The landscape of Bosch is a twisted, demented place of nightmares. The sky is bright pink, and has been so for a long time … perhaps a full day, with no sign of sunset. As has been noted, days pass strangely in Bosch. This is no exception, as the Inquisitor and Inquisitrix, riding on Drokars (with Melchizedek's misgivings, as he fears that they may not return alive, and thus be a waste of Temple resources), are led along by a band of misshapen creatures, perhaps once identifiable as members of various species of Sinai, but now twisted beyond recognition, and covered in corrupted armor that blends with their flesh. Some of the warriors appear to have even fused with the saddles of their mounts, being symbiotic forms of centaurs, after a fashion.

Turtle has remained quiet for the entire length of travel so far on her blue Drokar, her face sullen and hard, hiding a tempestuous storm of wild terrors and other strange emotions within her. The volcano occasionally erupts; she shudders in horror at some new hideous thing that appears in her vision. Her muscles have remained tense and ready to reach for the crossbow slung across her back any moment.

Melchizedek says, "It is good to see you are adjusting."

Turtle tilts her head sideways to look over at the Inquisitor, a look in her eyes that certainly doesn't denote happiness. "Why do you say that?"

Melchizedek replies, "There will be many more unpleasant sights. If you can't withstand the sight of them, you will be of little use against the real hazards their visages only hint at."

Turtle brow furrows deeper, as she turns to give her Drokar full attention again. "I refuse to not live up to my words no matter what my personal feelings about the situation are, dear Inquisitor." Her words are huffy and slightly bitter, but mainly out of inward embarrassment at what she has gotten herself into.

"Most honorable, dear Inquisitrix," Melchizedek says, with no hint of affection in his voice.

Turtle sits up more straight at that address, but otherwise does not show the weird effect it has on her.

The party approaches what appears to be a perfectly normal village stuck in the middle of this bizarre landscape. Thatched-roof cottages and a few two-story buildings line a cobblestone street. Sounds of children playing, musicians on street corners, and the business of everyday life can be heard.

Turtle surveys the village, somehow not fully trusting it considering the surroundings.

Melchizedek looks no more at ease, either. As the warriors ride into town, things change. No longer are the warped knights warped at all, but it appears that the Inquisitor and Inquisitrix are being accompanied by a positively stunning procession of chivalrous mounted warriors, proudly bearing colorful banners and streamers flying from lances, their Drokars proudly stomping along and snorting, decorated caparisons adding to the nearly carnival appearance of the procession. Some of the children alongside the streets stop to watch and cheer.

Turtle eyes slowly widen as she watches the scene, feeling almost as if she weren't a part of it. She gives the Inquisitor a questioning look.

Melchizedek keeps his gaze sternly ahead, refusing to grace the surroundings with so much as a curious look – or even an examination for, say, an ambush or the like.

Turtle's figure unconsciously shrinks in the saddle as she continues to look around. Everything here is much nicer to look at than the horrible things behind them, but somehow she would feel more at ease there right now.

A brightly smiling kitten dashes out into the street, heedless of the knights, running right up to Turtle and keeping pace with her Drokar. "Want a flower, lady?" She smiles winningly, holding up a blossom with sky blue petals that fade to white toward the center.

Children laugh and play in the background, a couple tossing a ball back and forth, some others hopping across squares marked roughly in chalk across cobblestones. A raccoon dressed in white, with a wide-brimmed hat, plays an accordion-like instrument on the corner.

Turtle's face contorts slightly. She stares at the flower for a moment with the same distrust as if staring at a vial of poison. "No thank you, child," she says hastily, and turns, wincing, to stare forward from now on.

"You don't want a pretty flower?" the kitten sniffles, teary-eyed. "Why don't you want a pretty flower?"

Turtle presses her lips together, and says nothing. Her body is quite tense now.

The kitten begins to bawl loudly, then shriek. All of the other children on the street begin to wail as well, dropping their games. The accordion begins to play out of tune, and all the people along the streets begin to shout over each other.

One of the handsome knights looks in Turtle's direction and laughs as if politely at a joke, then looks ahead once more.

Turtle slumps over in her saddle slightly, flattening her ears.

The ball that was dropped rolls into the street. It's not a ball, though. It's a head. A Skeek head, minus the typically large ears. One of the knights' Drokar hooves boots it out of the way, sending it bouncing into the gutter.

Similar discrepancies appear in the surroundings, and the villagers of this seemingly peaceful village grow more and more angry and bizarre in their actions, doing positively horrible things to each other in a frenzied, nightmarish, and very noisy display. One of the houses collapses on itself, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

Turtle, interestingly enough, does not find this as surprising as she should have. After all, she moderately expected it from the beginning. She continues to gaze forward, bracing herself as she waits for things to fall apart.

