Pilzening's Wondrous Mediocrity

Oliver's always been enthralled by the mundane absurdities of life that only few ever paid mind to. He couldn't help but ponder the meaning of various illegally put up graffiti, the clothing choices of his fellow men in queue at the grocery, or the ideas behind irrelevant art installations put up by government officials. As such, his gaze was drawn to the small, glistening 2004-grade Philips screen hanging from the ceiling that currently displayed badly rendered, colorful upright… things, jumping up and down as the word STRIKE spun into being. A built-in speaker repeated this notice with such enthusiasm that any listener couldn't help but doubt its sincerity.

Who ever makes that stuff?, he wondered and took a sip from his now lukewarm cup of iced tea. He enjoyed it.

"'Grats," he then said, figuring it appropriate.

"After the fourth time?" his companion in Hawaiian shirt asked with an amused glance to his side.

Oliver just shrugged in response and took another sip. The two remained silent for a few more seconds until the next throw, when only three pins met their temporary demise. The man in the Hawaiian shirt let out a curse.

"Four's not bad."

"Not bad isn't going to win me any tournaments. The answer's no."

"You're here every day, why not take a short break?"

"Why do you think I'm dissatisfied with the streak, hm? Thanks for the offer, but I'm not going. League is in two days."

Oliver made a dissatisfied sound and helped himself off the cushioned and suspiciously sticky seat right to the side of the lane.

"Bummer. They have an alley there too, you know."

Hawaiian shirt waved dismissively. "Yeah, some dated backwater establishment that is," he said, and Oliver took a quick look around the six lane-sized former warehouse before shrugging and emptying his plastic cup of peach tea. Why is it always peach?

"I'm taking the bottle."

"Help yourself."


It was a pleasant day when Oliver was driving through the surprisingly beautiful landscape of rural Wyoming. The radio was playing contemporary country music, of course, and helped him maintain his mood even after the nine hours he's spent on the road now. To his chagrin, his fellow passengers - who were crammed between bags and luggage - didn't share his tastes in music or fondness for driving, so they quietly sat around and waited for the journey's end. Earphones in, surroundings out. It's this kind of passive peevishness that always rubbed Oliver the wrong way.

He shifted his thoughts to another topic and let his peers be. This minor annoyance was nothing to fret about when several days of rest and fun were right ahead. Or so he hoped. The closer they got to their destination, the larger grew his uncertainty. But that was just anxiety, or natural nervousness or - well, something to that effect in any case. Everything was fine. But that alone wasn't enough to calm his stomach, he needed something substantial, and he had just the right thing stored under his seat - several bottles of iced peach tea, 49 cents each, an absolute win.

He reached down to grab one and held it up to the others, trying to inquire whether anyone wanted to take a sip first. One shook his head, the others didn't react, so he took some generous swigs himself. The now half-empty bottle (which was surprisingly easy to open with one hand, was that to accommodate drivers?) he crammed into the door's compartment that already held three others.

Then he took a look at the nav, then back at the road. After some minutes of listening to Johnny Cash's Flesh and Blood, a song he didn't really like, he decided to make an attempt at conversation.

"We're almost there. Are you all looking forward to it?" he asked and glanced at every passenger with the help of the rear-view mirror. "You maybe, Alex?"

Alex, seated to Oliver's right, snapped out of his daydream and uttered something along the lines of "Yeah, sure."

"You grew up here, I think."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. More in the south, but still, it's Wyoming, after all. Everywhere the same."

"You mean bland and empty?" Adam commented from the far back of the car, voice dampened by the surrounding baggage. Alex let out a nervous chuckle in response and turned his head to the nav, assuring himself that Oliver's "almost" also meant almost.

Oliver glanced at him from the side, and felt a slight sense of relief. The first signs of life that this lot has displayed in quite a while, what a wonderful opportunity to distract himself. "Have you ever been camping, Alex? I read that there are many good spots here. In Wyoming, I mean. Must be nice to have these opportunities."

"I guess? I've never been camping, see, my family never wanted to - and me neither. Yeah, could've been a change of pace, but that's not necessary, right?"

Nobody saw Adam opening his mouth to make another joke and then quickly closing in when he realized that it wouldn't be different from the first.

"I see," Oliver said, and then they went quiet again.

The hilly grassland to both sides of the road made way to a sparse pine forest, obscuring the jagged mountains in the distance. The sun's rays shone through the gaps in the trees and painted the pavement with an intricate, ever-changing pattern of light and dark, which no one in the car paid attention to.

