Undead curse overflowing
Further deaths will lead to erosion of self. Sacrifice a boon to gain absolution.
Elia convulsed and hacked her lungs out. She understood now the saying about how the frog in the pot won’t realize he is boiling if you raise the temperature slow enough. The day had started so well, and she had ignored the signs of catastrophe. Though, in her defense, some catastrophes were more avoidable than others.
Some days, Elia would have loved nothing more than to wake up under a roof. Today, just looking at the cave ceiling high above filled her with enough anxiety to rocket-boost her upright. Someone was here.
There’s a man, a dude, a GUY, Sense yelled. He is orange. Orange! AAAAH!
Elia jumped, flying straight over a roofless ruin, and landing right atop it more out of reflex than conscious thought.
I’m me again, she thought. It felt weird, and not just because her body was so… different. The other Elia’s were making it hard to concentrate on being subtle. She could feel them tugging at her head physically now, heard their hushed whispers as they got into arguments about the tiniest of details. But for once, she didn’t mind.
Body-Elia, did you give me control willingly? She asked.
I… I fucked up. I said, it ok!? She sounded more than a little distressed. I just wanted to feel like I was alive again. Prove that even if you decided to cut me off tomorrow, that I existed.
Alive? Sense? That’s MY thing. You don’t get to have it. No one does!
What she was trying to say is that, considering our secure harbor has been toppled again and again, a bit of assurance and normalcy would go a long way.
I did NOT mean any of that. I just… whatever. Go deal with mister candy corn and thank him for saving us or stab him in the dick if he’s evil.
Right. There was that. Problems of the existential variety could be addressed after her basic needs were secured first.
Standing below her was a man. He was orange, mostly due to her new eyesight and lack of visible light. His hands were darker, covered in a powder of sorts. He had the posture and stature of someone who knew how to spell ‘philosophy’ backwards, though all he was wearing was an old loincloth.
He looked like a philosopher someone stuck in a jar and forgot for a couple of centuries.
“Who are you?” Her voice came out with an ashen rasp. She coughed up some water, but that only helped her lungs, not her voice. “Blegh. Test, test. Ssstab. Viciousss. Maliciousss.”
The orange figure rose a hand in an odd greeting. “Ave. I am Pawil, and I once walked among the first of men. My dialogues were open to all, young and old, big and small. I guided them, for I thought myself wise.”
“Huh. So, you’re like Socrates?” She grabbed around for her gear, only to find her sword missing. “Where’s my shit?”
He looked annoyed as he rubbed a piece of his blue hand where one of her hair-snakes had bitten him, as if a lethal dose of poison bothered him as much as an itch. “The creature talks but has yet to show signs of intelligence.”
How uncalled for. Elia squinted, but even with both eyes closed he didn’t appear unarmed. Boons were not readily apparent after all. That chisel could be a weapon of mass destruction. Or it could just be a chisel.
“I’m Elia.”
“You have a name then. Good. Why don’t you come down here so we can talk like civilized people?”
“No.”
The man sighed. “Then I will treat you like the creature you act to be. While I would enjoy a living gargoyle to watch over me as I toil, I would much prefer if we could see eye to eye. Water?”
He gestured to a small rock where he had prepared two cups. Elia looked between him and it, finding it astonishingly easy to balance on the crumbling wall beneath her feet. The claws helped – she could feel them ready to dig into the mortar with the same ease they could cut into meat and bones – but she had also gained a heap of finesse. She wasn’t fully unarmed. And this was the first stranger she had met in weeks that hadn’t tried to kill her.
Speaking of claws…
She tried to imagine her hand as a fork, and her claws as an extension of it’s fingers, but nope, [Cutting Cutlery] didn’t catch.
Slowly, like a wary cat, she climbed down from her spot, and looked around. There wasn’t much to see besides shadows of ruins and the hint of greater constructs in the distant dark.
“The tea is getting cold.”
Elia gulped. Hot water. What a delectable treat. She sat down, and though she had promised herself to wait until he drank first in case of poison, the smell of every drink she could imagine overwhelmed her soon enough. The first cup disappeared into a greedy maw, and she could feel wounds closing, and bruises disappearing from places she didn’t even know could have them.
Pawil observed and refilled her cup from an ebony pot.
