant such drastic steps. But then, you wouldn't know. You've never met the god of the forest. [[As far as you know]].

You really ought to [[get going]].

You brace yourself against the tree trunk and lurch to your feet. You must go west. West will lead to the next marker. If you can follow the markers, you'll find the deep woods, where the valuable mushrooms cluster. You [[start to walk|startwalking]].

The Pamogo Forest was once part of the territory of the Pombo tribe, although, as you understand it, the Pombo never actually ventured into the woods. They considered it [[taboo]].

In the 1870s, an Indian agent signed a treaty with the Pombo that the Forest was their land. The federal government said the treaty was void because the proper formalities weren't observed, so they opened it up for logging. It turned out that the trees of the Pamogo Forest weren't good quality. Something about the constant rain, made the wood spongy and the bark shellacked. So they had to stop logging. They didn't give it back to the tribe, though. The last of the Pombo were eradicated by the turn of the century, so it was a [[moot point]] after that.

In the 50s, developers considered razing the forest, but the constant rain discouraged investors. There was talk about mining the Greentop Mountains at one point. Supposedly the electrical storms indicated the presence of rare ore deposits in the peaks, but geology surveys turned up nothing of interest. The forest still remains today because it is essentially, completely, aggressively [[worthless]].

That's the way it is in this world, isn't it? Everything of value is snatched up, auctioned off, divvied up, and gone. Things can only remain if they're worthless. Being worthless is a shield. Its what has allowed this forest to endure. Nobody wanted it. So they left it. [[Deep and dark and brooding as it ever was]].

A worthless forest, where worthless people pick worthless mushrooms. Stupid worthless mushrooms worth [[only a cent a cap]].

For now, at least. Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals is a small start-up. That's why they can operate like this, sending pickers into a restricted area like this. Small companies can fly under the radar. They can do anything as long as they're considered too worthless to stop. Big companies can do anything they want too. They just don't have to hide it. Being in the middle, that's the dangerous part. Big enough to attract notice, small enough to crush. The trick is you have to make the jump directly from [[small to big]].

"I'm sorry we can only pay once cent per cap," the agent told you. "I wish we could afford to pay more, but we're a small start up. We just don't have the resources." "It's not that we don't think you aren't worth it." "But we're small." "But when we get [[big]], we'll be able to pay you more." "For this very [[worthwhile]] service you do."

Greensleeves also probably received a cent a cap for the mushrooms he collected. Maybe less. You have no clue who he collected for. That was a long time ago and there have been so many entrepreneurial psychopharmaceutical companies in the [[intervening years]].

Last year, Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals was profiled in Worthy Company magazine. The CEO and the CFO met with the reporter at a hip downtown coffee shop and they did that thing where they sat in big fluffy coffee shop chairs and draped their legs over the arms to show that they were entrepreneurs, not stuffy old money people. They talked about how they were both mycologists in college and met at a big mycology convention in the Pacific Northwest, where they bonded over a shared vision of a better future through psychopharmeceuticals. They were very excited because the company was growing and attracting investors. They said the company was finally the next big thing. Last month, the agent told you that they could still only pay you a cent a cap. She was very sorry, she said. But we're just a small company. We're still [[just a very small company]].

WC: So I understand that Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals has a unique business model. Tell me about that. CEO: (laughs) You wanna take this one, Brent? CFO: Sure, I can answer that. See, we founded Caesar on a belief in ethical mushroom harvesting. That's why we only purchase our mushrooms from reputable sources. I know a lot of fly-by-night companies in the psychopharmaceutical market -- I won't name names here -- work with mushroom poachers, but we don't do that. We have a strenuous screening process to ensure that as far as we know none of our mushrooms are illegally harvested. CEO: We vigorously discourage illegal harvesting. CFO: Absolutely. CEO: So if you hear of anyone harvesting in a restricted zone, be assured they have nothing to do with us. [[That's on them]].

