Ambuila – World of The Misplaced Dungeon.
{Timeline: Early November 2019 – MD the same time as Ch. 133}
« Some five years in the past »
Shar-Ulruk-Sharri was laboriously carving a wooden bowl in his father’s workshop. His crutch was leaning against the wall nearby. In the back room he could hear his baby brother crying loudly. He knew both his parents would be attending to him, frantic with worry.
Shar kept carving, he couldn’t blame them, Ea-Nashir-Sharri was perfect. He was beautiful and had arrived after fifteen years of trying, and after many expensive magical failures. The curse the gods claimed to be a blessing was hard to beat.
He paused in his labours, as he perceived a commotion on the street. It sounded like their neighbours were congregating for a good gossip. Despite wondering what was happening Shar didn’t pause in his carving. He hated hobbling around with his crutch. And his clubfoot hurt when he used it.
Timgiratee their neighbour made his way into their shop. “Shar, where is your father? There is news.”
“He is looking after Ea. He and mom are in the back.”
Timgiratee gazed at the curtain of beads that separated the workshop from the back room where Ea was screaming his lungs out. “I think I’ll leave them alone. Look Shar, will you tell them that the priest Kuri-Bashaa managed to break his neck earlier today. And they will be casting lots in the temple of Ulruk tomorrow to select the new priest.”
“But is... wasn’t Kuri-Bashaa a priest of Sentssonwi’tsna’wa? Why is the casting of lots being held in the Temple of Ulruk?” asked Shar.
“Because Ulruk is the city’s patron, that means they have the latest census,” explained Timgiratee.
Shar looked blankly at Timgiratee as the man nodded politely and walked out of the front door. Shar was having the most awful premonition. He knew that by the god’s holy word there had to be at least four priests. And he also knew that he was of the right age to be eligible. Nobody wanted to be a priest of the gods, and his clubfoot made him look useless to many of his fellow citizens of Ulruk the City.
* * *
The sun had barely risen over the horizon when the citizens of Ulruk the City started gathering glumly in the courtyard in front of the temple of Ulruk the God. Shar-Ulruk-Sharri, wearing a clean white linen kilt and his best sandals, hobbled his way to the front of the subdued crowd to join his age mates, the other potential new priests.
The small gaggle of thirteen to sixteen year-olds huddled together near the front entrance of the temple as they waited apprehensively to hear their fate.
The subdued buzz of the crowd dropped into absolute silence as the great doors slowly opened and the chief priest of Ulruk shuffled out between the two colleagues who were helping him walk. Atti-Kushu was an old man, and frail. Shar sighed, the old priest wouldn’t last much longer, and this farce would occur again.
Atti-Kushu held up a small clay tablet for all to see, and then he said something that no one was able to hear. The priest on his right drew in a breath and bellowed. “Blessed be. The gods have chosen a new Priest, a citizen from this, our holy city. Come forth Shar-Ulruk-Sharri, son of Arshaka-Ulruk-Sharri.”
Shar heard his mother wail through the sighs of relief from his fellow sufferers. He set his shoulders and swung his crutch. Even as he headed for the cluster of priests at the head of the short flight of steps, he heard one of the older girls pray, “Just another six months, keep the old geezer alive for six more months...” and he found it impossible to blame her.
« Some two years in the past »
It had been a tedious three years since Shar had become a priest of Sentssonwi’tsna’wa. Most of the first year had been spent learning the rituals and how to read and write the ever-present cuneiform tablets. The temples seemed to require record keeping, endless lists of belongings and duties. Then he had spent the second year learning to channel the God’s gift. So as to cast those spells deemed suitable by the God, and the high priest of the temple.
Today he was indulging in one of his favourite duties. He was riding one of the temple’s placid old mules, his feet dangling as he maintained a grip with his knees. He was heading south along Temple Way, the dusty avenue almost empty at this time in the morning.
The big butchers market was silent and deserted. The wagon park across the street from it was full of idle carts. He waved to the guard manning the Dungeon Gate as he exited the city. He rode south along the southern trail for half a league before turning onto the dungeon road. He followed that for about a third of a league before arriving at the small fortress that surrounded the local dungeon.
Kiipluu, the governor of the fort that enclosed and protected the dungeon of Ulruk’s Gift waved a welcome as he rode his mule through the main gates of the fort. Shar dismounted next to his desk by the front gate of the tower that contained the dungeon’s entrance. He settled on his comfortable chair with a sigh of relief and sipped at the refreshing cup of barley beer that had been waiting for him.
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“Welcome Shar. I had thought it was Mushezibti’s turn this week,” offered Kiipluu.
“I swapped duties with her. She prefers to prowl around recording the abandonment of the riverfront district. I think she doesn’t want to believe her family’s former holdings are all falling into ruin.”
Kiipluu stared into the distance, “True. It’s getting worse isn’t it? About a quarter of the city has been abandoned.”
Shar shook his head. “Worse, about a third of the city is empty and the houses are starting to collapse.”
The two men stayed chatting until the adventurers started arriving. They were for the most part muscular and well armed with bronze and copper daggers and short stabbing swords or axes. Their spears were mostly tipped with flint. They wore thick woollen body cloaks sown with bronze rings.
After the adventurers started disappearing into the dungeon the first of the loot carts showed up. Most were being pulled by asses. The meat merchants set up their stalls by the fort gates. They were soon busy as the first adventurers exited the dungeon with their loot.
