Frank wandered through the halls. His first thoughts were to cross back around to the large stone door he and Dontil had passed by earlier and continue searching. For anything at this point. Medical supplies, survivors, even just more fallen goblins to blow off some steam on.
There was too much on Frank's plate, and the whole thing was threatening to tip over and shatter. The reality of Frank's situation was hitting him harder than ever. How did he end up here? How did he wander into a sick, corrupted structure like this overflowing with blood and suffering? Because the System told him to go do a quest? Because he thought he could help the goblins captured and forced into this vile place? Try and fail. Every step he took to clear a room here had been a disappointment and a blow to his resolve.
What was the fucking point? Why not run away? He owed these goblins nothing, he could disappear into the forest and pick off patrols for days if he needed to. As long as he was patient and had a blade in hand, he could kill goblins and orcs, eat wild game, learn what plants were safe to eat with [psychometry] and survive. He could keep going until there were either no more monsters to kill, or they killed him.
His thoughts calmed a little then, a deep breath in, another out. That wasn't the way to do it. There was more at stake here than just his own life. The lives of every human on Earth were at risk, and Frank knew he wasn't just wandering this world aimlessly. That feeling of being pulled along by strings once again creeped down his spine and gave him goosebumps. The System dumped him close to the border camp for a reason, and regardless of whatever expectations it may have had for him, he had a mission to see through.
'How am I supposed to do it though?' Frank wondered as he passed by more empty rooms. He followed the hallway, listening for any signs of goblins while invisible. He noticed there was a faded set of murals on the wall, in better condition here than anywhere else on this level of the structure. All the other hints of artwork had been too faded or scratched away. Here there seemed to be artwork of a warrior with a spear and shield held to his body, accompanied by grieving figures with long ears and angular features. These were elves. The first depictions Frank had seen of them outside of Earth, anyway. As he continued on his walk along the hall, he saw there was more art clearly depicting a series of catacombs. The same warrior being given some sort of last rites and then joining the other fallen warriors of his people.
So there are catacombs here! But where? What was this structure really? Was this meant to be some sort of underground hotel for the grieving families to gather? A massive funeral home perhaps? What a strange concept. It also left another question unanswered in Frank's mind: why did the torches have special dungeon enchantments on the way in? Why would a set of catacombs have alarms that require a whole secondary system to operate? Frank was missing something here, and it was likely something only elves could answer. If there were any left to find.
Frank gently brushed his fingers against the mural and activated [psychometry]. If the elves weren't around to give him any answers, hopefully the things they left behind could help him make sense of what was happening.
[Psychometry activated.
The hallowed halls of rest housed many travelers from different realms, those seeking fame and fortune, and those who would see the sending off of their loved ones whose duties did not end even in death.
The artists who painted this mural did so in memory of the many warriors slain in defense of the realm against foreign enemies and devils from beyond the heavens]
Well, that explained... something. Frank got impressions of laughter and the clinking of cups, a bar atmosphere. Then he got restrained sobbing, tears, and words of comfort he couldn't understand. Finally the measured tone of a religious service being performed, the smell of some sort of incense, and the echoes of crying in the dark, almost the exact scene Frank was resting his hand on.
[Psychometry] was one hell of a freaky power, especially when it gave Frank ghostly echoes past the text the System gave him. He looked around and saw the darkly lit hall in a new light. This place was once alive with activity. Elves used to come from all over, mercenaries, paladins on pilgrimage, and ambitious adventurers, to find their fortunes and prove their faith down here. But what could give these people the riches and prestige they sought?
Outside of the glimpses [Psychometry] gave him, Frank had a feeling he knew. Somewhere here, deep inside these artificial hills, there lay a dungeon. Or there was, once. What that meant, Frank wasn't sure. He only knew that it wasn't working right because the special enchantments on the torches weren't active, and the place was clearly occupied by the goblins.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
'Their loved ones whose duties did not end, even in death.' Frank scratched his head as he pondered over that line. It didn't sit right with him. Was that just some sort of religious belief the elves had? He didn't have enough information to think otherwise, but it still left an ominous feeling in his stomach.
Around the corner from the mural, there was a door with a symbol on it. Upon closer inspection, it was a weathered carving of a beautiful winged elf. Perhaps some sort of angel? Frank wasn't sure, but the other doors along the way didn't have that carving, so this one must be special.
