Graiscon walked for hours. Hours that could have been days, or perhaps they were. When he felt he couldn’t walk any longer, he laid down and slept. When he woke, he walked. When he tired, he slept. Oddly enough, though he grew hungry, it was decidedly slower than was normal.
As he drew further and further from the field of bones Graiscon felt the cavern grew darker still. And yet, when he turned around, there seemed to be a subtle haze of light behind him. As he walked further and further, the darkness grew darker, but the haze became more refined. He saw mottes of light of no particular color flowing from the haze, drifting deep into the depths of the cavern. The further Graiscon concentrated on these almost invisible streams of light, the clearer they became. He entertained himself by watching the light actively twist and turn like rivers free from the bind of the earth. Though he could see only these mottes and the darkness before him, he felt the cold stale air of the cavern on his face with only the smell of soap still lingering on his new clothing.
<<>>
At some point, perhaps days into his journey or simply hours as Graiscon had lost track of time a while past, he began to see these very same mottes flowing around and into him. Notably, he found that much of the light seemed to coalesce around him.
Taking a break, he pulled a few of the tablets out of his coat. As he studied them, he noted the similarities between those and runes that glowed ever faintly on the glove and his knife. The glove itself was strange. It didn’t cover his thumb and the fingers it did cover were left open at their tips. It had wrapping around his wrist much like his boots and it was reinforced with what appeared to be rawhide on his palm and knuckles. The rune was etched into this hide reinforcement, its glow fading further.
Graiscon watched as wisps of “light” drifted lazily around all the runes, though especially so around his knife and glove. It didn’t take much for him to make a connection between the glow of the runes and the light around him.
Focusing on the light, he tried to grab a passing motte. To his dismay, it completely ignored his corporeal hand and continued ambling along.
Again, he tried, this time only attempting to guide it to his glove.
Nothing.
Growing frustrated, though he had not truly expected anything to happen, the boy focused on the motte in front of him once more and willed it to move.
Graiscon’s eyes widened as the motte of ethereal light shuttered. Though it ultimately continued its path, he had succeeded.
His success brought him to redouble his efforts towards the runes on his glove and the knife.
He focused on the motte of light and pulled. It shuddered under his will, but made no progress towards his runes.
Graiscon tried again and again. Putting more force into his will, though in the end, he only succeeded in bending the wispy stream.
Frustrated, and surprisingly exhausted, the boy threw the knife in defeat. The blade clattered to the stone a few paces from his seated form.
Staring at the knife, a thought came to him. He remembered the buzz of energy from when he pulled the seax from the behemoth’s skull.
He pulled on the memory, feeling for that energy within him and focusing it on the rune on his glove.
He felt a heat well up in his back and flow along his arm. It grew into a sharp pain, but he bit through it. The rune on his glove began to glow ever more brightly, and to his surprise, so did the one on the knife before him.
As fast as he’d thrown the blade, it shot right back into the palm of his hand, the runes meeting each other.
Graiscon didn’t catch the seax when it hit his hand. Instead, he jumped in surprise. Whatever spell he had cast broke, and the blade clattered once more to the stone floor. His surprise was cut short though, as he exploded with pain. He retched and gagged from the agony, but nothing came from his empty stomach. His vision darkened, and for the second time in that cavern, he passed out.
<<>>
Had it really been three weeks? Everyone else had moved on, but Alvor had lost his brother in all but blood. The large man stared into nothingness.
“Alvor, did you hear what I said?” Foreman Caian said, the Ilyan man pronouncing his name like “Allwor”. They never could get some of the sounds of southern names right.
Alvor’s head shot up, his grey eyes darting around the room. Herus stood beside Caian, and beside him stood Tram and Jakov. Tram was a demolition team leader, though Alvor rarely saw him at the staff table in the mess. Jakov, the arrogant asshole, had been promoted since the incident left a few positions open. They were all staring at him, Jakov wearing a vile smirk on his unkempt, snake-like face.
“Of course, he didn’t, he was too busy daydreaming about his dead lover.” Jakov chided.
Alvor was halfway out of his seat before Foreman Caian spoke.
“Enough Jakov, I have half a mind to throw you into the damn thing myself.”
The “damn thing” the group was discussing was a natural tunnel Tram’s team had found after blasting deeper into one of the few mining tunnels left unscathed.
“As I was saying, I want you and your team to scout out the tunnel before the expedition team.” Caian continued.
“Wouldn’t that make the expedition redundant?” Alvor’s mouth slipped before he could register his own thoughts.
“It would, but the higher ups want a ward team sent in first and I can’t ignore their orders.” Caian said, looking slightly annoyed at Alvor’s remark.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“More like they want expendables to throw at whatever’s down there, your trash will be perfect for it.” Jakov chuckled.
Caian shot a glare at Jakov.
“Both of your groups will be going, Jakov, I suggest you make peace with that and work with Alvor.”
Jakov’s face paled if that was even possible for a man as pale as he.
“Now, you’ll be given two week’s supply of rations and a reasonable length of rope for all of you, but I can’t spare much medical equipment.”
“Why not?” Alvor questioned.
“After the incident, we’re short on supply.”
Alvor nodded.
“And what about weapons?”
“What do you mean ‘what about weapons?’” Caian arched an eyebrow.
“What if there’s something down there, surely you’ve heard stories of trolls.”
Herus’s face grew ghostly.
“Alvor, if you find trolls down there, you’re already lost to the depths,” Caian said.
