Rumford was seriously questioning his sanity. Why go towards the unknowable darkness just to figure out what that oh so wonderful crying was coming from? What good would come of it in this place? He certainly hadn't forgotten all his recent experience with crypts and graves. Experience that made this decision to go deeper nothing short of terrible. Still his boots carried him forward with his sword out to one side, hazel eyes open and alert. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who woke up here? I really hope this is one of my comrades from the gate and not some witch looking for her next meal. I doubt I would taste any good. Still, I am a captain, and I have a duty to those under me like Daltyn did to me. He took another deep breath to steady his nerves and trudged onward.
The crying was getting both louder and quieter at the same time, some moments it would pick up and others it would drift out. This prospect was more than a little nerve wracking considering it meant one of two things. He was getting closer or it was on the move. The fact that it could easily be both wasn’t calming either. The former captain took painstaking care to ensure his steps were quiet or at the very least not kicking every rock and bumping into things on his way through the cold, dark halls. His eyes had finally adjusted to this place after walking around so long, able to see the bends of corners and not be completely blind when he didn’t stand close to the curiously glowing mushrooms or one of the magical runes that seemed to decorate this crypt. Some of looked like abstract faces and others were hands clasped together or held together in prayer. He hoped it was to ward off evil and undead but with his past experiences he knew not to rely on it. Akarat provides much, but a man’s trial was his own so he could learn and grow.
Perhaps that is what this is? He had a final test before Akarat would allow him to see his family again. The thought was oddly comforting even as he waded through this maze like crypt. Then he noticed something far less so. The crying had stopped.
No longer in those winding halls he was now in a large space, rows and rows of columbaria, housing graves of those of importance or wealth though Daltyn was not really in the position to argue for either side. The ceiling above glittered with glowing mushrooms, a harsh half light given to most of this place, but here there were lamp posts along the paved stone pathways. He had only seen graveyards this extravagant in well off cities like Kingsport when his grandpa needed a young lad with a strong back to help him lug some goods simply unavailable in their small town. He didn’t get to see it up close, only after crossing a bridge and seeing it from over the edge. The reality that something else was definitely here left him disconcerted in spite of seeing the lavishly decorated graves up close.
There was a soft grinding, the sound of something being dragged, then a clang sent ice up Daltyn’s spine and kept the man in place. Heavy metal was being dragged on the floor and as he slowly looked back he saw what exactly was being so noisy. An axe grimey with dubious things being being pulled with each shuffling step by something that was clearly once a man. The cloth around its emaciated form was haggard and rotted much like the corpse, the stench easily enough to make one scrunch their nose, but the sharpness was closer to the chemicals that the coroner kept in his lock box for preserving bodies more than it was putrefaction. Perhaps that was what this was, the risen corpse of some long forgotten noble only to be recounted by this descendants in the general, formal way of saying how long back their bloodline goes.
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He took a deep breath, kept a strong grip on his sword and- what?
The shambling creature kept coming and coming but then it took another turn, down a different path. Daltyn quickly looked around again, seeing nothing but graves and the lamp post he stood next to, the thing shining brightly upon him. His colors weren’t the flashiest and the metal on him could use a good polish but surely that creature wasn’t that blind? Did… did he smell like one of them? Well he could definitely use a bath but he did not believe it was quite that bad. Whatever. It was probably a fluke, and now without that crying to follow he had lost his previous objective. Wandering through a giant tomb wasn’t exactly his forte. As a matter of fact he wished he was back on his farm, before the Khazra got agitated and began laying waste to everything. He shook his head to keep himself from getting lost in poisonous thoughts.Not too soon either as he heard that tell tale shuffling grind but there was something new now in the distance, the clanking of chains.
With a firm grip on his sword he kept to the side of the path, another undead coming up and clearly having Daltyn in its sight but paid him none of what little mind the creature had left. By Akarat’s Divine Shawl how can it not notice me. That’s it, Grandpa didn’t raise a smart boy but he gave me a spine. He moved in brusquely to catch up with the undead and shoved it with fear-infused might. The thing went sprawling far and skidding a bit on the stone, what air it could hold in its decaying lungs coming out in a weak groan. It almost looked pitiful as it struggled to get up, and when it finally succeeded as Daltyn looked on from a now safe distance behind a large gravestone, it shambled on as if nothing happened.
Okay, either the restless dead here aren’t a hostile sort, which is doubtful since the few I’ve seen and avoided have a tendency to carry weapons, or Akarat really REAALLY favors me. Neither of these options seem likely to me, I am just a farmer. He took another deep breath and stepped out, looking for more of these undead as he listened for the chains again. When more undead came, seeming to be a bit more populous he further tested his luck. He stomped his boots like he was a wildebeest, holding his sword so tight if it were a chicken’s neck those bones would have snapped long ago as he walked straight past another walking corpse.
Again nothing happened. He could have sworn he got a quizzical glance at another he tested this on. But surely they were not intelligent enough to be confused. Then again his cousin made the mad Khazra look like geniuses, but still the undead weren’t the sort you attributed to intellectual pursuits; just fodder for nefarious means, minions of evil and darkness. Though he was still on edge he managed to walk past the undead with only one or two doubletakes. Now some that followed him gave him concern, but in time they all went their own way in their mindless patrolling. He had to find the source of the dragging chains, perhaps some poor soul was trapped in here with him. He could use the company and these shambling corpses weren’t much for conversation, just groaning and smelling terrible. They didn’t even care when he nabbed a few small things off them, usually a coin purse or loose jewelry. One of them even had an odd key on them. At least he would be rich when he left this place.