CEO: Now, that said, we are very interested in expanding our operations. Now that we've got angel investor capital, we're in talks with the Department of Parks to actually purchase -- wait for it -- a tract of land in the Pamogo Forest. WC: The Pamogo Forest? CEO: I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But the damp environment makes it a bonanza for mushroom cultivation. Now officially, we've never been able to penetrate the forest for mushroom harvesting. But if this deal goes through, we'll be able to finally put the forest to use... as a environmentally friendly, sustainable center for mushroom cultivation and agriculture. WC: And you won't have to rely on harvesters at all? CEO: (laughs) Not that we don't appreciate their worthwhile work! But no, we don't see them as part of [[our future|intervening years]].

A tree has fallen across your path. You don't remember this from your last visit. It must be a recent fall. It's hard to tell, because plants grow so quickly in the forest and the trunk is already [[crumbling]] under the weight of creepers and bracket fungus. It makes it look like it's been here a long time. But that's impossible. Unless you've been walking in the wrong direction. But you're sure you're not. (if: $eatwhitemushroom is true)[ You could go [[north|gotnorth]], [[south|gotsouth]], or [[continue west]]. ] (else:)[ You have no clue where the cardinal directions lie, but you believe you are headed west. You could [[continue straight ahead|continue west]], [[turn left|gotsouth]], or [[turn right|gotnorth]]. ]

The bracket fungus is mostly useless, but there's a spread of [[gray ridged mushrooms]] fanning out along the underside of the log.

You take the gray ridged mushrooms. You now have a gray ridged mushroom. (set: $inv to $inv + (a: "[[gray ridged mushroom]]")) (if: "eatwhitemushroom" is true)[ You could go [[north|gotnorth]], [[south|gotsouth]], or [[continue west]]. ] (else:)[ You have no clue where the cardinal directions lie, but you believe you are headed west. You could [[continue straight ahead|continue west]], [[turn left|gotsouth]], or [[turn right|gotnorth]]. ]

Years of exposure to the elements has worn away most of Greensleeves' clothing other than his eponymous plastic raincoat, but even that is mostly just ribbons of soggy fabric now. The cadaver is little more than a mummy, brittle papery skin stretched tightly over bones. You see Greensleeves' face for the very first time ever, a grinning rictis with great blooms of [[tall black toadstools]] bursting from his empty eye sockets.

You scoop the toadstools from the corpse's sockets. You now have a [[tall black toadstool|figure out where you are]]. (set: $inv to $inv + (a: "[[tall black toadstool]]"))

A purple toadstool. [[Eat purple toadstool]]. (link-goto: "Don't eat purple toadstool", $lastPassage)

A gray ridged mushroom. [[Eat gray ridged mushroom]]. (link-goto: "Don't eat gray ridged mushroom", $lastPassage)

(if: (passage:)'s name is "knapsack")[] (else-if: (passage:)'s tags contains "donotshowinventory")[] (else:)[Check [[knapsack]].]

Your inventory contains a (print: $inv.join(", ")). (click: "guide book")[(display: "guide book")] (click: "scrawled map")[(display: "scrawled map")] (link-goto: "Return", (history:)'s last)

A tall black toadstool. [[Eat black toadstool]]. (link-goto: "Don't eat tall black toadstool", $lastPassage)

Double-click this passage to edit it.

It says "Greensleeves > 5m west > Mr. Bojangles > 2m north> Big John> 10m west> The Dark Traveler"

[[Field Guide to Common Mushrooms of the Pamogo Forest|commonmushrooms]]

(if: not ((passage:)'s tags contains "menu"))[(set: $lastPassage to (passage:)'s name)]

(set: $inv to $inv - (a: "[[gray ridged mushroom]]")) You put the gray ridged mushroom in your mouth. Eating it reminds you of promises that you never fulfilled. You feel a sudden excitement. Your pulse pounds, your breathing quickens. A startling warmth builds in your groin and spreads through your body. You feel suddenly hungry. And aroused. A little of both, really. (set: $hornymushroom to true) (link-goto: "Return", $lastPassage)

(set: $inv to $inv - (a: "[[purple toadstool]]")) You pop the purple toadstool into your mouth and [[chew it up]].

(set: $inv to $inv - (a: "[[tall black toadstool]]")) You eat the black toadstool. It has a greasy mouthfeel. You suddenly [[feel dizzy]].

