“There’s not much room in here...” Vyrrenor crouched to enter the hovel, guided by a less than trustworthy creature.

“Come ooooonnnn you’re a fun guy aren’t you!?” Gorto shouted at the Mystic, his voice high-pitched and raspy.

“I’m not here for fun, Grotto. Give me that which I came for.” Vyrrenor’s tone reminded Gorto that he was at least three times his height, an ever-youthful man who was a powerful wielder of all forms of magic.

“HEY!” without turning around, the squat, dark-green underling got defensive, throwing his arms downwards in a tantrum. “IT’S GORTO.” he then smiled it off and continued into the darkness of his secret cache.

Outside the hovel, in the forests of Tullum, the Magna War raged on. Mystics for millennia used the Magna essence to perform their magic, as only a speck can grant power for many years. They took advantage however. They used much more than they needed to achieve even greater levels of power.

The kingdom of Jattar, who once provided large amounts of Magna to its entire population, mobilized their as an army seeking out the rumored “Final Growth.” Besides them, innate Mystics bore more power naturally and banned together to seek out the Growth to keep it from the misuse of the Jattari.

Vyrrenor cared less about protecting the Magna and more about keeping it from all others. If he were to retrieve the elusive Growth and keep it isolated for long enough, he could be the sole remaining Mystic in the world... the most powerful being alive.

“Snailmeat! Grab the snail meat.” Gorto barked at a smaller version of himself who was hobbling around before the order was given, but promptly stood at attention and soluted at the command.

“You call him Snailmeat because he watches the snail meat?” Vyyrenor instantly regretted engaging Gorto.

“If that was true I’d just call you magic man.” Gorto chuckled. “No, he came to me with that name, so I got some snail meat for him to watch.”

“You do call me magic man.”

Gorto grabbed a jar that was slightly taller than himself and moved to hand it to Vyrrenor. Before letting go, he demanded payment. “You know what I need.”

Vyrrenor raised his hands and focused his energy. Between he and Gorto, two spectral hands formed slowly. They were the same size as the Mystic’s but not attached to anything, they simply floated to Gorto and hovered.

“Need I ask what you plan to do with those?”

“Can you make them look a little less like yours?”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll take the other payment then.”

Vyrrenor took from the deep pockets of his robe a sack of fiery gemstones. He handed two of the many to Gorto. The creature raised an eyebrow seeing the amount carried by the Mystic. 

“What do you say you leave all of them?”

“I’ve no reason to do so.”

“Fair enough!” chuckled Gorto.

Vyrrenor grabbed and opened the jar hurriedly. He squashed the gray, putrid snail meat in his hands and rubbed it all over his body. Out of the hovel he crawled with confidence, knowing he’d be undetectable by any magic.

“Thank you for the snail meat.” Vyrrenor said into the small dwelling. Snailmeat hobbled up and saluted in the darkness.

Into the forest Vyrrenor went. Overhead, he watched bursts of different colored magic collide and shatter like glass. The battle for the last of the Magna was at the pinnacle of destruction. He felt invincible with the snail meat, unseen by any potential enemies. Still, there was an eerie sensation that something was tailing him.

Following the flourescent blue veins running through the ground, Vyrrenor had a sense that he was on the right track. Then, a blast from behind knocked him onto the floor. He knew it not to be Mystics, for he would have perished. Jattari must have used magic to find him, Gorto swindled him. He felt foolish to have ever trusted the creature.

Vyrrenor returned fire at the Jattari with one hand, wiping off the ineffective and odorous snail meat with the other. A wave of all colors flew out towards them and turned them to dust, he trees behind them painted with their remains.

Just where the Jattari fell, Vyrrenor watched the Final Growth pop up from one of the veins of the forest. He knelt and looked around with wide eyes to be sure he was alone. When he focused back on it, he was displeased to find the Jattari were not alone. 

A band of mystics approached the Growth. Vyrrenor hid wihle they spoke loudly of their triumph. As they took their time, the Growth fell back into the ground and regrew beside Vyrrenor.

The Mystic stepped out into the open with his back to the others in the distance. In front of him, he watched more Jattari approach. Vyrrenor was surrounded, the sky alight with magic explosions, shards of that light piercing down through the thick foliage. 

Unable to remove the Growth from the Earth below, he needed to think quickly in order to survive and protect his precious Magna. Vyrrenor focused his power on his own essence and transferred himself into the Growth. His lifeless body fell, and was leapt upon, not by man, but by a greedy creature in search of more gemstones.

Vyrrenor was within the Growth, but that wouldn’t be enough, he knew. Once in control, he receded into the ground, seeing the vast network of veins stretching father than he ever knew. There, he would rest until all magic was faded from the world.

When he awoke, Vyrrenor was in an entirely different world, the world of the future. He was also not alone. A pinched voice yapped in his mind ceaselessly. “Well this is interesting!” He knew it immediately. Gorto had somehow unwillingly stowed away on his magical journey, though he luckily had no control over their shared fungal body. Vyrrenor tried every method to extract himself or even Gorto from the Growth, but was unsuccessful. His magic was changed, fused with that of the fungus. 

Vyrrenor would find ways to grant magic on a limited basis, but it would only be within a psychedelic experience he inflicted on someone, where Gorto would essentially talk them into madness. Those who encountered Vyrrenor and Gorto would come to refer to them as The Very Magical Mushroom.