The El Tajin ruins in Veracruz turned out to be quite the tourist attraction. There were people from all walks of life milling about, checking out the various sights when Greg and Peter exited the rental car.
“Can we do the tour while we’re here?” Peter asked hopefully as he pulled his backpack out of the back seat and strapped it on. He’d always been intellectually curious about ruins, and would love to hear more about these specific ruins. He did do a bit of research in the days leading up to the trip, greedily reading all about a strange sport they played on these very grounds that ultimately resulted in a human sacrifice. Peter wasn’t a huge sports guy, but anything with stakes that high had to be an interesting spectator event.
Greg, grabbing his travel bag from the other side, raised an eyebrow at Peter.
“No?” Peter asked, shoulders slumping. Maybe he could bring Renea over and the two of them could take the tour the following day. “Yeah, I kind of figured you weren’t the guided tour type. So, where’s this hidden underground entrance?”
“A bit west of here.”
Peter pulled his compass from a side pocket of his backpack, glanced down, and then turned to face west and away from the shockingly well manicured ruins, into the jungle. “Of course it is.”
“When I was here last,” Greg said as they started walking west, “the only people here were the task force the government paid to keep an eye on the place. Stop people from scavenging, looting, or breaking anything. It’s a bit nutty seeing this many tourists.”
Peter slowed as they neared the jungle proper. Greg looked back at him questioningly.
“Spiders…” he explained.
Greg, for his part, marched fearlessly into the jungle. Peter, cringing, followed as closely behind the big man as he could without giving him a flat tire with each nervous step foward. He even managed to keep his composure for several minutes, ducking below branches and weaving between the dense underbrush. Greg stopped, turning left and then right before eventually deciding to continue on in the same direction. He repeated this process three times before Peter began to get worried that Greg may not actually know where he was going. The fourth time, Greg started sniffing at the air like a dog.
“This is it,” Greg said, sounding confident.
Peter, standing directly behind him, craned his head around Greg’s thick arm to have a look. As far as the eye could see, Peter saw dense, green, jungle. He, too, attempted to probe at the air with a few sniffs but smelled only gunpowder and garlic. He looked up and then followed Greg’s gaze. There, on the ground and covered with a loose blanket of fallen leaves, Peter saw a trap door. An honest to blog, wooden trap door. The dark wood was remarkably well preserved, contrary to what Peter would assume a long forgotten trap door might look like - aged, eaten, decayed.
“What were you smelling at?” Peter asked, still sniffing curiously and still getting nothing but a nose full of Gregscellent.
“When powerful magic is used, it leaves a scent behind that Witch Hunters can pick up,” Greg explained. “Lasts centuries. Longer sometimes. Like this door, for example. It was enchanted who-knows-how-long ago, you can see it is still in perfect condition. That’s what tipped me off the first time. You wanna head in first?”
“What? No. Of course I don’t,” Peter said, brows knitted at the absurdity of the question. The lines in his forehead softened after a moment. “What does magic smell like?”
Greg frowned as he considered the question. “You ever been electrocuted?”
“Once,” Peter said. Greg bent down and started pushing leaves away from the trap door with his bare hands, causing Peter to cringe. There had to be spiders everywhere. “I was standing on a water trough at a friend's farm when I was a teenager. I slipped and grabbed something, anything, just so I wouldn’t fall in.”
Greg looked up with sympathy. “Electric fence?”
Peter winced at the memory. “Yep.”
“While standing on a metal trough filled with water?”
“Mhmm.”
“Damn,” Greg commented sincerely. “Well magic smells like that, but without the cow shit. Or anything remotely farm related.”
Peter looked at Greg, unsure whether he was making a joke. Greg just laughed, bent to pry open the trap door, and then with a jolly wave and a little hop, he disappeared inside. It felt like all together way too long before Peter heard the thump of Greg’s landing. He peeked over the still-open trap door to see Greg now holding a light source Peter couldn’t identify, holding it up high and looking around cautiously.
“Clear,” Greg reported after a few seconds.