Shar was soon busy, healing the wounded and taking notes on wet clay tablets that he put aside to bake in the sun once they were finished. The meat merchants bought the carcases of the slain dungeon monsters and the occasional goat. The goats as usual, fetched the premium prices whilst the goblins went for scant coppers.
Shar watched bitterly, knowing that it was the Gods’ so called blessing that forced him, and his fellow citizens to be glad that the dungeon produced enough meat to feed them.
« The Present »
In the early hours of the morning, well before dawn, Shar-Ulruk-Sharri’s presence was, commandeered by his God. In a vivid dream, that he knew was being shared by his fellow priests, and by the true believers, he found himself hovering in the throne room of the gods.
Sentssonwi’tsna’wa was presiding over his court, seated on his throne of skulls. Around him were his three disciples. On the floor of the throne room stood a phalanx of the other gods. They were all awaiting something as the faced the big twin doors blocking the entrance to the throne room.
The doors were thrown aside and into the court strode a large goddess who was closely followed by five shadowy beings. The foreign gods seemed unimpressed by Sentssonwi’tsna’wa and his followers.
“Who are you? And how dare you slay members of my court?” stated Sentssonwi’tsna’wa in his terrible voice. “Know you not that you are before one anointed by the Greater Gods.”
The big goddess seemed unimpressed. “I’m Mary Silvestre, Mother of Monsters and Blackbeard’s Bane. I’m the chief god of Fragatta an’ soon will be chief god of Ambuila. I suggest you remove your curse of infertility an’ vacate or I’ll kill you,” she said.
Shar-Ulruk-Sharri heard the goddess’ challenge with hope. It was only a sliver of hope but it was glorious to hear a Goddess demand the abatement of the curse. He felt his allegiance slip, and he suspected he was not alone.
Then another voice spoke, “Blasphemy. You blaspheme against Brinius of the Blue Host and Meera the Night of the New Sages.” Shar felt his nascent hope waver. The new arrivals were a messenger of the greater gods, a being in the uniform of an official of the greater gods and two minor guardians.
“Kill them!” Screamed Sentssonwi’tsna’wa.
It was then that the dwarf god that had been standing behind the goddess cracked his knuckles and charged the phalanx of gods to his front. One of the first gods he slew was Ulruk.
The goddess grinned, obviously amused, “Shulmanu, keep those idiots from the Gardens off our backs. This shouldn’t take long.” Then she summoned up a bright sword that changed until it was barely visible.
She waited until her followers opened a gap in the phalanx before stepping through and killing the prime disciple. Then she engaged Sentssonwi’tsna’wa.
One of her followers fought the lesser guardians while the other three took down the gods. Shar felt the shock when Sentssonwi’tsna’wa head was removed from his shoulders. Shar wasn’t sure which he found more shocking, the death of his despised god or of the official and guardians of the Greater Gods.
The throne room changed. It became a sand fringed spur with the ocean pounding on one side, whilst on the other, the bay side, the sea washed the beach with small ripples. In the shallow waters of the bay, two identical thrones emerged. His new Goddess took her place on one on the thrones and her twin materialized on the other.
* * *
Shar-Ulruk-Sharri woke on his bed in the Temple Square, in front of a new rectangular saltwater lake. The temple was gone, replaced by the lake. In the dead centre of the lake was a simple altar; with the statue of a leaping sea creature he now knew to be a dolphin. He blinked around confused. Ikuppi-Adad was staring at the new lake with a look of hopeful bemusement on his face. Mushezibti was looking at it with grief and fury. As for Ashlultum, she was just looking round wide eyed with tears in her blue eyes. “I can see,” she was saying, again and again.
« ting: The blessing of Sentssonwi’tsna’wa has been repealed by the Mother of Monsters and her Court. »
Shar swung his legs out of his bed, grabbed his crutch and stood. He stared down at his feet amazed. They bore his weight without pain, and they looked much alike. “I’m cured,” he whispered to himself. He dropped his crutch and walked about tentatively. He looked at Ashlultum’s eyes with wonder, and Ikuppi-Adad’s shoulders were straight and his hands looked normal. Only Mushezibti looked unchanged.
Ikuppi-Adad gathered his wits and looked around. “What are we going to do with all this? Where are we going to stay now our temple is a lake? Mushezibti... Oh dear, I’m so sorry for you Mushezibti.”
Mushezibti glared at Ikuppi-Adad, “You hated our god too. Didn’t you. You’re glad that bitch goddess killed him. Aren’t you?”
Ikuppi-Adad rubbed his knuckles thoughtfully, “How could anyone not dislike the God that was dooming our race to extinction. You heard the message, didn’t you? Our new lady has removed the curse. Just for that she is worth following.”
Shar found himself nodding in agreement along with Ashlultum.
“What message old man?” asked Mushezibti.
Ikuppi-Adad’s eyes widened in surprise, “Ashlultum, Shar, go out and spread the word. If the System’s message was only for the priesthood, then we have to spread the word. I’ll see to protecting our belongings and join you.”
“What word,” asked Mushezibti.
“Why, that the curse is no more. That Sentssonwi’tsna’wa has been overthrown and killed. And that the Mother of Monsters is the new leader of the gods.”
Then he bowed his head in sorrow, “and that we will have to arrange for the casting of a lot to replace you.”
* * *
A fortnight later, thanks to the magics of divination and health everyone knew that the curse had been broken. The yearly festival of Hope was celebrated for the first time in Ulruk the City.