Mycotina

/** So, I had started to write for Mycotina, and wanted to do a poem from a bard, but given the cult I figured it would make the most sense for one of the Archivists to be involved as well, so you get a double-feature with Toska! I hope you don't mind and that it does not divert too much from your canon with the bard passing through and leaving a record, I was not quite sure how isolated the cult is! **/

Toska wove quietly between shelves and stacks of books, her slight, serpentine figure making little noise. She listened attentively and warily; of all the dragons in the cult, she minded Zhulong and Harakhty the least, but solitude nonetheless suited her better... especially after having been harangued for ten minutes by one of the acolytes about how they NEEDED the record of a treatment Mycotina, the herbalist, had given another member many years ago. Speaking already not being a particularly strong suit of hers, Toska escaped as soon as she could, and was in no rush to return with the requested information.

Toska did in fact know which record set the acolyte spoke of. One of her occasional duties was to trek over to the abode of Mycotina and glean from him the details of what he was growing, the purpose of the different flora and fungi, how to make all manner of medicines, and the treatments he had administered recently. Interestingly, that task was originally self-appointed; Harakhty, while an avid archivist, spent too much time in their pocket dimension to notice many of the more mundane occurrences in the cult, and Zhulong just had too many other things going on, teaching others and attending to his own business. So when Mycotina healed over two dozen cult members after an... accident... with a poultice unlike anything anyone had ever seen before, Toska took it upon herself to record the event, and quickly realized just how much knowledge was left uncaptured from the unassuming herbalist. She set to work playing catch-up, and was now at a point where she only checked in with Mycotina once a fortnight. The Guardian's lack of speech did not bother her, since with some trial and error the quiet Veilspun had figured out a method of communication between the two of them. Of course, the task was not exactly comfortable for her. All the dirt, the thorns and spores, and commotion outside was a shock compared to her lovely, silent books and flickering candles, but there was a certain calm in the garden that she had also come to appreciate. At least, the parts of the garden that would not kill her. Perhaps, she mused, Mycotina was the third dragon in the cult she minded the least. His plants and mushrooms were to him what her books and candles were to her.

Arriving at the corner where she kept the records on herbalism, gardening, flora, fungi, and healing, Toska began thumbing through the contents of the shelves. Her spidery handwriting detailed the secrets of mushrooms, mosses, herbs, barks, and blooms; when to harvest, when to plant, how to coax life out of even the most shriveled husk... All of this knowledge, she had recorded from Mycotina.

A loose page fluttered out of a tome onto the floor. Alarmed, Toska swept it up, and examined it. To her surprise, she did not recognize the handwriting. Inspecting closer, a memory flashed through her head, of a boisterous and loud Spiral barging into her sanctuary, strumming a lute, and laughing... That's right. This was from the bard that visited (was he just passing through? she couldn't remember...) and somehow escaped. This was the poem he wrote in appreciation of the herbalist after being treated for a sore throat, and had insisted be stored with the record in question. Toska could not help herself, she was in no rush after all, so she read on...

Mycotina, Saviour of Bards

Of all the common ailments of the bard
A swollen throat inspires the most dread.
How can the minstrel sing high notes so hard
If sore and screechy pitches wake the dead?

A healer is the hero of this tale,
Mycotina, the herbalist so wise!
His skill with plants confounds that which would ail
Poor creatures all, he staves off our demise.

His silent vigil, tenderest of care,
Helps plants and fungi flourish all the while.
With accuracy, patience, in his lair,
His magic settles in each gleaming vial.

Why, is this not a wonder to behold?
Mycotina is worth his weight in gold!

Toska sniffed dismissively. Fanciful stuff, too verbose and grandiose for her taste, but the sentiment was at least genuine, and the intent sincere. The herbalist was, indeed, incredibly skilled, as her dozens of tomes attested, but was all of that really necessary?

She shook her head, checked the date on the parchment, and carefully placed the leaf back next to the record it was meant to accompany. She'd best get back to trying to find the information about that treatment, before the acolyte got it in their head to come looking for her.