Chapter 21: Necropolis

I

“Ahhhhrrrr” the demon screamed, gritting its teeth; goat eyes rolling about wildly. “Enough, enough already. No more!” it protested as I sacrificed another salubrious Aqua Anguis to the spell, increasing the strength of a jet of flame aimed at the restrained hellian’s abdomen.

The screaming and protestations increased in volume but I ignored them, noting frantically, quill scratching across parchment:

…The optimum temperature for a flame to penetrate the hide of a Phometitie appears to be 6.5 scalders.

I looked up, my ears plugged and unable to hear the evil creatures whining.

Correction, somewhere between 6 and 6.5. The former only elicits a reddening of the skin and the beginning of blisters, the latter appears to burn through the outer layers and begins to damage the internals. Should try using twelve sea snakes and one water snail to create the flame spell next time…

I went on, scribbling down every observation I had in regards to my present experiment. My current consciousness was watching the scene from above, a dream. Despite the blocking of my past self’s ears, I could somehow hear every word the creature implored me with, perhaps I always could but chose to ignore them. The claims of a family, a biological impossibility for the denizens of that most lowest plane - I knew, I had tested. The threats that his direct superior would come here and smite me, they never would; weakness was not forgiven among the ranks of demons. The worst were the entreaties to my humanity, which, at the time, I still possessed - in theory. In the moment I was overcome by a lust for knowledge, ravenously testing and recording. It was a state I seemed to find myself in less often these days, then again, I hadn’t yet had the opportunity. Looking at the scene without that mental shield was slightly sickening.

“We never used to care so much. The only thing that really matters is knowledge,” a voice, similar to my own yet more sinister, echoed around the dark void which surrounded the bubble of memory.

“That isn’t true, it was just a mental state, we… I wasn’t like that all the time!” I refuted, calling back to the unknown entity. It didn’t respond. I tried to move, to do anything, but I was stuck - watching the past play out.

A young lad, of about fourteen or fifteen, entered the wetroom. Seeing the demon’s guts flop out onto the floor, he threw up in one of my offal pots. His features were blurred in the remembering.

“Get me the petrovenator,” I ordered, one hand outstretched. I didn’t even so much as look at the apprentice as I picked up what looked like a kidney with the other. I tested its conductivity with a variety of mana types, finding that it may be of some use in healing spells and filtration systems. I snapped the fingers of my extended hand as I moved onto other tests, poking and prodding with the bare skinned appendage, unable to shift my focus from the object of my hunched fascination.

A heavy implement slammed against my waiting hand before the lad spoke up, “I’m leaving, I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“Hmm,” I replied, not able - not willing - to hear. The hazy silhouette threw up his hands and stomped away.

Was I truly so dreadful? I wondered, feeling bad for my past actions. I couldn't even remember the boy’s appearance. He was one in a long line of apprentices I took on, more as a set of spare hands than anything. I failed in my obligation to them, never teaching them anything. Never hearing their questions, I was so wrapped up in my own work. If my master would have seen the way I treated them…

“Why do you feel so bad? This is what we were supposed to be. There is nothing greater than knowledge, nothing should stand in the way of our attaining it,” the voice boomed, rising in energy towards the end - overcome with the fervour my research so often elicited. The image faded and I was left in darkness - the words echoing around me.

☠

I awoke to the sound of bird calls, this time in a singular state of mind. Although the barrier the gnome’s device had erected around the remains of the fort had blocked the wind, it apparently didn’t prevent sound from coming in. I wanted to leap from my bed and begin investigating immediately but I held myself back - more aware than ever of how obsessed I could become.

I took the time to examine the decaying room. Through the main-hole I could see, in the dawn light, that the wind had died down. The trees no longer bent in supplication to the storm. On the bedside table was a wooden mug, filled with water. Next to it was a bowl of stew. I dipped a finger in, it was cold. As I shifted in my covers to do so, a light chirping could be heard, coming from the foot of the musty, rain stained bed. I looked down, towards my toes and saw two feathery arms crossed over my blankets. Their orange hue gave light to their owner. Sure enough, when I sat up to have a look, I could make out the motherly chicken-headed woman who had been so kind to me when I was not in complete control of my mental faculties.

I opened my mouth to say something but two things stopped me: she had clearly been looking after my vessel and I should let her get her rest, that, and the smell which wafted forth from my mouth was rancid. The meat I ate to maintain my living cover in front of Orlando had clearly gone off, the act having done little good in the end.

The revelation did give me some idea as to how long I had been unconscious, and for that, at least, I was grateful. The temporary confusion and proceeding period of unwakefulness was not a good sign. There was only one thing that could have caused it, a degradation of my soul. Whether the decay was acute or chronic I didn’t know, nor did I have any way to really find out. I could experiment with my Soul Manipulation but it is always smarter, and safer, to learn from an expert in the field. The study of the soul had been outlawed in my home world, and thanks to my master’s warnings that wasn’t a line I had breached in life. Perhaps I should pay a visit to Woden’s?

