Wearing his gaudy new jacket and giving off the vibe of a puppy with a shiny new toy in its mouth whilst prancing about the yard, Peter Mayhew followed Greg through the ancient rock tunnels of Kuzco’s domain.
They’d first retreated back up the tunnel to see if the Heirloom ring would reopen the door that let them into Kuzco’s domain but, when Greg placed its crown against the slab of rock keeping them underground, nothing happened. Peter tried providing it with the blood and password act that had got them down there in the first place but that, too, had no effect. Unsure what other options they had, Peter and Greg agreed to continue downward and hope for the best.
The deeper they went, Peter noticed more and more damage from the passing of time. Over many, many years, small pieces and massive blocks of the stone walls and ceiling had fallen off to litter the tunnel with debris. Peter also noticed that both the size and frequency of insect encounters increased dramatically the deeper they went, which he hated. To Greg’s clear amusement, he kept his little spray bottle of bleach in hand and held it up threateningly at any bug that got too close. By his best estimation, they had traveled a claustrophobia-inducing half mile underground when the tunnel finally let out.
Peter’s breath caught when he took in the haunting beauty of the underground city that was revealed at the mouth of the tunnel. Instead of the flickering red light of the seemingly never-ending tunnel, this subterranean metropolis was illuminated by a false full moon that hung suspended in the air near the ceiling over 100 feet up. When Peter looked at this false moon closely, he saw blood dripping steadily from it only to vanish a few feet under its lowest point.
The city that opened up before them was elaborate and symmetrical. A path constructed of large blocks of white stone led through the middle with buildings perfectly mirroring their counterparts on either side. It was laid out in tiers with perfectly groomed patches of blood red grass between staircases and structures. Peter spared a moment to wonder how it was even possible for grass to grow without sunlight, but chalked it up to ‘magic’ after his search for an explanation came up blank.
Near the mouth of the tunnel, the buildings looked vaguely residential. On the far side the buildings looked more elaborate and ritualistic, like ominous temples devoted to serving some dark god - which, Peter realized, probably wasn’t that far from the truth of it.
Between perfectly groomed sanguine-colored grass patches, a staircase led to each of the residential buildings. At the top of the stairs, the structure’s were secured by a solid rock door. Peter turned to Greg.
“Think the rings open these doors?” he asked, finding himself curious about what might be within despite the burning urgency he felt to find a way out of here.
Greg shrugged noncommittally. “Probably?”
Together, they approached the first structure on the right side of the main walkway. The door was a solid slab of rock with no apparent handle. Greg pulled the ring from his pocket, inspecting it for a moment before placing its crown against the surface of the stone door. To Peter’s great surprise the door, a slab of rock that couldn’t weigh less than a ton, simply blurred and then vanished entirely.
“After you,” Peter said, gesturing to the building’s interior like Vanna White displaying some fabulous prize.
Greg grunted, brushing past Peter and stepping through the door. Peter followed him in, curiously observing what looked to be someone’s home long, long ago. Unlike the first room they found in the tunnels, this place was coated with a thick layer of dust and fallen bits of the stone ceiling littered the ground. The furniture looked to have been high quality craftsmanship once, but was now in tatters. Broken chair legs and torn upholstery were scattered throughout.
They proceeded through the front room and into a hallway on the far side, finding a single bedroom. There were a few curiosities that Peter couldn’t make sense of, but perhaps his new magic powers could shine some light on them. First, he approached a spout protruding from the wall at about shoulder height. It was only the width of a straw and extended out several feet when Peter pulled on it. He wrapped his right hand around it and was provided the answers he sought.
Blood Spout
Durability: 76/1,500
Quality: Functional
Fun Fact(s):
1. In the distant past, the blood from human sacrifices was drained into a pool. That pool, filled with the blood of hundreds, was then routed through pipes and delivered upon command to the inhabitants of Kuzco’s domain.
2. Though the mixed, room-temperature blood was not particularly appetizing, even to vampires, it was plentiful and accessible. This allowed Kuzco’s subjects to form the first and most prolific community of vampires to have ever existed on Earth.
3. The pool supplying this spout has long since run dry.
“Gross,” Peter said, releasing the tube and pulling a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of his pants pocket.
The other curiosity was a hatch, loosely resembling a prehistoric dumbwaiter, at ground level in one corner of the room. It was roughly the size of a copy machine. The big copy machines found in offices. The ones that seem to malfunction more frequently than they have any right to.
There was a handle at the top, which Peter used to slide open the hatch. The dense, heavy, almost palpable blackness within kept him from being able to discern its purpose. Room service, perhaps? Or a garbage service several centuries ahead of its time? He placed his palm against the hatch, and frowned as he read the provided information.
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Disposal Hatch
Durability: 93/1,500
Quality: Functional
Fun Fact(s):
1. This hatch leads to a dungeon beneath the Temple of Kuzco, where Kuzco’s guardian beast - the enslaved god, Omacatl - would consume the (bled dry) remains of human victims.
Omacatl… Peter thought to himself. He remembered the word, but couldn’t put his finger on where he’d heard it. The info-table regarding this hatch flooded Peter’s ever-curious mind with questions, few of which he could come up with answers for. A god? Really? He decided to put them on the backburner for now, though the subject did warrant further consideration at a later time.