The undergrowth is a [[dense mat of green]], growing from the rich soil and dripping with damp. Your feet squelch against the ground. The plant growth is so aggressive that you can see it starting to climb the trunks of the trees, winding vines and tendrils stretching up into the canopy. Everywhere you look, all you [[see is green|wander blindly]].

Pushing aside some ferns, you spy a cluster of mushrooms. They have long thin white twisted stalks, ending in strange blunted caps. They look like intertwined fingers. (set: $inv to $inv + (a: "[[twisted white mushroom]]")) You take the [[twisted white mushrooms|worthy]].

A twisted white mushroom. [[Eat twisted white mushroom]]. (link-goto: "Don't eat twisted white mushroom", $lastPassage)

This could be worth some money. Every bit helps. If you can [[find your way out of these woods|wander blindly]].

(set: $inv to $inv - (a: "[[twisted white mushroom]]")) You pop the twisted white mushroom into your mouth and chew it up. It tastes like... it tastes like you just made an awful mistake. (set: $eatwhitemushroom to true) (link-goto: "Return", $lastPassage)

You decide to [[go west|getlost]].

You decide to [[go east|getlost]].

You decide to [[go north|getlost]].

You decide to [[go south|getlost]].

The world around you starts to blur and distort as you feel your mind slipping away into hallucination. You're seeing the world through the eyes of another, watching from inside their head as they stumble through woods much like these, clawing at brambles, stomping through banks of ferns, their [[ragged breath rattling in their lungs]].

You lurch against a fallen log, covered in bracken and fungus, your hands -- or rather, their hands -- bracing against the trunk. You swing one leg over the trunk, then another, your face briefly arcing up to catch a glimpse of the night sky as you climb. It's black. You pause to orient yourself. Or rather, they pause to orient themselves. They remember. They remember they were heading west.... turning south at the log. That's right. That's what they need to do. [[They continue south|They continue east]].

Ahead of them, faintly visible through the gloom of the forest, burns the unmistakable electric glow of man-made light.They push aside a pine branch, allowing them (and you) a clear look at... [[a house]].

It's not a big one, just a small wooden shack. You would think it was a ranger station if they ever had ranger stations in the Pamogo Forest. More likely it belongs to some hermit who's illegally squatting in the forest, but, since no one patrol here, who's going to stop them? You -- or rather, the person whose memories you're seeing -- walk up to the front door. The screendoor is hanging off its hinges, but you can see a [[sigil]] painted in red paint on the wooden door behind it.

The vision fades. You blink. You're back in reality. (link-goto: "Return", $lastPassage)

You [[change direction|turn south]].

[[You continue in the same direction|You continue west]].

You [[change direction]].

You'e been picking long enough that you have a sense for mushrooms now. Fire imps are plentiful in the springtime, less so later in the year. If you want yellow wifebane on the south side of a log, there will almost always be black wifebane on the north side. Roman Harlots prefer to grow in deciduous leaf litter. The Erlking's daughter prefers to grow in beds of fallen pine needles. And the King's Breakfast... well, that's a [[tough nut to crack]].

The King's Breakfast is one of the rarest mushrooms of the Pamogo Forest, so naturally it commands the highest price. A good clump of the King's Breakfast would probably pay for your rent for, oh, a couple months and still leave some left over for other expenses. Unfortunately, you haven't figured out any trick to tracking it. You don't think anyone has. It's [[unpredictable]].

The Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals agent that you normally deal with has on multiple occasions stressed that you should NEVER sample the King's Breakfast. Of course, she says that about ALL Pamogo mushrooms. By your contract with Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals, all mushrooms immediately become Caesar property upon picking by a contracted picker. So eating any mushrooms you pick would technically be stealing company property. The contract also specifies that pickers are NOT to pick in the Pamogo Forest, the only forest where the mushrooms that Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals needs grow, because the forest is a protected zone. Any picker caught picking inside the Pamogo Forest offically does so without the knowledge of Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals and the mushrooms that they pick are officially not company property. So yeah, you feel pretty safe to just ignore those instructions. Not like it [[makes much difference]], anyway.