Cuckeling snores brought me back to my present predicament, the festering stink within my belly. Intending to deal with it, I carefully extricated myself from the bed. While the lady’s arms and head where rested on the rotting bed, the rest of her sat in perhaps the only intact wooden chair remaining in the fort. Beside it was a half constructed blanket made from some kind of plant fibre, knitted together with makeshift wooden needles. Seeing it, I felt even more indebted to the woman, recalling how I had treated those who had helped me in the past - I sought to repay her in whatever way I could.

I exited the room, at the highest point of Fort Far-Reach, down a spiral stone staircase. My hand traced along the wall as I walked, coming free as I passed the point where the wall no longer existed. I had to be careful as the steps were still purple with acidic poison from the Gribbiting Ropperta’s attacks. The soles of my shoes, the only still intact item of clothing I owned, sizzled when they came in contact with the stuff, so I passed through quickly.

The main hall was empty but I could hear the steady ring of hammer on steel echoing about the walls as I entered. The noise coming from the courtyard. Before I investigated, I took a detour to the privy - a small room with a hole that would have looked out over the village that once rested at the base of the hill, before it was overrun. Lacking a knife, I cut myself open using Wind Blade and, with practiced hands, removed my stomach. Holding the organ over the latrine I sliced it open with a second use of the spell, letting the putrid contents fall into the wilds below. I then put everything back in place and used Necrotic Healing to conclude the operation.

Feeling much refreshed, I left the toilet and continued through the hall to the marshalling yard. In the centre of the grassy square, in the burned out remains of the overlarge bonfire, was the Dwarf who had decided not to leave in search of home with the others. Fettler, I believe he was called, was stood over a raised fire pit, made from the same stone as the defences. The rocks that were used to lift the fire off the burned and ashy ground seemed familiar, they stayed together but didn't have anything holding them that way. Fettler was bare chested, much the same as myself, swinging a hammer down on the cherry coloured adze of a pick mattock; using the edge of the stone fire container as a striking surface.

“Get me that bucket,” he ordered upon seeing me, pointing with his eyes to a pail of water that was just beyond his reach. Intrigued by what he was doing, I obliged; my eyes fixed on the metal work. It was a field I long held an interest in but never had the time to pursue. When I placed it where indicated Fettler lifted the tool, eyeing the edge, ensuring it was straight, before quenching the hot steel.

As steam rose, the Dwarf sighed with contentment, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of a sootstained hand, blackening his forehead.

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“Thanks lad,” he said distractedly, as his eyes remained on the metal.

“What are you up to?” I asked, curious as to the purpose of the implement.

“I bent the cutting head of my pick and I needed to repair it,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“I meant more in a general sense, why didn’t you leave with the others?”

“Ohh, that,” he replied, pulling the cooled metalwork from the liquid and knocking off the slag with a brass brush. “Well,” he began, looking around conspiratorially. All that could be heard was the early morning bird song and far off cries of returning monsters. “There be good ore in these parts, I have a nose for it,” he said, leaning in and tapping the side of his nose to emphasise the last. I was out searching a nearby cave, that’s hows I broke my pick. Stone round here’s hard as vulcan’s hammer.” He struck the side of his makeshift forge to demonstrate his point, leaving a ringing in my ears.

“There’s a cave near here?” I asked, a thought burgeoning.

“There’s several, I reckon there used to be rivers running all under these lands,” he responded. I took a moment to mull over my idea and returned to the previous line of questioning.

“There may be ‘good ore’ in the area but that isn’t really an explanation in and of itself. Do you even know where you are? How would you get back to your clan or family or whatever if you did find anything, where in the middle of the wilds, it shan't be long before the monster’s start poking around again, now that the fight is over. How long has it been since I fell unconscious?” I added as an afterthought.

“Three days,” he replied before coming to my first question. “Truth be told, I don’t really haves a home to go back to, I’m much like Darna in that regard,” he said with strange emotion behind his words. After I looked at him for a time, willing him to go on, he coughed and continued, “turns out the clan doesn’t appreciate my approach to work, ‘it’s dangerous,’ ‘stick to the established methods,’ they do be saying. Load of old codswallop,” he huffed.

“Right… and what is your job?” I asked with a thought to settlement-building.

“I be an Architect,” he said with a broad grin as he hoisted the still smoking tool over his shoulder, seeming not to notice its heat.

“An experimental Architect?” I asked, not quite believing what I was hearing.

“Of course,” he guffawed, “there’s always room for improvement, I’m not going to let a few collapsed houses stop me. Or that school, or that hospital, or that heptagonal mineshaft, or…” he went on, listing failed designs. I felt a sort of guilty kinship with the dwarf, I too often sought knowledge no matter the cost but I was beginning to reconsider my position… if only a little.

