Deacon's guess might well be a good one, if there were a window wide enough to admit passage to a grandmotherly woman of Doctor Munigant's ample proportions.<br/><br/>The paint, sticky and smelling of copper, proves to be salty as well.<br/><br/>Scott places his hand on the symbol and his headache suddenly gets far, far worse--bad enough to bring tears to his eyes and make his ears ring!  Perhaps he'd best not do that again.<br/><br/>Oh, well.  At least there's still that trail down through the fog.  Nothing could possibly go wrong down there in the trees, not if all the wildlife around have skedaddled.  Right?<br/><br/>+++<br/><br/>Zach hits the thing dead on, and it almost collapses with the blow, making an unearthly screech as it twitches and squirms in insect agony.  Black and gooey ichor, like tar, splatters him and the pipe, leaking out on the ground.  The monstrosity's tongue rakes the back of his hand, sending a sharp and burning agony shooting up to his elbow before a curious numbness overtakes him.<br/><br/>He is victorious, but his left arm now feels very much as though it's made of wood.  And deeper in the mist, he can hear other things shuffling about, perhaps coming closer.<br/><br/>The smear of red paint catches his eye, leading further along...forming letters.<br/><br/><strong>GO AWAY</strong><br/><br/>+++<br/><br/>More laughter out of the fog.  Footsteps...and then she appears.  An angel?  Worse?  A little girl, maybe nine or ten, with a black hoodie, a black and white checkered skirt over black leggings, and a cat-ear headband.  She carries a can of spray pain in one hand.<br/><br/>"Whatcha doin', Mister?  You look confused."