As their desire to finally arrive grew by the second and their mindsets switched to getting settled in the Camp, Oliver took a sudden sharp turn to the left, bombing through trees and bushes. Alex yelped, first thinking that they were about to crash, whereas Adam let out a series of harsh profanities, having spilled his drink all over himself in surprise.

Sam knocked her head against the window and ripped off her earphones in rage. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"This is the way to the Camp," Oliver calmly explained. "They had to establish it some distance off the road. For the purpose of secrecy, you understand."

"Why the fuck haven't you warned us?"

Oliver shrugged. "I was caught up in thoughts."

"Arse."

Next to Sam sat Timothy, who was less upset and more worried about the potential consequences of driving straight through a forest. "Oliver, you could have damaged the car and, in fact, you could be damaging it right now."

"We're almost there. Don't worry."

"My backpack's completely soaked!" Adam complained, addressing no one in particular.

Oliver was about to direct him to the pack of tissues that they had put somewhere in the back, but was caught off guard by a thump and ensuing rattling of the car. Alex yelped again and put his arms around his head.

"Dammit."

"What happened?"

"A tire burst, you dimwit. Oliver!"

"Yes, my bad. Is everyone alright?"

"My backpack's still soa-"

Sam cut him off, "We won't be paying for this, just so we're clear."

"Geez guys, way to act on vacation," Alex mouthed to himself and sank into his seat.

Timothy agreed with him in silence and tapped Oliver's shoulder. "Do they have a workshop in the Camp?"

"I think so."

"Good, that's one less worry for us. Is that the Camp?"

The pines made way to a grassy field, surrounded by forest and mountains. In the distance stood several buildings near a small lake, in which little figures could be seen bathing. Even further some decorative and ordered trees indicated the campgrounds.

"Nevermind the question, it clearly is."


Oliver, Sam and Alex approached the visitor center, which was a straight-up concrete block painted beige with a glass front. A massive and sturdy building that could very well serve as a bastion if need be. They had sent Timothy and Adam to start setting up their tents, deciding to take care of the flat tire on some other day. It was much more manageable to handle needless formalities with a smaller group, too.

"Did they take their licenses? They could, I dunno, get shot without them, no?" Alex asked, nervously eyeing the surrounding buildings. A man with a tank top and red boxers - the lifeguard? - passed them by and gave him a nod, which Alex returned with a half-hearted handwave.

"You worry too much, and anywho, don't you think some trouble would serve them right?" Sam said, and her gaze fell on a shaggy little dog with an axe-shaped head loitering about the area. "Ohmygod, they have those here?" she chirped and ran over to pet it. "Aren't you the cutest thing?"

"Er, Sam?"

"Oh, go without me already. I've never seen these before! And anyway, I just went with you because I didn't want to work."

"Ah. Well, then, cool. Oliver?"

The organizer of the whole affair was kneeling on the ground and rummaging through his backpack. "I'm looking for the papers right now. Wait a moment."

"What if you forgot them? What do we do then, will they let us stay, or-"

"I'm looking."

"Okay, okay."

Oliver eventually pulled a few crumpled sheets of brownish paper and tried to straighten them with both his hands. He checked if all the signatures and stamps were truly there and clamped them under his shoulder, stood, tried to dust off his jeans, failed, sighed, picked up the backpack, put it back down, closed it, picked it up again and said, "Let's go inside."

Next to the center were the Trees, which, if Oliver wasn't mistaken, had a more specific name to them. They weren't particularly noteworthy, though their wood was as hard as iron and their leaves were bestowed with divine properties - or so it was said. "So it was said" was, as is the urban legend custom, also said, so people naturally had the inclination to question their supposed magic properties. Nonetheless, they were a convenient target of worship, study and use for low-grade shamans and other casual magic-dwellers. But strangely enough the specimens here looked as if their bark had been abused and they boasted only with sparse crowns. They've definitely been of better health the last time, and because of everything he's heard about them, he had thought them immortal. What was up with that?

He shifted his focus when they reached the visitor center. Its door was made out of bulletproof glass and opened outwards, so he needed the assistance of Alex to get it open, drawing the curious glance of the receptionist to themselves. Once inside, Oliver walked over to the reception where he dropped the heavy backpack and handed over the papers. "Evening. Miss Patel, was it?"

"It's Patil. You've been here before?"

Miss Patil was a skinny woman with greyish skin and purple eyeshadow, but Oliver had remembered her in association with a horse for some reason.