Sword in hand, Frank slowly opened the door. Inside, a lantern hung from the ceiling and illuminated what seemed to be a decent sized store room. Big enough for two shelves along each of the long walls, one more on its own wall, and another two pressed together in the center. Crates filled with bottles of all sorts populated each shelf and made their homes on the floor. Some bottles were broken, or their neighbors abandoned and dusty. Others however were new, shining and seeming to more often than not shine red in the light.
Frank picked up one of the newer looking red bottles, a hint of recognition crossing his brow. He quickly activated his miraculous skill once more.
[Psychometry activated
Lesser Martyr's Promise Potion: A potion meant to close wounds, heal burns, and stimulate vitality in the wounded. Can stabilize those in critical condition, depending on the severity of wounds. This version is diluted, meant for use as emergency first aid or for smaller wounds. Its effectiveness is strained in battle, and against certain types of poison.
Toxicity: Safe for human consumption.
Dosage: One half bottle for adult humans, one full bottle for adults with serious injuries or who are in critical condition.
Human children should only receive a quarter bottle, half bottle maximum barring critical emergency.]
This was it! This was the stash of medical supplies! But there were so many empty crates here. Had the goblins used so many? Or had they taken them further into the complex? Frank was certain he wasn't finished searching the place, he still had that large marked door to go through in the central hallway. Could there be more enemies hoarding supplies there? Frank checked on a few bags wrapped in paper with strings and confirmed with [Psychometry] they were jarred salves meant to stop bleeding. He nodded to himself and quickly flung his bag off his shoulder to collect as many bottles of healing potion and salve jars as he could fit.
He ended up zipping ten bottles of potion and five jars of salve into his bag before taking an extra bottle of potion and sprinting back to the gloomy hall Dontil sat grieving in, teleporting to save time. He may not have been able to save any goblins up to this point, but he wasn't going to give up on Dontil yet! Not when there was a chance for him to recover from his injuries!
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Mokki sat tapping his foot nervously against the ground. He was waiting outside the Peace Speaker's home to see if he had heard any news of his father and sister. He had done as he was instructed by his father and waited at their house. When people came to count heads and see who was still around after the raid, Mokki was left by himself, worrying. For two hours he sat, nothing but the worst thoughts on his mind, the most terrible outcomes. He wanted to go out and search for his family, but he wasn't sure where to even begin, and he would feel terrible if his father came home with his sister only to find Mokki had left on a fool's errand. But one hour turned to two, and almost three before he set out to find the elder goblin. And now, the young goblin couldn't bear to wait any longer. He needed to see Brotlaavi.
After what felt like too long, Mokki was ready to storm off into the camp, but a voice broke him from his thoughts.
"Oh, Mokki! Dear boy, I heard what happened. I am terribly sorry, you must be worried sick. Come, have some tea with me." Brotlaavi shuffled up behind the young herald and held open the flap to his tent. Mokki walked past the peace speaker, almost forgetting his manners. He quickly bowed to the elder goblin and walked him to his cushions by the cooking pot.
"Thank you, Peace Speaker. Where do you keep your tea?" The young goblin made to do the menial tasks for his host, given his old age. Brotlaavi got up to do it himself, but at a gesture from Mokki, he acquiesced and settled into his seat, motioning to a small chest beside a cupboard.
"I heard... your sister was taken, and your father made after her and the other captives." Brotlaavi came out with it, as if cutting the head off the emotional arrow struck through Mokki's chest.
"Yes, he had a sword and some strange potions with him. I hadn't seen them before today. Do... do you think they are going to be home soon?" Mokki asked, hunched over the teapot.
"I can't say for certain, lad. All I can do is pray for your family. But..." Brotlaavi stopped and considered his next words carefully. How much could he tell the boy? How much was safe to say?
"Mokki... your father is not alone there, wherever the traitors have taken your sister. A new friend to our people has come, and by Sanavrona's guiding light he should be watching over Dontil right now!" Brotlaavi said with a beaming smile as Mokki shed tears down his cheeks.
"D-do you know what w-w-way they went?" Mokki asked, hanging the teapot above the fire.
"Yes, word has it they went out the southern gate. Why?"
"I need to know which gate to wait at, obviously." Mokki smiled at Brotlaavi, sniffling and wiping his tears. Behind his smile, he was planning to leave through that exact gate. He was done waiting, he was going after his father. And he knew there were other goblins who felt the same way he did.
"That's the spirit, Mokki! Worry not, for our human friend will see your father safely home!" Brotlaavi nodded at Mokki, knowing he could trust the young messenger with at least that much information.