Things obligingly continue to fall apart … There's almost a bit of anticlimax, as the scene fails to REALLY surprise at all after the first few shocks. The villagers commit violent acts against each other, then are either crushed by the falling buildings, or simply spontaneously combust for no particular reason. As the dust from the ruin clears, there is no sign of the village just passed through, and the armored warriors are just as twisted and hideous as before.

Turtle continues to follow them, wincing inwardly.

The party continues onward, the landscape rolling by. The mountains behind them seem to get no further away. The mountains in the distance seem to grow no less distant. It is as if the land itself is simply rolling by in betwixt the mountain ranges, while the rest of the world stands in place, and they themselves make no progress. Through the gathering haze, a few trees come into view, all of them with gnarled trunks that are twisted into such shapes as to give the impression of agonized faces in the wood, as if trapped and wailing to be freed. Amongst these trees can be seen a stone well along the way, with a bucket and a rope, and a little roof over it, with vines curling up, sprouting with flowers in primary colors.

Turtle scowls. She begins to wonder if this is but some wild chase going nowhere. She wouldn't put it past these ruled by magic to pull such illusory tactics on herself and the Inquisitor. She gives him another glance, not sure if she regrets joining him on this horrible quest, even if it would have also be ridiculous to let him go alone.

There's no sign of the Inquisitor. Where did he go?

Turtle lets out a muffled gasp. She reigns in her Drokar and looks wildly about her, her heart beating a hundred times a second, or so it seems. Her skin is beginning to crawl.

The other warriors begin to laugh unpleasantly. "Awwwww! Poor widdle Inqwisitwix," one mocks, "did you woose someding?"

Turtle snorts quite loudly. "What have you done with him?" she asks, her voice low and firm, even though she has begun to tremble.

The warriors laugh again. "Divide and conquer!" one says in a shrill, high-pitched voice, even though he looks fairly massive. As if to make up for it, a tall and skinny one built like a praying mantis in some ways says, "Look. There's a wishing well. If you want, you can make a wish."

Something within Turtle seems to snap as she realizes that she could not even think of what just might have happened to Melchizedek right now. She feels violently ill inside, and for a moment she almost seems to grasp the fullness of the strange emotions she has felt for him all this time. However, that is quickly pushed aside before it is realized as her mind frantically tries to think of some form of defense. She recalls what the Inquisitor had said about consecration as a weapon, and, as a last resort, not totally certain of what she is doing, she decides to take the insect-like one up on his offer.

Turtle turns to look in the direction of the well and speaks out, her fingers doling out a star-shape before her. "I wish the truth of the Star would shine down on this retched place. Let Thine servant be consecrated. Amen."

The warriors gasp. One shrieks, "Hey! Not THAT kind of wish! Weren't you going to wish for your darling Inquis – AHHHHHHH!" Everything vanishes in a blast of blinding white for several seconds, and the sounds of galloping hoof-beats can be heard.

Turtle shields her face with her arm, trying to peer out beneath it.

The area around Turtle is a little different. The well still remains, but there are no plants on it. It is a crumbling ruin, and is dry and dead inside. Where the bucket was, there are only some rotted remnants of wood, and there's no sign of the cord attached. The trees are likewise gone, and the ground is barren and featureless, save for a path that has been worn – the very path they have been travelling on. Turtle's Drokar stands nearby, snuffling at the barren ground. Beyond a wide circle, the strangeness of the land returns, with all its horrors, but in the immediate vicinity, there is only an oasis of normalcy – a barren sort of reality.

Turtle removes her arm and steps forward slowly, in wonder and awe. She pauses, turns around, looking at the ground, then returns to mount her Drokar with a hastened step, feeling reverent fear over the ground she walks on. She pauses a moment, falters her eyes, and whispers, "Thank you." She then considers what she should do about Melchizedek.

As the Aeonian looks out, she can see a ripple spreading out from the clearing, like a pebble had been dropped in a pond … the pond being the illusions and magic saturating the landscape, and the pebble striking where she now rides in the saddle. As the ripple spreads further out, it briefly transforms what it passes by, causing the clutter to vanish momentarily … and she can see clearly the worn path winding off to the side and up a hill, toward a cluster of towers, some sort of citadel overlooking the surrounding land. Once the ripple passes, it is lost again, but the direction is clear enough.

There's no sign, however, of Melchizedek … or the warped warriors, who appear to have made good their escape.

Turtle eyes the citadel with disdain, but it is something to aim for. She quickly says prayers again over herself, her weapon, and her mount, feeling some courage now that she has won the greatest battle … of her faith. She finishes with one other, "May the Star be with and protect you, Inquisitor." She encourages her mount towards the towers ahead.