"Three years ago."

"Great, then I won't give you a rundown. If you need anything, you'll figure it out." She skimmed through the papers. "Montana, hm? You went from bad to worse by coming to us. Where are the other three?"

Oliver blinked and considered what she asked about in that short moment. "Oh, one is outside with the Axehound, and two went ahead to our campground. With licenses." Oliver put an emphasis on the last part.

"Uh-huh. I need to see yours to register it."

"Just mine?"

"Registering at least one license is a good safety measure on top of the signed papers."

Oliver nodded and pulled it out of his pocket, this most precious item that he had always with him - a small brown booklet with a green insignia, no bigger than a passport, marking him as an official Warder. It was worn and had a coffee stain on it. "By the way, I saw the Trees outside. The iron ones. They looked kind of worn."

"Uh-huh."

"Can you tell me more about it?"

"They got sick because of something. Don't know, I don't keep book on it, ask a Ranger."

"Where can I find one?"

Miss Patil shrugged. "Outside. Here, your license."

"What about the papers?"

"We keep them. They are what I keep book on."

Paperwork varied greatly across the Society, and was generally frowned upon due to the existence of licenses (with which many also disagreed). But thanks to people like Miss Patil several Data Collection Centers and Safehouses have picked up on the trend of excessive bureaucratization under the excuses of safety and secrecy. Normally Oliver had no problem with that, but he wondered why a camping site out of all places would need confirmation from their visitors' respective authorities. He almost asked about it, because he didn't feel like acquiring them again back home, but wished her a good evening instead and turned away.

"Alex, we're going."

His companion broke out of his study of the Camp's guidelines and miscellaneous announcements on the pinboard. "Already?"


"You know, it's like origami."

"Origami?"

"That's just what I said."

Adam and Timothy were staring at the former's attempt at putting up the communal tent under which the group would hang out. At the moment it looked more like a ball of crumpled paper.

"Say, when was the last time you've tried to assemble a tent?"

"I have no idea."

"That should explain it. Try setting up yours then, I'll help you with this one later." Timothy let his gaze wander across the neighboring lots and looked at the people spending their time in them. His coworkers, technically, but without any proper Corporate Identity they were merely strangers to him. Strangers with fancy tents. And was that a shack over there?

He continued standing around for a little while, taking his surroundings in and marveling at the distant mountains which were bathed in the evening's orange light. The multipurpose shop near the center had climbing gear in stock, if he wasn't mistaken. Perhaps he could go on a hike this week.

Sadly this moment of peace didn't last for long, as the continuous background noise of rattling equipment and Adam's grunts were changed to an articulation of surprise, that, as far as Timothy could tell, ended on the word "Dude." It was followed up by "Dude, I just saw the weirdest thing."

"Hm?" Timothy hummed, more as a courtesy than out of genuine interest.

"Walking mushrooms."

"Ah."

"I'm serious! There, look!"

Timothy's head followed Adam's extended arm to the direction it was pointed to. And indeed, amongst the short trees and bushes that separated their grounds from the others he was able to make out a mushroom no bigger than his fist, scurrying about on two stubby legs.

"Now, this is interesting…" Timothy mumbled to himself and slowly approached the queer creature. It stopped in its tracks and looked up to him, or so he assumed. It had no face on its blue cap, nor underneath it. "I don't think that I've ever read anything about such a thing. Have you?"

"Nope. Wanna capture it?"

"No, no, let it be. I haven't brought any appropriate equipment with me."

"You have your hands?"

"It could be poisonous, best to take no chances."

As Timothy and the mushroom were having a stare down, closely observed by the idling Adam, they were startled by a booming voice from behind them, "Has any one of you some bandages?"

To Timothy's annoyance little creature fled immediately. "Why in God's name would you scream that?"

Sam skipped over to the them, leaving Oliver and Alex behind in the distance. "I wanted to make sure you heard it. Bandages, now." She held up her blood-covered hand.

"Oh. Er, what happened, if I may ask?"

"I was petting one of those darn axe-for-a-brain curs and it suddenly decided to raise its bloody head. It probably found it amusing, the darn thing."

"Axe for a- oh, you mean the Axehead Hounds?"

"Bandages."

"I don't have any, please bother Adam instead of me." With that Timothy turned back to the bushes in hopes of spotting the mushroom again.

"Dimwit."

"Well, I have bandages in my backpack, but because someone wasn't-"

"Cut to the chase."

