Night fell in a quiet blanket over the port town of Sentinel.

  The harbormen had just finished loading their crates of supplies onto the last ship of the day – the steel-clad tug bound for Griffon’s Watch with food and drink for the Doctor and his servants. The laborers watched the ship sail off into the misty waters that would convey it to the gothic castle on its little isolated island and shuddered as they proceeded to carry their tired bodies back home to bed.

  The town was a simple affair – brick and mortal buildings and trade houses, a pub and a marketplace dominated its streets. But its most notable feature was the high curtain wall that protected it and its gate from the rest of Westerweald. The only interactions the town had with the outside world were deliveries of prisoners and the odd trade caravans that came, always in the early morning when the dense fog of the Triant forest wandered into their midst. Lining the high wall were human guards posted beside the grisly golems of the Doctor. Their barracks included at least a full regiment of fully equipped Flesh monsters that kept any and all threats to the town at bay. They gave the good Doctor Haylock fresh supplies from their fields, and he gave them protection against the darkness of the world out there, and the Archon that was still at large…

  They said that nobody ever left the town of Sentinel, and nobody had any reason to.

  Its people were good, Kaedmon abiding humans. Even at night, when the thick, ghostly fog came to wrap itself around their streets and ice their windows, the people of Sentinel stood firm in their belief that they were born in exactly the right place, and exactly the right time in history. Their town would be famous one day. After all, it was said that the Doctor had himself done battle with the Archon recently and laid it low. No matter what people said about good Doctor Haylock, he was a man who could be trusted. The Greycloaks trusted him, so how could anyone deny this fact?

  By far the grandest building in all the city, however, was the lighthouse – a towering turret of steel and stone, shining its guiding ray into the tumultuous seas beyond the harbor bounds. Tonight, Lighthouse keeper Gimmel was on duty as usual, but, with the last ship being pushed out to sail and no new supplies due for at least a week, he decided he’d take the time to develop his new hobby.

  [Lighthouse Keeper] Gimmel was a Kaedmon-abiding human, to be sure, but he was also a man with a simple dream: he had been tending a little vegetable patch at the back of his workplace for the past fortnight, and his tomatoes had started to ripen.

  “There you are, little one,” he whispered to the newest sapling – seeing its red bulb begin to appear through the leaves. “Come on…come on…”

  His mother had been one of the [Druid] castle who used to run this part of the world. Gimmel was no heretic, and he had never known his mother well. But, somewhere in his old bones was a tiny notion he couldn’t quite shake from him. His duty, bestowed to him by holy decree, was to watch the seas. But a little piece of him, he couldn’t explain how, but it wanted nothing more than to tend the earth.

  He remembered his mother kept plants before she was taken away to live in the Grove nearby, as befit her Class. He remembered her telling him that it was good to speak to your saplings. It helped them grow. ‘Coaxed’ them, somehow. Gimmel smiled at the heresy of it all.

  “Come on – that’s it!” he whispered at his new budding plantling. “Come on, little one, almost there…almost…”

  What he then saw caused his heart to give out. For a few moments, he simply stared forward, hands shaking in disbelief.

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  Because that red bulb was no tomato.

  It was an eyeball.

  An eyeball that winked at him and spoke.

  “Heya, beardy,” it said. “Hope you don’t mind us dropping in.”

  …

  When it was over, Ethan stretched his oaken limbs and looked down upon the town and its great fortress-wall with dispassion.

  “Gotta say the human towns are less interesting than the hybrid ones, or the Druid ones.”

  “Just figuring that out?” Tara asked, tightening the rope round the old Lighthouse Keeper and making sure he was asleep. Fauna’s magic had seen to that quite nicely.

  “Remember the plan,” Ethan said as he and his teammates formed up at the base of the great structure. “I go in as a Mimic, drop the seed in the fountain, and meanwhile you guys capture one of the ships and we ride out to meet Doctor Frankenweenie.”

  They all nodded, even Lamphrey.

  “And if things go sour,” Fauna said, “you know you can just call us.”

  Ethan nodded back to her, scanning the walls of the curtain to see Flesh Golems patrolling its turrets, sinister Spectator units with their creepy, unblinking eyes totally focused on the world outside, blissfully unaware that their town had already been infiltrated.

  He had to smile at that. [Root March] had allowed him to travel towards the nearest roots set deep into the earth – and the old Lighthouse keeper’s tomato patch had been just perfect for that purpose. His training sessions, combined with killing a few dozen creatures in the Triant forest, had allowed him to upgrade the skill to unlock its [Mass March] property, allowing him to take even his companions through the roots with him.

  Though, judging by how Klax couldn’t stop coughing up dirt, the journey was hardly without incident.

  “That’s…ugh,” the old wolf groaned. “Perhaps being ‘one with the earth’ is not all these Druids make it out to be.”

  At the mention of the Druids, Ethan held aloft the seed Malak had given him the night before, turning the thing over between his thumb and forefinger.

  He’d had enough experience with seeds in this world to know that their appearances could be deceptive.

  “You think it came from Gyko?” he asked Lamphrey suddenly.

  The old lizardwoman shook her head.

  “The roots of the Albion are older even than your late sister, Archon Ethan,” she replied. “This seed is a thing of power, what it shall do is replicate. But to what end, I do not know.”

  “I do,” Klax growled. “Malak wants to take control of this place. That seed’ll let him do it.”

  “So what?” Ethan asked. “Let the old man have this village, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  Klax and Fauna hesitated. Lamphrey said nothing.

  And Tara – well – she reacted as expected.

  “So long as it fucks up those ugly big bastards, that’s good enough for me.”

  Ethan nodded. The ranks of the Golems were clearly bolstered here. They probably had a whole army hidden in the town. With the seed of the Albion, Ethan and his crew could take this place out in one swell swoop, and leave the humans to Malak and his Druids while they kicked some Doctor ass.

  “Just remember,” he told them, “If you guys run into trouble, call me.”

  He nodded at the Memory Rune inscribed on his left hand. Strangely enough, it was the one physical feature that seemed to follow him now from Host to Host.

  Lamphrey had provided it with a little upgrade just before they set out on their mission.

  “Simply focus,” she said, inscribing an extra sigil on his hollowed-out skin. “And you shall be able to project your voice through the air to us.”

  “Telepathy?”

  “More or less. Though the range is limited. For the attack to come, it shall suffice.”

  The team nodded again as Fauna re-applied her sleep spell to the old Lighthouse keeper just before he woke up and gave the game away.

  “Alright,” Ethan said in a hushed whisper. “You know the music. Time to dance.”

  Fauna hesitated.

  “Are you sure you need to go alone?” she asked. “We could cover you.”

  Ethan shook his twig-filled head. “A stealthy approach is the best way. Besides, I doubt even Mass Hide can keep you guys from being seen from those Spectators. Stay here, lay low, and when the seed is dropped, take advantage of the chaos.”

  Ethan couldn’t help but grin. Malak had told him exactly what the little seed could do once it was ‘activated’. The Doctor and his minions were in for a rude awakening.

  He closed his eyes, touched the dozing face of his victim, and slowly felt his barkskin and his hatty form fade away, merging into one single, whole, fleshy form.

  “Alright,” he said in the voice of the old man. “Let’s do this.”