(if: $hornymushroom is true)[ The agent also told you unofficially that, since you're just a picker and not a professional mycologist, you shouldn't take the risk of sampling the mushrooms. But sometimes you have to. Almost every picker has had some instance where they had to rely on a fire imp. Quite a few have even tried a Roman Harlot, though that is less from necessity and more from... curiosity. Reactions to the Roman Harlot can be... bad. Or rather, it could be better said that many people have... regretted consuming a Roman Harlot. By now, you're familiar enough the mushrooms that you feel you could tell which ones are safe to eat. If you had to. If you don't get out of these woods, [[you might have to]]. God, you're horny. Why do you feel so horny? ] (else:)[ The agent also told you unofficially that, since you're just a picker and not a professional mycologist, you shouldn't take the risk of sampling the mushrooms. But sometimes you have to. Almost every picker has had some instance where they had to rely on a fire imp. Quite a few have even tried a Roman Harlot, though that is less from necessity and more from... curiosity. Reactions to the Roman Harlot can be... bad. Or rather, it could be better said that many people have... regretted consuming a Roman Harlot. By now, you're familiar enough the mushrooms that you feel you could tell which ones are safe to eat. If you had to. If you don't get out of these woods, [[you might have to]]. ]

There's [[not much to eat]] in these woods, you suddenly realize.

What grows here? Redwoods, pine trees... does those bear any edible fruit? You don't think so. And even if you [[encountered any game]] in these woods, how would you hunt them? You have no weapons.

Supposedly, there are animals in these woods. Deer and foxes and, of course, raccoons. But you've never seen any of them. Guess they must [[keep to themselves]].

You're so lost in thought that you almost miss Mr. Bojangles. It's an honest mistake; he's less visible every time that you come to these woods. After his death, his corpse ended up tangled in vines. Over the years, the vines have slowly wound around trees which have slowly grown, which in turn has slowly stretched those vines taut and slowly lifted the remains of Mr. Bojangles into the air. For many years, he hung suspended in a web of vines, his feet dangling, his arms outstretched, looking for all the world like [[Christ on the cross]].

But that was a long, long time ago. The vines held him against a sequoia, which has slowly grown around the corpse in the same way that you've seen oak trees grow around barb wire fences. These days, [[Mr. Bojangles]] is almost entirely subsumed into the bark of the tree so that only his face is still visible. Part of his face. You can see the teeth of his lower jaw and bones of his nasal ridge. The rest of the skeleton is long gone.

Of course, Mr. Bojangles isn't his real name. He was just called that because, back when the skeleton was still visible, sometimes people thought he looked like he was dancing when the wind would blow through the [[web of vines]].

The terrain to the south looks the same as the terrain in any direction, nothing but an endless tangle of bracken and brambles, an endless succession of trees reaching up into the darkness. The fog is slightly thicker as you stumble through the undergrowth and the rain is falling slightly harder. But it's nothing you haven't [[dealt with before]].

The King's Breakfast is one of the most potently psychoactive mushrooms that grows in the Pamogo Forest. It's very valuable. It's absolutely stunning to think that some pickers would throw away money by just [[eating it]].

Though apparently the effects are... [[interesting]].

You've heard that, when you eat the King's Breakfast, suddenly it all makes sense. You can see the world and its history laid out before you like a great map, see every person's place in the grand scheme of creation like little game pieces on a board, and suddenly all at once be hit with the [[sense of it all]].

Which naturally can be quite overwhelming. You understand that Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals is working on a diluted version that could be marketed. Imagine that. Imagine if you could actually market existential epiphany so that everyone could have one. There's a lot of money being poured into that [[idea]] right now.

You're at a cabin. [[What]]

That's right. You just stumbled upon a small wooden shack. It's clearly been abandoned for quite some time, it's falling apart. The wooden planks of its walls are warped and splintered, the windows are smashed, the curtains faintly visible through the shattered glass are rags. It's [[dark inside]].

By all accounts, no one has EVER lived in the Pamogo Forest. But someone has taken the time to build this. Someone [[long since gone]] by the looks of it.

The door is off its hinges. A [[symbol|unfamiliar symbol]] is painted on the door in red paint.

It looks like an arrow pointing up. Or an open umbrella. Or maybe a [[toadstool]].