Hesitantly, grinding his teeth and cursing himself all the way, Peter jumped in after Greg. His uncontrolled fall into ancient, hidden, and magically preserved ancient tunnels ended with Peter Mayhew in a groaning heap on the ground. Above him, Greg held an orb glowing with white light in one hand. In the other, the Witch Hunter gripped a handgun with a barrel larger than any Peter had ever seen. He got to his feet, brushing off his head, chest, shoulders, and arms frantically and in that order.
“Will you get my back?” he asked, turning away from Greg.
Greg patted him down with a little more strength and impact than Peter felt was entirely necessary. Now certain there was not one or more eight-legged monstrosities on his person, Peter took a look around. It didn’t take long.
“There’s just nothing,” he commented, eyeing the bare, rock walls of the small underground room. It was large enough to fit a sedan, but not an SUV. All around, Peter scanned the walls for any irregularities, but found nothing.
“Now you see why I came up blank,” Greg agreed. “The blood-suckers did come down here, though. I’m sure of it. I could smell ‘em. But by the time I got to the trap door, there was no sign of them. No hint as to where they’d gone. I’ve batted the idea around for years that one of them may have had a transportation ability, like teleport, but that would be extremely uncommon, unheardof even, for a vamp. No, I’m certain. There’s some way to descend past this seemingly bare hole in the ground. Why don’t you start slapping the walls and see if your ability shines any light?”
Peter frowned, looking around the hidden crevice speculatively. He crouched, poked at small and, most likely natural, imperfections in the surface of the walls and floor for a few minutes before taking Greg’s advice and putting his ability to work. Unsure what to expect, Peter placed his right palm against the ground.
To his surprise, no informational table appeared in his mind’s eye. It was the first time he’d placed his right palm on anything at all and did not result in a videogame-like prompt obscuring his vision. To Peter, that in and of itself was suspicious. Or it would be, he amended, if the walls or ceiling did grant information. Instead of depending on his magical ability, Peter gathered whatever information he could with his natural senses. The surface was surprisingly cool considering it was late afternoon in an equatorial jungle during the peak of summer. The crevice beneath the trap door was certainly not deep enough to negate the oppressive heat just outside.
Peter picked a wall at random and pressed his palm against it, noticing the same coolness he had on the floor. An informational table appeared, confirming his suspicion about the floor, but he wasn’t sure what to make of the details provided.
Rock Wall
Durability: Varies
Quality: Natural
Fun Fact(s):
These walls have secrets.
All four walls provided the same useless box of text, even the fun fact remained the same despite multiple attempts on each wall. Peter found it frustrating that, this one single time, the fun fact never changed. Even more frustrating, his ability refused to tell him anything he didn’t already know. Whenever he used it on Greg, or even anything Greg owned or affected, Peter’s ability often provided personal information that he had no right to know. Yet, here, nobody’s privacy would be violated with a bit of info and he received only nonsense. Unsure what to do next, Greg wove his fingers together between his knees to give Peter a boost. Unfortunately, touching the ceiling was similarly unilluminating.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Well shit,” Greg said as Peter got down and explained. “I really thought your ability would give us something, anything, to go on.”
“Don’t give up yet, big fella. I’ve got some ideas.” Peter scratched thoughtfully at his chin, now looking up at the fading light of late afternoon pouring in through the trap door. “I need to touch the door.”
Greg once again hoisted Peter up and he put his right palm against the enchanted wood of the trap door.
Trap Door
Durability: 107,761/115,000
Quality: Superb
Fun Fact(s):
1. Despite the fact that this item’s Quality is ‘superb’, the door itself is rather ordinary. The powerful enchantments left to conceal and reinforce it are the true reason for Trap Door’s Quality score.
2. Some magically concealed trap doors lead to great treasures.
3. Some magically concealed trap doors lead to literal traps. Like a spike pit, or an oubliette.
The fun facts provided by Peter’s ability about the door were concerning, to say the least. He only knew what an oubliette was from The Labyrinth by the late, great, David Bowie. Still, knowing that the entire purpose of an oubliette was to leave someone in utter isolation, often including a heavy dosage of sensory deprivation, Peter felt the beginnings of a claustrophobic panic attack creeping up his spine.