“This is bowl water,” she said, smacking her lips. “That implies a bowl.”
“Certainly. I know where it is.”
But he isn’t going to tell us, not yet.
“How’d you get it to stick inside this stuff?”
“The cups are made of outsider skulls. The pot as well.”
Elia looked down at her cup. She drank the second helping more slowly, trying to sneak polite glances at his gaunt face.
He is very pale. Do you think undead can suffer from Vitamin-D deficiency?
He’s a ghost! Ack!
“So. What’s your deal, Pawil? You some sort of challenge I have to overcome to ascend the mountain?”
Pawil frowned. “The belly of the mountain gives you no trials, only punishment. Challenges are for those ascenders blinded by the sun, who walk towards it on the surface, not seeing that it is leading them off a cliff.”
“Ah. Anti-establishment. I can dig.”
He stared at her for a while, then rubbed his forehead. “Language. How I loathe that we can still understand each other, even after thousands of years gone by.”
Elia flexed her fingers, watched the claws jut out and disappear into her round fingertips. “I dunno. Seems pretty convenient to me.”
“Consistent language with barely any drift of meaning or expression over thousand years implies a masterful control over even the basics of human expression. I need not say who has the strings in hand.”
“The gods.” Elia nodded wisely. Then, she raised her cup. “May they have bad things happen to them and stub their toes.”
After a moment of discerning silence, Pawil raised his own. “Perhaps one day, someone will. You are an odd one.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just…” Just what? Awesome is out, after nearly drowning. I accepted my death despite knowing how terrible it would make everyone feel, so I’m not a good girlfriend either. Am I even myself? “I don’t really know who I am.”
Quiet slurping filled the air.
“Perhaps I can help you with finding a purpose.”
That’s not what she meant, dingus.
“You and I share in that we are among those few who voiced our enmity for those who would declare themselves gods with action. You have a bounty, a considerable one.”
Elia drew back, but he made no motions to follow, holding up a hand.
“I care not for souls. I was wronged, and you were too. It is for this reason that I pulled you from the water. We can certainly help each other greatly.”
And if she didn’t, he would withhold where his bowl of respite was. If he could help her in some other way, Elia couldn’t see it. A bowl of respite would be nice, great even, but she really only wanted three things: A place to sleep, some food to eat, and a map to get the hell out of here.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
If he had the latter, he likely wouldn’t be here, stuck in this place so deep beneath everything else.
Finally, Elia sat her cup down. “I appreciate the candor. You want something from me. I want to get out.”
“There is no way out,” he said derisively. “The whole mountain range is hollow. This is Tartazon, land of the unwanted. A prison for eternity.”
Wait, that above wasn’t? But wait, - oooh, we HAVE to go and explore those ruins. There could be so many exciting revelations.
Explore? More like, suffer and crawl. I don’t want to suffer. Danger, that way lies danger. I know it. I feel it.
Elia ignored her other selves, looking around the wide-open space. “Must have taken a lot of digging.”
“Ruthe loves creating. He shoved his first creations, great contraptions in imitation of life down here with us because he was embarrassed. An entire collection of people Worga conquered, and when they rebelled, they were banished down into the depths of the land, along with the monsters, the worms and the–”
“Hol’ up.” Elia stopped him with a raised hand. “I appreciate the rescue, and your water. But I don’t care about manifestos. I am getting out of this place.” And then what? What happens after the frog hops out of the boiling water? “I need your bowl of respite. You need me to do some errand. What is it?”
He didn’t sigh, instead opting to get up and walk among the field of obelisks. Elia followed, more out of curiosity than obligation. There was no water left either, so there was that.
We should not follow.
“I think we should,” she muttered at the newest voice. “But go on, talk some sense into me.”
Bad vibes! He feels like danger, but he looks like an old man. Dissonance means uncertainty means danger means death!
“So, Sense-Elia is afraid of dying?”
Yes! Death hurts. We’re used to it, but that is the worst feeling.
I wouldn’t mind that either, said Body-Elia. She had been silent all this time.
But this is an opportunity. A bowl of respite is a good reward for risk. It is the intelligent choice to follow.
“It’s alright,” she said petting one of her snakes. They felt smooth and warm to her touch. “We’ll make it out of this.”
