The Wizard sits at the head of the table surrounded by all of his heroic friends. Old and new everyone has come to the harvest festival. The austere town lumberjack is sitting, reclined by the fireplace talking to Max Rocket discussing the secrets and vastness of the universe. The Hero gives Captain Crimson a hearty handshake and pat on the back, happy to see him for the first time since after the battle for Franklin. The Inventor and the Distiller discuss innovation in the brewing industry. The local brewer, a country boy, serves his famous apple cider, a beautiful slice of orange perched on the edge of the glass. The Marksman leans into the corner all by his lonesome watching the party.
Suddenly a chill runs down his spine. He looks over his shoulder and notices a fog bank rolling into Franklin. The brightly lit town is slowly swallowed up as the thick fog rolls through. The lights of the town dim in the unnaturally thick fog, until the visibility is almost non-existent. The Marksman looks at the bottom of the door and sees thin wisps of fog beginning to creep across the floor.
“Hey… hey,” mutters the Marksman, entranced by the strange fog that so suddenly appeared.
The party participants quieten down as they too notice the strange happenings. The Hero, naturally curious, walks across the room and stares out the window into the night before waltzing over, opening the door, and venturing out into the soupy night. The Wizard and the Inventor slowly follow them, stopping on the boardwalk to observe the strange occurrence as the rest of the company file out with them. The Wizard raises his staff and makes a circular motion as the stone at the top glows blue and gold. A strong rotating wind is created, which begins to howl and causes the hanging business signs to beat against the sidings of their respective establishments. When the whirlwind reaches a crescendo, the Wizard flicks the staff and the whirlwind explodes outward like a shockwave. The Wizard did this intending to clear the fog, but instead the haziness continued to hang unaffected throughout the town, eerily not even stirring the thick clouds.
“I don’t know about this one lads,” murmurs Captain Crimson, “I got a bad feeling about this. It always gives me the heebie jeebies sailing into fog banks on the high seas, and I have the Mystic Wave behind me.”
Despite the Captain’s warning, the Hero continues out into the mist alone. The only visible light being from the moon, it’s moon beams striking the odd fog causing it to glow a bright white. Slowly the Hero disappears from view, the sound of his footfalls trailing off to silence.
“Hero?” calls the Gunslinger, “Hey! Kid!”
The Gunslinger storms off into the fog to find him, but after a few brief moments the Gunslinger disappears into the fog too.
“I told you, this is some bad voodoo,” says Crimson who turns, but is shocked to see that the Marksman is no longer there. Suddenly he realizes that it is he, all alone that remains in this supernatural fog.
Narrated by Brandon Warner