“We should get out of the magically concealed hole in the ground,” he said, the words seeming obvious now. Greg flashed him a questioning look. “For fresh air. You know, help us think this through. It’s hard to think in a hole in the ground, Greg.”
Greg rolled his eyes, but agreed. He gave Peter another boost, this time pushing him up and out of the hole in the ground. The fresh, albeit overly humid, jungle air soothed his growing panic with each shallow inhalation. Looking down at Greg, Peter had a thought.
“Hey, Greg,” he said, “when you went down there before, did you ever try shutting the door behind you?”
“Not while I was down here,” Greg said. “Hell no.”
“I’m going to shut it,” Peter said, crouching to do so.
“Peter, don’t you even think…” Greg’s grizzly voice was cut off as Peter shut the door.
Greg would be fine down there for a little while, Peter was sure. He was just as sure that, if he were a vampire fleeing the gigantic Witch Hunter, he would certainly close the door behind him. With any luck, that simple action may shine some light on how to get through this first room and into the tunnels that Greg claimed lay beyond. He waited perhaps 30 seconds before opening the trap door. When he did, a very grumpy Greg Van Helsing was glaring up at him.
“Get a good laugh?”
“I wasn’t playing a joke on you, Greg. I just figured that if you were chasing me through a jungle, and I found that trap door, I’d close it behind me for sure. Even if it does just lead to a filthy, bug infested hole in the ground. I just needed to know if anything happened with the door shut. Did it?”
“It did, actually.” It was obvious from his closed body language that Greg did not want to admit that Peter’s hunch proved to be accurate. And then a smarmy grin spread across his face. “It got really dark and scary. There were spiders everywhere. I didn’t pee my pants, though, this is just coffee. Why don’t I put you down here and close the door so you can see for yourself?”
“Very funny, Greg. Why don’t I close this door again and sit on it until you’re not in such a sour mood?” Peter countered. “Really man, what happened?”
“Nothing at first, then I turned off my light. Without artificial illumination, a few runes appeared, glowing on the walls. It’s old magic. I don’t recognize the runes at all. Your ability might give us something if used when they’re active, though.”
Peter’s lips made a sharp, upside down crescent at the thought of being down there again, this time without Greg and his light.
“Okay. I’ll try it,” he said, kicking at the dirt nervously. “But, Greg, I promise you right now if you pull any jokes whatsoever I will never do anything for you ever again. I get claustrophobic in small, dark places with spiders and ancient magic.”
Greg laughed, and Peter had a growing suspicion as the laughter grew louder that the monster slaying Greg Van Helsing was imagining himself playing some horrible prank at Peter’s expense.
“You’ve got my word on it,” Greg promised. Seeing Peter’s skepticism, he set his black leather travel bag down and spoke again. “I’ll leave my bag down here for you. When I close the door, it’ll get dark. If you’re freaking out in there, just reach into the bag and grab the light. I’ll leave it in the first slot so it’ll be the first thing your hand comes into contact with. Or just start screaming bloody murder and I’ll open the hatch. Deal?”
Peter folded his arms over his chest, looking down at Greg with immense consternation. “Deal,” he finally agreed.
Peter’s jaw dropped when Greg crouched and then leapt the eight or more feet out of the hole in one incredibly athletic maneuver. Looking wide-eyed at the man, Peter put his hand on Greg’s muscular shoulder. “Can you teach me to do that?”
“What, jump?” Greg asked, looking perplexed.
“Jump like that,” Peter said.
“I mean…” Greg considered it. “There are ways to enhance the physical capabilities of even 100% humans, but they take special potions and/or training. Nothing you could learn to do today.”
“Bummer,” Peter said, bringing his attention back to the hole in the ground. “If we get through this, you’ll have to show me.”