“Continuing, you’ll be leaving tonight at the eighth hour. Herus will make sure Jakov knows.”
With that, the meeting was dismissed.
Alvor stepped out of the Foreman’s office and marched to find his team. Jakov had slunk off to who knows where, Alvor pitied the poor bastards that had to work under him.
He found his team in the main junction, sitting in a rough circle passing around a water skin. Makael and Jori, his second longest comrade, sat across from the two newcomers that had been assigned to their team. After Jakov’s promotion and losing Graiscon, there had been too many openings in their group.
Alvor winced at the thought.
“What’s the word, boss?” Jori called as he spotted the bear of a man walking up.
“Why do you insist on saying things like that?” Makael whispered, though as always, his voice sounded like he was trying to play his voice deeper than it was.
Alvor chuckled. “Foreman wants us to scout that weird tunnel, we’ll get supplies when we leave tonight.”
The group’s eyes widened.
“Tonight?” One of the fresh-faces said.
Alvor nodded. “Jakov’s team will be going with us too, so watch your backs.”
The group groaned. Though the newcomers hadn’t known Jakov, the other three’s stories had been enough to know what to expect from the snake-like Vikren.
The group each wore heavy packs filled with supplies. One poor sod on either team had been saddled with a few hundred feet of rope. Jori had been granted the honor of carrying the two weeks’ worth of oil for the lamps and had somehow managed to sneak a Banne into his supplies. The string instrument wasn’t small by any means. Its neck alone was almost as long as the man’s arm and the bowl-shaped body was half as large as Alvor’s head, and Alvor had a reputably large head.
Jori hadn’t pulled the thing out until the group made their first camp and had everyone wondering how in the world he’d hidden the thing.
“Ah, a musician never tells his secrets.” He said and continued playing the jaunty Danic tune he’d been going through. Alvor couldn’t follow the words at all, despite the Danic tongue being sister to his own Lythric. The Asqarii’s diversity was famous without compare.
<<>>
Jakov sat at his own camp, his second, Tenkiv glaring at the rest of the party as they clapped along with the Asqarii.
“When can I silence that yhurak, his so-called music makes my ears bleed.” Cyril groaned. The Vikren tongue harsh and growling in the caverns.
“A week at most, we can’t leave then return saying they died,” Jakov said. “We’d look suspicious, worst of all, we’d look like cowards.”
Cyril nodded, looking around at the all-Vikren team surrounding their camp. Jakov had managed to pull a few favors and “fix” his line-up. Making sure he didn’t have any Asqarii or Ellren dregs slowing his team down.
The snake-like man once cared about paying his debt and leaving the mines behind. He found his “true calling” after his promotion, he decided to turn this dump into his personal project so that he could live life to its richest with Asqarii slaves doing his bidding and Ilyan dogs bowing at his feet.
Of course, his ears outside the Wards had told him about the war that the Ilyans had gotten themselves stuck in against the Asqarii. Something about a King or something like that. But he didn’t care for it. All Jakov knew was that it meant the Ilyans weren’t watching this middle-of-nowhere mountain and he could do whatever he wanted.
His first act in his campaign of power, turn the rat that was Alvor into food for whatever lurked in these caverns.
<<>>
Alvor stood in front of the line, one of the ropes had been tied between each member of the group, a method they’d decided on after the fifth day when one of the newcomers in his team, Voro, had slipped and fell down the sloped floor. Only to fall into a crevice and never be seen again.
Alvor shuddered at the memory. He had since awakened a deep claustrophobia he had never felt before.
It was the eighth day now, and the teams had grown tired. The clear animosity from Jakov’s Vikren team burning like fire didn’t help as they insisted on walking behind Alvor’s group. Something about not trusting outsiders, like they hadn’t all been wards.
Alvor had delegated the mapping of the tunnels to the other newcomer after Voro had died. Luckily Alvor had made a copy of the map the man was working on. Alvor held a lamp as high above his head as possible in the cramped tunnel. He heard the man whispering to himself, memorizing the twists and turns they traveled down.
Thankfully, the tunnel began to widen after a few hours. Alvor slowed as it opened into a cavern three times his height, the ceiling covered in stalactites and stalagmites littering the floor.
The lamp lit up the cavern, revealing its stretch from left to right into darkness on either side. It appeared like they’d entered through a crack in the cavern wall.
Makael and Jori filtered in behind him, Jori exclaiming at the cavern before them. It was the largest they’d found so far and they’d gone far deeper into the mountain than anyone before them.
Alvor heard some scuffling and an excited command from Jakov, though he couldn’t understand the Vikren snarl.
He ignored whatever was going on as he made his way towards the middle of the cavern.
Surprisingly, he found it was empty of stalagmites, the stone floor seemed roughened instead of the smooth, slick surfaces he’d grown used to over the last week.
Jori and Makael joined him, their fourth team member still gawking at the immensity of the cavern at its entrance.
“Hm, this kind of reminds me of a road,” Jori said, his voice bouncing off the walls.
“Then hope it’s a road to the afterlife.” A snake-like voice resounded from a great distance out of the tunnel they’d come from. The light from Jakov’s lamp was nowhere to be seen.
Confusion flashed over the members of Alvor’s team as the newcomer twisted towards the tunnel.
“W- “
His question was instantly cut off by an explosion, sending the man, who was little more than a boy, rocketing into the cavern.
Alvor, Makael, and Jori were thrown back as well, their bodies smacking into stalagmites across the cavern.