The chapel was an odd-looking building. Maybe my impression was a bit off because the whole thing was almost the size of a church. It had a noticeable list towards the back end and the side. Its foundations had probably shifted on the wet soil beneath it.

The surrounding area was starting to look like what I’d call “swampy” now and even as I took my first exploratory steps through the ancient looking double doors, I felt my feet sink ankle-deep into a layer of mud and then on to what felt like old flagstones beneath them.

Once inside, a yawning emptiness greeted me from where I assumed the center of the ovaloid shape of the chapel was. I instinctively felt the need to keep close to the wall. Moving straight forward was like I was asking to be ambushed.

This may have been a holy place once, but who ever said spiders cared about the gods? No one did and I believed that even though so far this place had been graciously empty of any chitinous interlopers.

Watch out for ceiling spiders. And door spiders. Wall spiders. Ground spiders. Gah, no matter where I go there could be a big spider hiding there so I’m just gonna go by instinct on this one.

I chose the right wall, keeping it within a few feet of me as I held my sword at my side. It was considerably lighter now that it was, well, broken. It had been a long, long sword before, to the point that I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to wield it with just one hand.

Or at all.

Maybe it was an ornamental sword specifically for dead people? The heft and thickness of its blade certainly seemed to suggest that to me.

I looked it over.

Yeah, this feels a lot better. Still somewhat heavy, but I’ve got more control. If I’m jumped by another spider, I’ll finally be able to really use my sword against it instead of, well, my head.

Or kicking it.

I looked at the point where it had broken off.

Well… I don’t think I’ll be doing a lot of stabbing anytime soon. I’ll need a bit more than a grindstone for this.

I’m sure I could stab some things with it if I leaned really hard into the thrust. The tip breaking off had left the tip of my blade somewhat of a diagonal jagged edge, but I wouldn’t bet my money on it being as good at stabbing as when it was whole.

Oh well.

The drowned chapel’s insides were completely trashed, from what I could see. There were wooden pews set in haphazard rows, some fallen over, others sitting diagonally and others yet standing perfectly parallel, as if awaiting the next mass.

There were people sitting on them, unmoving as if asleep.

Every now and again, I saw them as I walked within nine feet of them. Some were sitting upright, others slightly slumped on to the pews in front of them, hands clasped in deep prayer. My instincts were screaming at me that this wasn't normal, or good at all.

Harris didn’t tell me shit about this. Who the hell goes all the way out into a swamp just to go to church? In hell?

Yeah, I wasn’t buying it. Or that they were sleeping.

I took a few steps towards a figure on my left.

“Hey.” I said to it. There was no response.

“Hey. You!” Still no response.

I got within a few feet, gripping my sword tighter.

Jump me. I dare you.

It didn’t move, even as I stood at arm’s length. I extended my arm and gently poked the figure with my sword.

Boop.

Nothing. I poked it a few more times, before getting closer and touching it with my hands.

It was a dried, emaciated corpse.

Huh.

Going by the general silence in here, I guess that means all those other figures are corpses as well.

I checked everyone on the right side one by one.

Yep, they’re all dead. Only mildly worrying.

Interestingly enough, they were all wearing an incredibly wide variety of clothes. From cloths and leathers, torn and rotted, to silks and even ceremonial armor. The armor didn’t look like it’d fit me and the way much of it was rusted, damaged or overly decorated didn’t rouse my desire to try it on anyway.

While I didn’t have enough light to make out colors, I could imagine the diversity of dyes and cloths of these people arrayed here in front of my mind’s eye.

People from all over the continent. People from all over the world! Maybe.

Which begged the question: Why here? What made them come here to, evidently, die?

Who is this chapel even dedicated to?

Again, light would have been really useful to have right about now. There were some engravings on the wall, as well as a fresco of some sort. But that’s about all I was able to make out.

The more I moved forward, the more I saw the whole building tilting down and to the right. The ground was not getting drier, but wetter and deeper.