Did you just pet me? Body-Elia asked. Wrong snake.
“You deserved it. I should have listened to you earlier, up above. You’re a good girl.” She drew back, then felt around for Sense-Elia. Her snake coiled around Elia’s finger, desperate for any support. “And you. I get that you’re worried. I don’t like pain either. But we have to get through this to succeed.”
It never ends though. It’s always on, and on, and on to the next gauntlet, the next decapitation, or maiming, or burnt flesh. You didn’t even bother to ward Sense with a grail shard. I know you don’t care about me as much as others.
Heh, how d’you think Mind feels about that?
I don’t feel, I think. And I think given the circumstances, it was the optimal choice.
Elia swallowed. There was that uncertainty again, gnawing at her confidence. Grit had seen her out of the maze, but only after an eternity spent chipping away at her everything. Even if she could find that same reality-defying determination again, she wasn’t certain it was enough to get her out of this situation.
“One more,” she said. “Missing one more piece.”
She was tempted to just [Psychometry] herself and get it over with. But she had to sacrifice a boon. There would be nothing crueler than to give voice to a part of her only to lose it immediately if her luck was poor.
Pawil finally stopped in a field of obelisks and tombstones reaching through a field far from the original ruins he lived next to. There, among the field of so many dead generations stood the bowl like a marker of the power of the gods, a reminder that even this far away and in exile, they were the ones who had power over life, death, and fate.
Elia could practically feel the hostile air vibrating at the insult to the dead.
“We are here,” Pawil said. “You must be gravely wounded for you to require more than a few cups of this watered-down brew of cerulean. Go on, do your business.”
“I have to give a boon, or the next death will take something greater.”
He looked sad at that. “Even magic is not ours anymore.”
“I mean, I can create flame puffs.” She made fall flame blast,
Pawil only looked sadder. “And what knowledge we had, what knowledge was lost! Conjuration of flame was our pride, songs were written about how it was fire that humans first tamed. Yet now, none know the first sentence, for it was deemed heretical. Think about it, all you ever knew was salt-water and the gods declared it poisonous, of course you would never think to drink from a fresh spring!”
“Uh-huh,” Rye said, listening if only to delay the choice by a few moments.
“Lies,” he rambled, “Lies and deceit all. But when they came to Drama, where all things were not yet tragedy, I saw through it. And after that truth landed me here, I dedicated my life to writing down the lies of the gods, the lies about the sun and the sky, about the red sea and the fate of man to ever be beneath their notice. Did you know gods didn’t create apple-lemons? They are hybrids, of a citrus, a limon, and a pear, and it was by the hands of humanity, of the weak and insignificant mortals that these would find their way even into the silver gardens above. That is my revenge, knowledge and the chalkstone it is etched upon.”
Finally, he seemed to wind down, if only to gulp in breaths. His voice had turned raspy towards the end. He did not seem used to talking.
“We have always been here, after all. Even afore the gods.”
Elia blinked. “Wait, what? There was an inscription in the tunnels up above that said humans came from a piece of an unnamed dead god.”
“Maya-Mort, the twin-faced greater god?” He waved her aside as if that was old news. “They were only the first to be betrayed by the unholy unity of creation and conquest. And remember this: humanity did not come from the dregs of those above. We simply benefited off the bones thrown to us, and even for that the gods grew jealous. And just in case you are doubting my claims, let me show you a secret, a path to circumvent the gods, and throw off the rose-scented shackles for but a moment. Do you have bone shards?”
“Yes. Common through rare.”
“Take the blue ones then, they have the greatest likelihood of success. You will need two at least, three if you want a guarantee. Put them in your hands, and clasp them so.” He put his hands together, a mix between a prayer and a cup. “Now lower your hand into the water and say the following: I offer this bounty to the cerulean water.”
Elia did and felt her hand grow warm. Shards dissolved and seeped out between her fingers, coloring the water a pale sheen of blue.
You have shared Bone shard [Rare] x3 with the cerulean waters
You may choose one boon to ward
Elia blinked. “Only one boon?”
“It is more than most people have. Whichever you choose, that boon will not be lost to you. Though with so many rares, you ought to have gotten more. You seem possessed of poor luck.”
Elia scrunched her nose. Nothing new there. At least she knew exactly which boon to ward.