[[Open the door]].

You open the door. The inside of the cabin is dark. It smells musty. You can only wait for your eyes to [[adjust]].

As your eyes adjust to the dark, you realize there are [[things]] inside the cabin.

There's no furnishings inside the cabin. The north wall is permeated with great sleeves of brown bracket fungus and swathes of lichen, to the point that the wood beneath is no longer visible. You notice several misshapen [[lumps]], around a circle of [[spent candles]]. At the center of the candle circle is a dish overflowing with a [[dense growth of white mushrooms]].

There is a squat black mushroom with a wide-brimmed cap growing among the tree's roots. (set: $inv to $inv + (a: "[[squat black mushroom]]")) You take the [[squat black mushroom|lucky]].

A squat black mushroom with a wide cap. [[Eat squat black mushroom]]. (link-goto: "Don't eat twisted white mushroom", $lastPassage)

You [[eat the squat black mushroom]].

Immediately, everything [[goes black]].

Your mind is gone. Your consciousness blinks out of existance like a light switch being [[flipped off|end]].

Toadstools A Twine game by Bitter Karella https://twitter.com/bitterkarella https://bitterkarella.itch.io/ http://www.guttersnipecomic.com Special thanks to Betty Rocksteady, EvilBobdayjob, and Ethan Poschman! [[Read again?|Untitled Passage 1]]

A broken piece of a red mushroom. [[Eat red mushroom]]. (link-goto: "Don't eat red mushroom", $lastPassage)

Actually...no. No, you don't think you will right now. You sense it's not the time. (link-goto: "So you don't eat the red mushroom.", $lastPassage)

Of course, that's because there is no god of the forest. There's just... well... okay... [[Here's the thing]]...

Every picker who's harvested mushrooms in the Pamogo Forest knows to always have a couple fire imps on hand, just for an emergency. An emergency when you might suddenly need to forget something. Unofficially, it's so that if authorities catch you, you always have plausible deniability. You can legitimately say that you don't know who your buyer is. You won't jeopardize the company. Officially, there's... no reason. [[But]]

It happens ocassionally that a picker will find that they have swallowed a fire imp... for no reason. Just like you, they'll suddenly find themselves in the middle of the woods with no memory of the last few hours. It's happened to you. A few times before this. It's not an [[unusual experience]].

But presumably there was A REASON that you ate that mushroom, a reason that you felt you needed to wipe your memory when you were out here in the middle of the woods... all alone... Presumably you encountered something so... frightening? wonderful? strange?... that you [[just HAD to erase it from your memory]].

No one knows what that something is, of course, because anyone who's encountered it has, of course, lost all memory of the encounter. But everything needs a name. And that [[something is called the god of the forest]].

Now sometimes... sometimes people go missing in the woods. They probably get lost. It's very easy to get lost in these woods. But some pickers also like to blame those disappearances on the god of the forest. They say those who disappear are the ones who didn't think to wipe their memories. The ones who saw it. And seeing it meant...? Well, no one knows what it really means. But according to THIS theory, it means that they'll [[never leave]] the forest.

Of course, that's all just a bunch of yarns. No one knows anything about anything. It's all just idle talk. [[Keep walking|keepwalking]].

If you were feeling grisly, you might even say that they were left as... offerings to the [[god of the forest]]. Though honestly it would be more accurate to say they were offerings to the continued financial viability of Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals. [[Keep walking|keepwalking]].

Picking your way through the undergrowth, you're not sure if the forest is getting thicker or if it's just your imagination. It's probably just your imagination. The rain continues to fall in a [[light drizzle]].

You're still not sure what time it is. That's the problem with these woods; the canopy always makes it so dark. Makes it hard to judge how long you've been in here. But it's big reason why it's such a prime area for mushroom picking. The dark and damp is [[perfect for fungus]].

It's beautiful in its own way. It's good that there's a place like this, a perfect spot for mushrooms to grow. It's hard for them. They're [[so fragile]].