When I was about thirty-odd feet into it, the muck was already halfway up my legs and I decided that, for now, I’d search around the other side and then head back to the temple.

This whole thing feels like it’s built on sand. I don’t know whether that’s a bigger insult towards the architect that made this place or the gods it was made for.

Also, it smells! Like rotten plants, like an inside, personal bog.

I couldn’t remember a single church or cathedral that was built as poorly as this one. Sure, they usually had some form of construction going on, but the foundation? Yeah, if that’s where the problem lied, you’d be better off tearing it down and rebuilding it from scratch.

That is, of course, if your gods allow you to tear it down in the first place. I know for a fact that they wouldn’t. That’d be blasphemy.

Huh. Weird useless knowledge strikes again.

I circled around back to the entrance and to the other side, where a bunch of pews seemed to have been shoved to the side to make space for, well, something.

Smells like… coal. And ash. Wait, that’s a fireplace! Or, well, what’s left of a fire.

Ash and pieces of half-burnt wood lay strewn about on a mound. A pew that looked to be half smashed with an axe lay to the side. A corpse was haphazardly thrown over it and the other half had no doubt ended in the flames.

Now that’s… not exactly blasphemy. Vandalism of church property, sure. Enough to get you whipped and beaten, but not hanged, I think.

More useless knowledge. Yay.

I took a second look at the corpse. Even in its unmoving state, it wasn’t decomposing much. It didn’t smell particularly worse than the floor either and it seemed to have been a soldier or mercenary of sorts, judging by the layers of padding and absolutely shredded ring mail.

Wait a minute. He’s got a shield!

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

And boots! Honest to gods boots! I hope they’re my size.

I quickly shimmied them off his feet and on to mine. The feeling of wearing something worn by a corpse was… discomforting but it was outshone by the feeling of having something to wear at all.

Yes! Yes, boots acquired. Huzzah and blessed be!

They weren’t going to save my life, they’d be hella uncomfortable without proper socks but wow, I never knew I needed something so bad in my entire life.

The day was looking up. Could it even get any better?

I wiggled my toes around inside them and kicked a pew.

Hah, they’re steel-capped! I didn’t feel a thing, Woo-hoo! I’ve got boots!

Boots boots boots boots!

I looked at the shield, finding myself a bit disappointed by its size already. It was a small round shield made of wood. Like, really small. Barely-protects-anything small. The size of a large dinner plate.

There is a name for these oh, it’s on the tip of my tongue. What are they called, what…?

I wrinkled my forehead as hard as I could. Maybe it’d help?

Buckler! That’s the word.

I picked it up, wondering why it was made of wood. Until I realized its weight and the sheer thickness of the central bulge of it. I held it in my right hand and immediately felt a wave of content ease my worries.

I’ve got a shield!

I whooped internally, inclined to start a little dance right then and there, but I restrained myself from giving it a name right away. I was tired. And still had a walk back to the temple before me.

I’d rather not sleep here. All the corpses really aren’t making me feel any safer. Also, it’s muddy, stinky and wet. Very, very wet.

Enough for today. Time to go back.

And so I did, pressing onwards in my new boots on the path through the swamp and back to the temple.

Ah dammit, I’m totally ruining them already.

----------------------------------------

The way back was filled once more with sticky spiders trying to sneakily ambush me from behind trees, rocks and degraded ruins. I decided to evade as many as I could for now, being tired and hurting a bit from my previous fight with the two big bristly spiders.

I still stabbed a few that were really asking for it, taking two of their bodies with me for Harris. He did tell me about this forest, and I’d be happy to pay him back with a bit of food.

Poor guy must be starving.

What he hadn’t told me was that there were bristly spiders the size of dogs roaming this place as well. Maybe he even knew about some other place that would have been easier to find food in.

For all I knew, trees in hell grew fruits in the dark. Or nuts, maybe. I’d have to ask him or, if he didn’t know, I’d have to find someone else to answer my questions.

I reached the first arch at the start of the boggy forest. I followed the path until it led to the deep crevice and along its edge.