"Uh, it's all wet."

"I don't care. Fetch, and then help me put it on."

While Adam and Sam were maintaining their little exchange, Oliver and Alex caught up.

"Just Timothy's tent is up," Oliver noted, eyeing the mess of poles and cloth that were destined to become their canopy. Alex's response was limited to a tired sigh, and something about how he'll get to work. Oliver himself walked over to his SUV to pull out his baggage, but decided to speak to Timothy first when he walked past. His intense focus at the ground could be reason for concern. "What are you looking at?"

"A mushroom."

Oliver followed Timothy's gaze. His worry grew. "There is no mushroom."

"Oh, it ran off when Sam announced her presence with a scream. It was an animate little thing with two arms and legs. Have you ever encountered something similar?"

"No. Maybe they've just been caught. They are busy with running the camp, and a report takes time." Despite Timothy's usual reliability there was still room for doubt, so Oliver continued, "Are you sure you saw anything?"

"Adam saw it too - he was actually the first to notice. Do you think we should report it?"

Oliver shrugged. "We can do that at the Campfire tonight. A Ranger should be around."

"Oh you bloody- you're less useful than my left hand, you know that?"

The group turned to watch Sam snatching the medical supplies out of Adam's grip and storm off to Timothy's tent - the others were still due to be set up - to treat her hand herself.

"Gee, her temperament's more difficult than usual today, eh?" Alex snickered and threw his pop-up tent into the air. It hit his head upon unfolding.


Though he hadn't been there too long ago, Oliver's mind most always drew a blank or blurry image whenever he tried to recall something specific of his last time at the Camp. Nonetheless, he always knew that he's had a fun time there, and his vivid recollection of the Camp's highlight had never failed him - the Campfire. Capital c. It was something special, and this was burned into his mind with certainty, never to be forgotten.

The Campfire had its place at the center of the campgrounds' plaza (lots of Cs around here, Oliver noted), and was always active at night in a given three hour timeframe. A circle of stones - each bearing fanciful ornaments - several meters in diameter indicated the exact area of effect, which was closed off by a chest-high metal fence. Especially past ten in the evening none were permitted within it. That was accomplished with several warnings signs, and a supportive armed guard for the dyslexic and ignorant. That particular guard might be the most archaic attraction the Camp had to offer as he's been around since it's the very inception. Oliver thought the old man's name to start on a B, but didn't make a move to validate that memory. Instead he continued to sit on one of the many repurposed logs at the plaza's edge and inspected his fellow Warders, feeling a great sense of unity. Over there with their backs to the lake were two members of the Shirker Outfit which had lost a considerable amount of agents many months ago for unknown reasons. To their right was a popular informant around the tri-state area who frequented many Society establishments and always left an impression. He was drinking with and talking to, well, someone. Oliver didn't need to know everyone, he couldn't. They were his brothers in arms - and sisters, obviously - and that's all that mattered.

Were it not for the argument that Sam and Adam had gotten themselves into with their seatmate, he'd even dare call this moment idyllic.

It was some minutes before the metaphorical clock struck eleven. The lightning of the Campfire was a magical moment for everyone (who willingly sat around it, at least), even if they've witnessed it several times already. Some who've been told or read about it were waiting in excitement, phones in their hands, ready to immortalize this most unique moment and then capitalize on all the social points from their peers back home.

Left of Oliver sat Alex and Timothy whose more collected natures were a welcome contrast to the noisy group to his right. "So, what's so special about this fire, Oliver, hm? Everyone's so excited for it, and I mean, yeah, it'll get pretty big, probably, but there's gotta be something more to it, right?"

Timothy was drawing circles in the dirt with a stick, seemingly absent-mindedly, but he still replied. "Just you wait for it. A surprise is best not spoiled beforehand."

"How'd you know what it is? You've never been here, I thought, that's why Oliver also dragged you along."

"I read up on the Camp's page in the Database for preparation."

"Oh. Fair. Has one of you guys brought any, er, drinks? No?" Oliver shook his head and Timothy continued silently drawing shapes into the dirt. "I hope they at least sell some here…"

"They don't."

"Ouch."

Disgruntled by the news, Alex let his eyes wander across the darkened plaza, paying close attention to the carvings on the stones and the ashen ground they segregated. There was something rather strange about the set-up, though he had troubles determining why he was set off by the sight. Was it the size, the stones? He couldn't tell. But then the very center started glowing ever so dimly and he suddenly realized that there was absolutely no wood to light a fire with. And why in God's name was the ground glowing now?