But they're all part of a great plan, part of a tremendous whole. Every piece in its place. Somehow, it's hard not to feel peaceful out here, among the trees and the rain and the stillness... You feel a sense of joy springing up from the wellspring of your soul as your hand brushes against the bark of a passing tree, the wood slick and wet under your fingertips. Loggers rejected these trees are worthless. But they aren't worthless, are they? [[Not really]].

Sure, they're worthless for money. But they're spiritually rich, right? [[yeah]]

(if: $hornymushroom is true)[ wow you just [[feel so good]] right now and horny too so damn horny, oof but also good ] (else:)[ wow you just [[feel so good]] right now ]

what a [[wonderful world]]

all the problems of life seem so insignificant when you're out here in the calm and peace of the woods why does anyone ever leave? everyone should live here well, maybe it's not for everyone there are lots of people who like to have problems who like to suffer the indignities of life because they can't imagine anything else they can't imagine how peaceful and serene life in the woods would be can be [[is]]

but not you youve spent so much time in the woods in the peace and quiet and damp why wouldn't you stay here [[forever]]

You tumble over a rocky outcropping and fall face first into the mud, snapping you out of your thoughts. [[Ugh]].

You cough, spitting up black mud and dirt. You place your palms against the ground and try to push yourself back up, but the mud is too slippery and you faceplant again. Roll over and grab at your bushes to [[pull yourself]] out.

You're soaked to the bone. Your feet are drenched inside your shoes. The rain is still falling. Worse, your thoughts are wandering. You feel like you might be coming down with PCS. Goddamnit. that's the [[last thing]] you need.

You could be wandering forever. And if you have PCS you might not mind. but if you're feeling PCS if you're feeling the strange lure of pristine nature tugging at you in a strange way, a strange unknownable way more than just simple appreciation more than spiritual fulfilment but a deep and abiding longing a knowledge, a bone-deep knowledge that this world out here was meant for you [[that the trees were arranged entirely for your coming]]

that no rock or branch or twig of this forest could ever be complete without you here to witness them that you are an integral piece of the cosmic puzzle that you need to be here as much as the tree needs the soil that the very dirt beneath your feet that very special rich black dirt found only here nowhere else would nourish you [[in a way that it would nourish no other]]

the [[god of the woods]]

[[must be close]]

[[oh no]]

[[you reach into your knapsack]]

(if: $inv contains "[[red mushroom]]")[ [[Eat the red mushroom|itraining]]. [[Don't eat the red mushroom|end]]. ] (else:)[ [[but you don't have a fire imp this time|end]] ]

[[It's raining|end]].

You approach one of the lumps. It's a pile of old clothes, so old it's little more than rags of fabric. The next closest pile is much newer. You can see a neatly folded pair of jeans and cable-knit sweater, carefully placed atop a folded rain slicker. There are five piles of clothes total. They aren't really piles, though. They're all very neatly folded as if people carefully and deliberately stripped down and left them here, [[planning to return|things]].

The clothes aren't that interesting. What is far more interesting is the [[plate of mushrooms.

[[Take the white mushrooms|end]]. [[Eat the white mushrooms|end]].

[[oh my]]

The candles have been burned down to nubs, melted to the point that they're little more than wax globs fused to the floor. They are arranged into a circle around the plate of mushrooms. The clothing piles are arranged into a larger circle around that. If you didn't know better, the whole set-up looks like it was intended as part of some [[esoteric ritual|things]].

[[could these be]]

[[could it be you've found the king's beakfast]]

You've never actually seen it before. But it looks right. That would explain the clothes. Prior pickers, no doubt. That's the sort of thing that you do when you're on the King's Breakfast, they say. The world all comes together in perfect clarity. You feel at one with the cosmos. You no longer have need for human trappings. They probably left their clothes behind when they became one with the universe. When you're one with the universe, when you see the pattern in all its glory, you grow beyond human needs. Human needs like clothing or food or [[rent]].

things that you, as a finite being divorced from the oneness of the cosmos by your knowledge of your consciousness, [[still need]]

things that you need the company to give you things that you need the company to [[let you have|godsface]]

They say that to consume the King's Breakfast is to see into the face of God, to gain a knowledge so awesome and terrifying, to become one with the vastness of the forest and the universe. Maybe those piles of clothes weren't left with the intention of returning. Maybe there aren't any people out wandering the woods without clothes. [[who knows|eatem1]]

It looks like a stylized mushroom. You're pretty sure that's a [[Pattern Seeker]] thing.