I am not asking Glom though. He laughed at me for no reason after I asked a question. He called me a worm! He called me little!

So rude!

I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the implications of the sun being gone though. I wasn’t going to trust Glom on that. How does the Sun even get extinguished? It sounded more reasonable to me that the continent flipped over and if I dug down, I’d reach a point with the light of day again.

Or that I’m in hell, which is what I’m currently betting on.

Sigh.

My arm hurts.

…

No! No gloomy thoughts for the rest of the day. I did good today. And I’ll do good tomorrow too. It hurt and I almost died but, well, it paid off. Food! Honor! Boots!

Boots boots boots boots!

I smiled at my new shoes, walking past the bell and onto the bridge. I forgot to ring it, which luckily, I noticed right before stepping over the threshold of death by giant arrow. I quickly doubled back, gave it a good kick with my new muddy boots – I’d have to clean them later – and walked right on into the temple.

I kept my gaze to the ground until I was out of sight of the sentinel, worried that any offense against his person might conclude in my immediate obliteration.

I wonder what kind of creature it is. Maybe it can speak. Maybe it knows things I don’t.

Anyhow, I passed Glom, got insulted, stuck out my tongue at him, then proceeded to where I last saw Harris’ pillow fort.

Down, then third hall from the left…

He noticed me from far away and not by the dim light coming from me. It was the smell.

“Wow, busy morning, miss Rye?” he said with a nasal tone, pinching his nose and wafting air away with his other hand. He probably thought I couldn’t see him doing that, too used to doing things in complete darkness.

“Mhm. I. Got. BOOTS!” My voice echoed far, thrown back by the stone walls of the temple. What can I say, I was happy and I was proud of them. They were great!

As I got closer, Harris made a retching sound. So, naturally, I threw two sticky spider corpses at him.

“Gah! H-hey, throwing things at my face better not become a habit!” I chuckled at that remark. The idea was enticing.

“Food. Sticky. Spider. Not. Bristly.” I sat down, taking off my boot and rubbing my wounded foot. He offered a cup of water, which I graciously downed in one go.

“Skin. Fat. Bad.” I added hastily.

“Mhm.” He was already chewing on the whole thing, holding it like it was some sort of meat-filled pastry.

A Spider pastry. Spider pie.

A gooey baked abomination came to mind, bristles strewn haphazardly and legs sticking out the top, still moving on occasion.

Ew. I can’t wait to find something better to eat. With the way Harris is chowing down he doesn’t seem to mind the taste or that it was raw. Which is… mildly disturbing, even to me.

And here I thought I was hungry before.

“Harris.”

“Mhhh? His mouth was full of spider goop. I decided never to think that sentence again and posed my question.

“Why. No. Fire. Wood. Dry. Tinder. Can. Do.” Can do indeed.

With the number of dead trees outside, I wasn’t expecting lighting a fire to be any more difficult than usual. I had some vague techniques come to mind, but they all involved things I didn’t have, like a tinderbox or flintstones.

Harris seemed heavily opposed to the suggestion, after hastily swallowing down a mouthful of spider, coughing all the while.

“No. No, that’s a bad idea. A very bad idea, miss Rye.” He looked me straight in the eye, or at least turned his face directly towards mine. “There are things that lurk in the dark. Horrible things, I tell ya’. They smell wood burning and this place’ll be swarming with monsters you never could’ve imagined.”

“Monsters. Like. Spiders?” I asked.

“Worse. Much, much worse, though you can keep them at bay with the smell of burning candles. No big fires though.”

“But. Warm. Food. Cooking. Other. People. Signal. Comfort. Fire. Good.” I tried listing the reasons why making a fire was a good idea, but he was having none of it.

“Ya’ shouldn’t go down that path miss Rye. Ya’ don’t need to, ya’ glow for Gods’ sake! A light-giver in the dark! People like you can make normal light, good light, no need for that flame stuff.”

He leaned in and in a conspiratorial voice added “and between us both, we don’t need more than that. It’s forbidden for good reason.”