“Okay,” I said, cutting him off,” would you mind showing me that cave?”

“Sure,” he replied, not put out by the interruption, “I was just heading back there to give that node another crack.” He whistled and the pile of rocks he had been using as a makeshift forge and anvil began to move. It untangled itself, resolving into a very familiar shape. I used Identify:

Name: Rubble Rouser 1

Title: Gareth

Race: Earth Golem

Class: Golem: Lv.24

Age: 4 days

Skills: 0

Spells: 0

Attributes:

Strength: 56

Agility: 7

Charisma: 0

Perception: 5

Willpower: 0

Intelligence: 0

Wisdom: 0

“How are you doing that?” I asked, surprised to see one of the Rubble Rousers still moving. I had thought them all to have been destroyed by the tide of Ba-Shh. Looking at the creature with my arcane eye I could see that it was still being animated by my mana.

“Never met a stone who said no to me,” he replied with a wink, spinning the mattock, which had been busted by just such a rock, over his shoulder obliviously. Since he wasn’t willing to be forthright, I decided to see for myself. I asked the golem to raise its left arm, and it did. I asked it to jump, and it did, shaking the ground and nearly causing me to stumble. Fettler laughed, his legs steady.

“That’s your pet I take it,” he said as I continued my tests.

“Yes,” I replied with distracted annoyance. “Could you order him to jump,” I asked. Fettler shrugged and did so, the golem took a second but then did as ordered. It was baffling, I had expected some trick of mana, a thin strand connecting the two, or maybe some power behind his words, but there was nothing. The creature should only obey me and yet it seemed he hadn’t been lying, he truly did have a way with stone.

Eventually, I grew tired of the fruitless endeavour and we set off for this cave. On the other side of the courtyard, by the crack used as an entry point, there remained the carcass of the bronze bull, severed in neat halves by a vertical strike. One of the hooves was missing. I shot a look at the dwarf and he retrieved the bronze brush he had been using earlier.

I noted the dull purple band, which Maniae had claimed would be my prize for surviving, was still in place. I was surprised it was still there, I would have thought either Orlando or the enterprising dwarf might have taken it. I bent to retrieve it.

“Careful,” the dwarf warned, seemingly having warmed to me after finding I had an earth golem under my command.

“Why?” I asked, frozen in my half bent state. I saw no traces of mana about the thing, neither did my Soul Manipulation or Life Sense raise any flags.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Fetter responded, unwilling to divulge any details. I steeled myself and touched the crown. As soon as my undead flesh came in contact with the metal I felt like I was being watched, judged. It took a moment before the feeling passed and I was exempted with some reluctance.

Congratulations:

* You have completed The Trial + 1000 Xp (Xp withheld until Subclass is chosen)

* You gained The Crown of Forgotten Whispers

* Relationship with Maniæ’s followers has risen from Hatred to Barely Tolerable

I heard the cackle of an insane woman, whisked along on the wind, when I read the last remark; somehow conveying that I had been released from a deal I never agreed to.

Fettler made a disappointed noise when he saw me retrieve the crown and place it in my near-full spatial bag for further examination. As soon as it disappeared, the feeling of being watched left with it and it was as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

“That thing zapped me every time I got too close. I tried everything but it wouldn’t let me near,” Fettler complained.

“What can I say, I’ve never met anything metal that can say no to me,” I parroted with a mocking wink. Fettler laughed goodnaturedly and slapped me on the back, nearly sending me spinning.

With that dealt with, we continued our trek to this cave. It only took five minutes of walking through the dense forest, my Life Sense peeled for threats, before we came to a stop at a clearing. A pool lay before us, from one side a stream trickled down on the other a waterfall filled the basin. We had to skirt behind the loud water feature to come to a tunnel, worn into the rock. The Rubble Rouser - named Gareth by Fettler - was too large and uncoordinated to follow so was left to stand guard at the mouth to the passage. We only had to scoot in 30 feet before a roughly circular chamber opened up. It was getting dark this far in but that didn’t seem to bother either of us.

“There she is,” Fettler said, pointing to a sparkling blue crystalline ore in the centre of the chamber, scuff marks left in the stone around it showing where the dwarf had tried to get the thing free.

Fettler sighed, "Truth be told, I don’t think it's just the stone.”

“You don’t?” I asked, kneeling down and examining the clearly magical metal.

“No, something like this would count as belonging to a domain. I tried to claim this land but I had no luck. Probably belongs to some stuck-up noble somewhere who can’t even use it,” he said, his words seemed defeated but his actions anything but. Just as he raised his pickaxe to give extracting the ore another crack I laid a hand upon his arm, staying his swing, and saying:

“I think I can help, if you’re willing to do something in exchange,” a broad grin blossoming in time with my earlier thought, now fully matured.