He frantically turned his head, left, right, left again, but no one else was freaking out. Was this normal? Was this a paranormal something that's possessed everyone and was out to do something to-

His vision turned bright blue, and though it lasted just a second, he screamed and fell back to the ground to take cover. With his eyes turned upward he expected to see the starry night sky, but instead it was veiled by a pulsating turquoise light that just felt so alive.

"Hey man, are you alright?" Sam asked from her seat on the log, leaning back to better see Alex's face. Adam was still arguing next to her.

"Ye- I mean, it's- no, kinda, what happened?"

"The fire, of course! What do you think, that a bomb went off?"

"Sure felt like it. Ouch."

"You're a coward."

"Fearful, that's different."

Sam rolled her eyes and turned back to the spectacle. "Get back up unless you're also lazy sod."

Alex helped himself up onto the log by gripping onto Oliver's hand in spite of his protests and pulling until he was sitting upright again. Before his eyes he saw the so-called Campfire and gasped. It was no ordinary flickering teardrop with a jagged top, no, it was - he couldn't quite find the words for it - it was almost like a tree. The - he guessed it's called surface - was smooth, though it twisted and flowed rapidly - only the branches flickered in and out of the stem, reaching far above their heads. It stood amidst a sea of turquoise and orange flames that were kept at bay by the stone circle. The Campfire radiated a pleasant warmth that was quite unlike the burning, erratic sensations of a real flame.

Alex stared at it in awe for what felt like hours before he spoke again. "Wh- how did they do that?"

Timothy was still drawing all those lines in the dirt, having created a sizable abstract picture (or uninspired scribble, depending on one's tastes) before his feet. "The Camp's page referred to it as a wondrous apparition with a calming aura. I'd say that it's a Metaph of some sort."

"…what d'you think will happen if someone, like, touches it?"

"Don't."

"Not me!" Alex said indignantly, "I'm just curious, is all."

"Well, the Camp has several armed guards stationed all around the plaza right now. That speaks for itself."

Alex checked the area all around them. He saw the photographers who shot picture after picture with the flash still enabled. He saw the little groups that loudly debated some arbitrary topics, and the much quieter pairs who seemingly spoke in whispers. Between and behind the logs-turned-benches were the loners who didn't manage to get a seat in time, and beyond the plaza he saw the folks who hadn't bothered walking over and so watched from a distance. But none of them had weapons or looked like they worked here, though it was almost as bright as day thanks to the iridescent Campfire. "There's no one, I see nobody."

"You need to get out more often," Oliver threw in, having listened to their conversation silently. "They're clearly there."

"Look, I'm a secretary, not some supersoldier like you guys."

"Maybe you need glasses?" Sam suggested and leaned forward to, again, see Alex's face. "You'd definitely look better with a pair. It'd suit your profession."

"Thanks?" Alex hesitantly said. "Hey, why is Adam so loud right now?"

"He's-"

"I-" Adam interrupted dramatically and held the tone for just a second, "am defending the very important role of Bigfoot and the like in our society that this dude right here doesn't want to accept!"

His interlocutor interjected, "I'm arguing that they aren't real, they're debunked, irrelevant, basta. They're terrible misrepresentations of our-"

Adam cut him off in return, "What about the reports of Outfit Calliopsis, can you answer that? No, you can't, because you aren't even listening and," so on and so forth.

Alex blinked several times and exchanged questioning gazes with Oliver, who was considering to step in soon. "Ah."

"I'm keeping an eye on them, I swear," Sam concluded and further mouthed, "even though I started it."

"What?"

"Keeping my bloody eye in their direction, are you deaf?"

"Let's not start another argument, okay? I'll be back in just a minute, I want to speak to one of the Rangers." Catching Alex's questioning stare he added, "It's about the mushrooms."

One would have assumed Adam to be too engrossed by his most important debate to pay much attention to what the others were doing, but the instant Oliver concluded he jumped from his seat - mid-sentence - and announced that he was coming along as a witness. "That guy can't reason for his life," he explained pompously as he gestured to the bewildered man. "Cover for me while I'm away, Sam - I will think of a completely watertight argument while I'm away."

He looked him straight in the eye and assertively said, "Bigfoot is real," before marching off and past Oliver.

Sam gave the man a comradely pat on the shoulder. "It's absolutely fine to be wrong when you argue a clown. Do you want some chewing gum?"


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