You have warded Psychometry [Uncommon]
With that, she looked at the bowl and at her boons one last time. And then she offered one and hoped to whoever would listen that it would not be one of Rye’s.
Sacrifice a random boon to regain humanity?
You have offered a boon: Cutting Cutlery [Uncommon]
Undead curse quelled
Elia watched the text float by, felt the hole open in her chest. A single tear left her eyes.
Pawil snorted at the description. “That too is a lie. You are no less cursed now than before, no less human, no more worth. But the gods wouldn’t care to tell, for all they know is that undead do not die, and that one day one may rise that would threaten even them. A curse on those who dam the waters of life to all, and laud themselves as generous for every measly drop they give!”
Now, I have done my part. As for you, I ask but one thing: Go to the ruins and slay the wretched beast defacing the home of my people.”
***
Slay the beast, he said, Body-Elia grumped, making some very sassy snake-wiggles. Do this one thing for me, it is simple. Simple doesn’t mean easy, dammit!
So, I see you have been paying attention to my lectures. Good. It seems we can all learn something from each other. Now Sense, if you could STOP TUGGING ON MY BUTT.
Elia’s snakes hissed at each other. She untangled them with a serene smile. Today’s worries were small ones. Life had taken a sharp turn, going from difficulty ten to eleven to one-hundred. Now, as Elia explored the ruins of Tartazon, she was sitting at a comfortable three-point-eight. Even her scales were a healthy sheen of green, and clean of blood.
The things a safe haven and a bowl of water could do to a girl. The way ahead was clear. If there were too many dregs? She could see them way before they could see her. And when she got a wound from their stone tools that cut through her scales? A quick drink and everything was good was new. Pawil too was a pleasant contrast to everything else, even if he did like to rant. He always seemed to have time for a chat over a cup of water.
She had begun scouting this area out two days ago, getting a feel for the loss of [Cutting Cutlery]. It still hurt to think on, but in the end she could not say that it was a lethal blow. There was less she could do against full armor now, yes, but mobility was much more important. Losing [Frog leap] would have crippled her, as would [Shattered Beauty].
She shook her head. The past was done, the undead curse held at bay. And she still owed Pawil for his secrets. She was on the lookout both for a way out and for signs of what he just called a beast. He never was quite clear on what it was, but Elia managed to tickle a few details out of him.
First, it was unarmed, and walked on two legs.
Second, when it was close, the air smelled like freshly tilled earth.
Thirdly, it was aggressive to all forms of life. This last part was what Mind-Elia had fixated on. Whether the creature liked to roam or stay in one place, few dregs would remain standing in the nearby area.
Silently, she rounded a corner, keeping the wounds on the last corpse in mind. Crushing. That was what it had died to. No sword, no teeth or claws, and certainly not magic. Just raw force, enough to crater a chest.
I feel we’re close. One of the snakes tugged on her head, the most fearful, yet also the most willing to stick its head out.
“How’d you figure that?” Elia asked.
… if I could, I would have peed myself. The walls recoil, the ground speaks hate. There is terror in the air.
Okayyy weirdo. Hey, OG-Elia. If she’s being a pain, just tell me and I’ll whap her good.
Elia smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate that, from both of you. Now, eyes peeled, tongues flicking.”
She left the alleyway filled stuffed with rocks and pots and found herself in an open courtyard surrounded on all sides by houses in a style Elia interpreted as ‘Stone and glass melted by immense heat’. The walls were scarred with great tears, and some of the cobbles were ripped out and overturned. It was as obvious as the sky was blue that this was a place where some shit had gone down, where something terrible lived.
Elia waited for it to show yourself, and waited. And waited.
I think that, after due consideration, this area is safe.
Hell yeah, time for action.
Elia took one step and the pile of junk next to her immediately moved. With a groan and a sob, the largest person she had ever seen rose from it, even a head and a half larger than Brod. Two hands were bound in a block of iron, and its head was encased in a poorly crafted masked helm covered in terrible animalistic faces. As she backed off, Elia’s gaze rose up the creature’s naked body, where thin fur covered an ample bosom and roiled as the muscle beneath came alive.
The woman looked at her, sobbing turning into a feral growl.
You have challenged: Primal Queen Gnawen