Your hand -- or rather, their hand -- presses against the door. [[It swings open]].

Pattern Seekers are a small millenarianist movement who believe that connection to the pattern, understanding the underlying weave of the universe, will bring about a fundamental shift in human society. A shift when all individual needs will cease to exist and humanity will exist in [[blissful singularity]] with the god of the forest.

The Pattern Seekers believed that attaining union with the forest god required one to first see the pattern of the universe, the pattern laid out by the forest god but one which human eyes were too frail and benighted to ever see. But the King's Breakfast was a gift given to humanity by the forest god, the key to seeing the pattern and achieving unity. They're all really big into eating The King's Breakfast. Which is a shame, cuz that's a vauable mushroom. Caesar Psychopharmaceuticals will may a mint for an intact head of The King's Breakfast. They believe in the [[god of the forest]]. You don't know that they worship the god of the forest. But they definitely believe in the god of the forest. Deeply. Sincerely. You don't know if they think the god of the forest is a god or something else. Probably some sort of universal energy or something. Hippies love to talk about energy.

They trace their roots back to one of the many fringe psychedelic movements of the late 70s, apparently a group of college kids who took the more esoteric writings of mycologist Terence Greenfarb to heart and tried to start a commune in the woods. There were probably about a dozen of them? You forget the details. They built themselves a little shack and started a vegetable garden. You know, hippie stuff. It didn't last long. In-fighting, of course, broke out quickly between the commune leaders about the proper way to attain the blissful singularity, but also the climate of the Pamogo Forest made the commune unsustainable. The damp rotted the boards of their shack and made their vegetables turn to mold in the ground. By the end of the 70s, the group had disbanded, though some of their ideas had by then permeated into the picker community. Mostly ideas about the god of the forest and the King's Breakfast. You're not sure if those things are related, but [[a lot of people sure are]].

(if: $eatwhitemushroom is true)[ You could go [[north|gotnorth1]], [[south|gotsouth1]], or [[continue west|gotnoth1]]. ] (else:)[ You have no clue where the cardinal directions lie, but you believe you were headed west. You could [[continue straight ahead|continue west1]], [[turn left|gotsouth1]], or [[turn right|gotnorth1]]. ]

You start [[walking|change direction]].

to be alone and small, a single solitary nothing, that has no worth but to be a part of something bigger to be part of everything that's to be part of something [[worthy|eatem]]

[[You're dead]].

That's... weird. Did eating the mushroom kill you? Or... have you been dead this whole time and just [[never noticed it until now]]?

Nothing has changed. You're still lost in the middle of the Pamogo Woods, the rain lightly falling, the trees tall and dark and silent. You're still breathing. You can feel the cold air in your lungs with every inhale. You're not sure how you can still be breathing if you're dead. But you're dead. You've never been more sure of anything. You're just not sure why your body still seems to be mobile and your mind still seems to be functioning. [[Huh]].

But that doesn't make any sense. Because you ARE dead, right? It's only a matter of time until your body starts to rot out from under you. You're lucky to be here in the woods where no one can see you. They would no doubt be horrified to see a [[dead body walking around]] and talking and behaving for all the world exactly like a living person.

If you die in the Pamogo Woods, no one will ever recover your body. It's not worth the trouble. [[You'll stay here]].

You lie down in the mud. You're dead, might as well [[act like it]].

You lie down in the mud and stare up at the dark sky. The rain is falling, sprinkling you in the face. Might as well stay here. [[That's what dead people do in the Pamogo Forest]].

They always say it's not worth it to remove bodies from the woods. That's true. But maybe it's not entirely true. They don't remove the bodies not because it's not worth the trip, but maybe because [[they're worth more here]].

Your body will be a marker, just like Greensleeves, just like Mr. Bojangles, just like so many others. A marker to help future pickers find their way. Maybe there's worth in that. Maybe that's the most worthwhile thing you've ever done. You [[wait]].

[[It's raining|end]].