Ultimately these little residences appeared to be something akin to a studio apartment tailor made for a vampire. They found nothing of interest or value within, so Peter and Greg left the apartment to continue their search for a way out of Kuzco’s domain. Peter had yet to rule out further exploration for exploration’s sake, however. He was burning with the hope of finding unique and ancient artifacts the likes of which modern science had yet to lay a finger on. But with their situation as it stood, putting an exit strategy at the top of their priority list was a no-brainer.
As they walked along the pathway through the center of this ancient metropolis, the buildings stood taller and were significantly more opulent. If Peter had to guess, he would say that, like many societies had done since humanity’s first civilizations, the wealthy, powerful, or favored by royalty likely lived in these palatial residences close to the heart of the city’s power. That heart, Peter reasoned, was the massive pyramid-shaped temple at the end of the walkway.
It was so tall that it actually connected the floor to the ceiling at its highest point in the underground metropolis at close to 200 feet up, dwarfing the pyramids of the El Tajin ruins above. Peter hoped that, at the top of the pyramid, they might find another tunnel leading up and out of this place. But there was only one way to find out.
Similar to the aboveground pyramids, the temple towering before Peter and Greg was constructed in stepped tiers and decorated with intricate designs carved directly into the rock. There was an obvious and grand entrance, its opening large enough for an elephant-drawn carriage to pass through easily, the central walkway led directly inside. There were other, smaller, entrances along the building’s perimeter and even a few more on higher tiers.
Peter and Greg pulled to a stop just before crossing the massive arch’s threshold. Even standing right in front of the temple’s opening, Peter couldn’t see anything inside. It wasn’t just the darkness obscuring his vision, he was sure. It was almost like there was a massive black blanket obstructing onlookers from seeing what lay within.
“The jaguar god!” Peter exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.
“What?” Greg asked, head swiveling quickly as he looked for any sign of a threat.
“Omacatl,” Peter said, probably mispronouncing the word but not caring. “That’s what they called the jaguar god. The big cat carved into the pyramids up top. My ability mentioned something about it living beneath the temple, and that it was a god, and that Kuzco enslaved it.”
“What?” Greg asked again, now staring into Peter’s eyes intensely.
“I mean…” Peter said, shrugging noncommittally. “Kuzco’s long gone, right? The kitty probably is too…right?”
Greg did not respond. Instead, he reached into his travel bag and began rummaging around.
“Right?” he asked again. “Greg?”
***
Renea Mayhew was blessed with many useful skills, talents, and abilities. She was not, however, an outdoorsy person. Not even a tiny bit. Zero percent outdoorsy. In the Veracruz jungle surrounding the manicured lawns of the El Tajin ruins, she felt more out of her element than she ever had been before. The trees, vines, and leafy underbrush were a constant irritant as she attempted to navigate her way to Peter’s last known location.
Maybe this is why every gift shop and market sells machetes… she thought sourly, wishing she’d purchased one on her way to the jungle.
The burning ache of worry and rage continued to build in her gut, though the immediate fear of losing Peter, that horrible feeling that he was in imminent danger, had dimmed slightly. She hoped that meant her sweet husband was okay, but wouldn’t let something as flimsy as hope stop her from taking action personally to ensure her desired outcome.
After what felt like hours trudging through the jungle in shoes that were certainly not designed to do so, Renea stumbled upon an oddity. Just ahead, she spotted the opening of an honest to goodness trap door right before she accidentally stepped into it. For long seconds, Renea just looked down at the out-of-place trap door like she might look at Peter if he were to suggest going to Mexico with Greg Van gods damned Helsing.
What is this? An episode of Lost?
She opened her phone and flipped over to the application that shared Peter’s location. His last ping was only a few yards from this trap door. He and Greg had mentioned the trap door the previous evening, but for whatever reason, the simple hatch on a pair of hinges before her was not what she had imagined. Not liking the idea much, but not seeing any other option, Renea took a deep breath and then climbed down.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but when she could see, Renea twirled in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. She was in a hole, in the ground, in the jungle. A perfectly cube shaped hole in the ground with walls, floor, and ceiling composed of solid, flat, mostly smooth stone.
Because she spent the night troubleshooting the way through this door with Peter and Greg, Renea knew the method required to unlock the way forward. Blood and password, unfortunately she did not know which password had granted them access nor did she have any idea what to do with the required blood sacrifice.
Frowning, she pulled a bobby pin from her hair and pricked the tip of her pointer finger with it. She approached a wall at random and tapped its surface with the tiny droplet of blood on her finger, moved to the next, squeezed her fingertip, and then repeated the process. With a droplet of blood on each of the four walls, Renea racked her memory for the potentials she and Peter had come up with for the password. She remembered her pick, of course, and led with that.
“Titzilani,” she said, hoping the pronunciation was correct - or at least close enough to be recognized if it was indeed the password.
Nothing happened.
She remembered another two potentials and said them aloud as well, to similar effect. In silent frustration, Renea began pacing. The roiling in her gut began to… she wasn’t sure. Swirl? Swirl. An energy that felt similar to oxygen entering her lungs, but not quite the same. With each shallow, irritated, and worried inhalation, Renea felt the swirling energy swell. Renea pushed consideration of this matter aside, she had to get to Peter.
Glancing down at her phone she saw that there was no reception, even though she was only a few feet underground. If Peter and Greg did make it past this door, and it was likely that they did, and then found a way back out and called her, she would have no way of knowing. Not if she remained in the hole in the ground. Grinding her teeth in irritation at having to take a step back, Renea Mayhew climbed back out of the trap door and into the Veracruz jungle.