I was inclined to disagree, but if fire attracted more creatures, then I wasn’t ready to deal with what that would entail. Still, I tried my best to convince him of the benefits.

“But. Bread. Spider. Pie. Without. Spider.”

He simply shook his head again. Ugh.

I stood up, finding it to be moderately difficult as my muscles screamed from exhaustion. I asked for Harris’ bucket and, upon being questioned what I’ll do with it, answered in one word.

“Clean.” Myself, that is.

There was, as far as I could tell, an infinite source of clean water in the cellar. The way it poured from one precisely arranged stone bowl into another made it seem like it probably used to be important to whoever built this temple but that aside, I wasn’t about to stink up my only supply of fresh water with the smell of swamp.

So, I filled the bucket with water, then went to walked around the temple until I found another exit. It led into a back yard of sort.

Correction, a back-grave-yard. It had the same run down, age old, decrepit look as the one I had woken up in, minus the spiders, open graves and murdery revenants. I sat down on a free place under a sagging tree, idly taking a look at the inscription of a very large gravestone as I started undoing my armor.

Here lyeth,

Lordess of seuen households,

Keeper of the seuenth cup in the Decibat,

Advisor to Corrington Marr, The duke of old Yorivale,

Countess of Viln,

Loving Wife,

and benign mother to two,

Histraia of Viln,

Another paragraph continued with:

With this may our prayers be heard,

and hire soul be taken to the gods in the city aboue.

In sacrifice and payment rendered, Histraia offered:

Seuenty-two pounds of siluer,

Four Caskets of ferrish gemstones,

Twelve bales of finest silk,

Two Caskets of jewelry,

Twenty-four fine cows–

The list continued on a smaller gravestone added to the side, like an addendum postmortem. I wasn’t inclined to read over the whole thing, as I had much scrubbing to do.

My pauldrons and vambraces fell to the floor with a clonk and soon the plates on my shins and chest followed. Underneath I could feel myself wrapped in some sort of rough bandages under a layer of cloth and leather padding. The padding almost fell off on its own, old and smelly as it was, but the bandages were apparently made of sturdier stuff.

I raised my helmet and with a jingle, I noted that there was a bit of ring mail attached underneath that was draped over shoulders, protecting the part of my neck and throat that weren’t covered by chest plate and helmet.

There was also a sort of skirt made of ring mail that went to my knees. It was very tattered and full of holes.

Unbandaging my body required some finesse. I managed, but there was a small broken spider leg tangled up between the bandages on my left calve. It had hooks and broken needle-like hair and ugh.

Ew. I am definitely putting spiders on the list of things I dislike, forever.

Anyways, there I stood, finally free of all the weighty armor and layers of cloth.

Man, do I ever feel better. My stomach full, my thirst quenched, my body out of layers of old clothing strips. I can’t get a full bath, so I’ll have to make do with scrubbing myself with bits of water after finishing the armor.

As I started with the bigger pieces of plate, my gaze swerved back to the auspicious grave of Histraia.

–Thirty-six fine sheep,

fourty-eight bales of fine wool,

eight embroidered carpets,

one mummified cat with jewels for eyes–

Man, some people even died with pomp. This person was loaded. I couldn’t remember anything concrete about coins used and the relative price of these offerings, but the sheer scale made my head dizzy by just trying to imagine it.

Who even mummifies their cat? And then donates it to a temple? Sounds morbid. Says the mummified human. Ironic, I know.

The inscription just went on and on and on. It really drove home that I had been buried in somewhat of a “lesser” part of the complex of graveyards around the temple and beyond the hills. Even the inscription, so unique and frightening at first seemed like a short, downright boring blurb of words on a rock compared to this titanic final resting place.

I hope my death wasn’t boring.

What does it matter, I’m dead anyways. Should it have been funny instead?

Would I want to have people come up to my sarcophagus and tell one last horrible joke before seeing me off?

Nah. It’s not much of a laughing matter, dying that is. Also, they’d just make short jokes.

I just hope I didn’t die in a stupid way.