And with that, a deep breath, and some positive affirmations, Peter Mayhew slid down the hatch and was once again underground in the jungle outside the Mexican ruins of El Tajin. Greg called down to confirm that Peter was ready, which he managed a shaky nod to confirm. And then Greg closed the trap door - leaving Peter alone in complete, horrible, darkness. With a herculean effort, he took a slow breath in through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth.
I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out.
Despite continuing to run those words through his mind, Peter was freaking out. His breath was not coming easily like it should be, his chest felt tight and he couldn’t swallow. And then, blessedly, the faint illumination he was waiting for distracted him from his swelling panic attack. The runes, at least that’s what Greg had called them, didn’t provide enough light to see anything apart from the markings themselves. The markings didn’t look like those from any language Peter recognized. They weren’t even vaguely comparable to any he’d studied, really. He got to his feet, Greg’s travel bag strapped over one shoulder, and looked around. He found that each of the four walls held a single rune. They were intricate markings, perhaps two-feet tall and a foot across. Glancing from one to the next, to the next, to the next, Peter confirmed that each of the runes were 100% identical. Unsure where to start, he just walked forward and put his right palm on the rune before him.
Runic Enchantment - Hel
Enchantment Type: Eldritch
Enchantment Rank: Ancient
Fun Fact(s):
1. This rune was crafted and placed by Kuzco the Fabulous. It functions to protect against invaders as well as keeping unwanted guests from entering Kuzco’s domain. Unwanted guests, in this case, refers to anyone who does not know the secret to enter - which was exclusively passed down Kuzco’s very own bloodline.
2. Though Kuzco himself is thought to be long past, his descendents still visit Kuzco’s domain occasionally. However infrequent the visits, simply showing up and reminding the place who it belongs to is enough to keep the ancient magic within loyal to Kuzco’s bloodline.
3. Runes can often be dispelled by smudging even a single line within the symbol(s). This rune, however, was etched into the very Earth directly using Mana as a medium and cannot be dispelled through traditional means.
Peter frowned. The facts provided seemed to suggest that this rune could be dispelled, but not through conventional methods. Considering the fact that he didn’t even know a single conventional method of dispelling runes, apart from the one provided, coming up with alternative methods proved to be quite the noodle cooker. Figuring he could discuss it with Greg once he wasn’t standing in a hole in the ground, Peter moved to the next rune and placed his palm against it. Unsurprisingly, this inspection provided the same information as its copy on the previous wall. He’d figured that would be the case, but it never hurt to be diligent. With that very same sentiment in mind, Peter slid his right palm against the wall as he moved toward the next rune. The info-box from the third matched the first two exactly, which was disappointing but far from a surprise. Continuing through the dark with his hand against the wall, Peter moved to the fourth and final rune.
“Son of a…” he cursed quietly to himself. As dark as it was, he’d been using the wall to guide him to the next rune. Apparently, there was a jagged edge along the rock wall where he’d been running his palm along it. It didn’t feel like anything too horrific, but he’d definitely broken the skin. Cringing at the fact that he was placing an open wound on such a filthy surface, Peter triggered his ability on the last rune. To his surprise, this info-box had a fourth fun fact. One that made Peter’s shoulders droop.
Runic Enchantment - Hel
Enchantment Type: Eldritch
Enchantment Rank: Ancient
Fun Fact(s):
1. This rune was crafted and placed by Kuzco the Fabulous. It functions to protect against invaders as well as keeping unwanted guests from entering Kuzco’s domain. Unwanted guests, in this case, refers to anyone who does not know the secret to enter - which was passed down Kuzco’s very own bloodline.
2. Though Kuzco himself is long past, his descendents still visit Kuzco’s domain occasionally. However infrequent the visits, simply showing up and reminding the place who it belongs to is enough to keep the ancient magic within loyal to Kuzco’s bloodline.
3. Runes can often be dispelled by smudging even a single line within the symbol(s). This rune, however, was etched into the very Earth directly using Mana directly and cannot be dispelled through traditional means.
4. One of Two required actions to open the way into Kuzco’s domain completed: 1. Blood offering (met); 2. Password provided (unmet). Password hint: one word with more than 6 letters that means birthright.