Entry:
Nights Virtue ((Forewarning, this is all made up and I've taken some liberties with what Olvar would say in certain instances. I hope that's alright!!))
They're not inherently bad, father explained one night while discussing intricacies of the network. They're just largely misunderstood. So when he brushed past this fascinating specimen during a prolonged session, I implored him to indulge my curiosities. What he said stayed with me forever:
They cluster and bloom within the dark recesses of caverns, holing up with the likes of spiders, bats, and their cousins; the glowing mushrooms. But, unlike the natural bio-luminescence found therein, Nights Virtue do not create their own glow. Theirs is a product of alienation, and through it they become a non-consenting participant in an archaic war.
When left alone, and plucked straight from the clutch, Nights Virtue are edible. Drying the bulbs before dropping them into hot pools of water can create a intriguing drink that, if consumed plentifully, has been known to alleviate indigestion. They are, by all intents and purposes, medicinal when left to their natural devices...
But that wasn't what made them fascinating. It was their inherent connection to the world at large, to a society that emulated our own but was microcosmic in nature, that intrigued me...To keep things brief, I will go over the ways in which this plant can become a deadly poison; but only for the right creature.
A tiny parasitic worm, blind like most creatures born to the same darkness, writhes within the cavern walls and is both (one of, to be honest) the hero and villains of this herbalist tale. When a new cluster of Nights Virtue bloom, the matured adults find and burrow deep into the plant growth. Their saliva secretion is what turns the tides, and they work in three rounds: First, it numbs the entire cluster, not just the host in which it occupies, slowing the plants inherent desire to defend itself. Second, the secretion seals and heals the wound created by the worm's invasion, trapping it, in most cases, within the shaft. This acts to hide the evidence of foul play, I assume. And third, last of all, it is absorbed into the plants system, creating a color-shifting glow that flickers ever so slightly in a most attractive fashion. Keeping the host alive is vital, for it acts as both a food source to the worm, who consumes at a painfully slow rate, but also ensures that the end goal is seen through. Eventually, the worm dies, unable to maintain a natural life within the mushroom, but Nights Virtue continues on living... and at this point, it is a waiting game for the inevitable.
Bear with me, we're almost there.
A large, golden, nocturnal moth, poisonous in its own right, occupies the same caverns as both the mushroom and the worm. Known to wreak havoc on the mycelium network, as it is its primary food source, the irony that all three assemble in darkness is not lost. Nature provides checks and balances as she sees fit... and here, she has created a short tale with no twists and turns from start to finish. The golden moth's are known to gather and consume the glowing cousins of our innocent fungi without issue, but during particularly difficult feeding seasons, or perhaps during the shifts of the moon cycle (we simply do not know why they never quite learn from their ancestors and adapt to thwart nature's game. Perhaps this too is a trick of the omnipotence.), their ability to discern between the safe foods and the non-safe becomes clouded. The unlucky few who are caught by the grips of the flickering light float down and start eating the worm-infested fungus. They ingest the saliva, they ingest the very particles of the worm that are fusing into the body of the plant, and become enamored by its sweet taste. They eat and eat until they are fat with substance, too heavy to fly, and eventually, when the poison kicks in (maybe it's just the price of gluttony) they themselves fall to the ground dead.
With a substantial amount of time the fungi is capable of flushing out the saliva, sending it down stream like blood cells seeking to mend wounds, and the corpse of the worm dissolves away or is pushed out of the shaft -- we haven't quite figured which of those happens. The worm, and its traces, are never the less gone. At least, until the next one wriggles its way over and the cycle starts all over again.
I remember, quite clearly, tears flooding my eyes and father saying something along the lines of: 'We've all been given a role to play. Not the mushroom, the worm, nor the moth weep over their fates. None of them are really given a choice. They do what they must.'
It helped for a time, until another thought slowly crept up from the wake of his words:
Which would I want to be if given the choice between the three? The helpless mushroom who cannot escape its fate? The loyal worm who sacrifices itself for the greater good? Or the free-to-roam moth, who, although likely to end a world if left to its own devices, is the reason all of this is set in motion in the first place?
