Rye, captain of the guard and intrepid saver of things big and small, was having a hard time living up to her name. It wasn’t easy convincing people that she was bravely retreating and not scrambling past the barracks, armory, kitchen, kennel, and kitchen again like the hounds of hell were after her. The dogs on her tail were normal undead dogs, normal enough to make her sprout wings.
Elia was still only halfway sober. Rye would have preferred if she were still knocked out cold.
She bravely ran away~
“You’re supposed to be helping me!”
So bravely ran away~
“AAAH!”
When canines reared their ugly head, she gave an ugly wail and fled – duck!
She nearly kissed a heavy blade that blasted a chunk of stonework past her rear and decided not to look back at whatever undead decided they wanted a bite of her too. She finished channeling a bolt and flung it recklessly over her shoulder.
Her essence guided the shot into a chandelier which crashed to the floor, providing a moment of much needed respite from her pursuers. Her lungs were on fire, her nose a bloody mess and after sneaking around for an hour only to be caught by an unfortunately placed hound, she had no clue where she even was. Worst of all, her cape was a mess, the bottom frayed and tattered from too many close calls. This castle was way too big and worst of all, every single person inside was out to get her.
You have gained: Soul x56
Bonus points! Wow, I think you killed a dog.
“THAT MEANS THEY’RE RIGHT HERE! OH MY GRUG, OH BEANS, ELIAAA, DO SOMETHING!”
Go left. The other left!
Rye ran left as far as left would take her, stumbling up circling stairs until beyond a doorway the cool wind whipped against her bloody face. She turned in place, nearly slipped, and slammed the heavy oaken door behind her. It shook as dogs and dregs tried to bash it down from the other side.
Rye? Rye, you gotta keep running.
“I-I can’t. I’m done.” The last thing she could do was lean against the door and pray they didn’t break it down on top of her. As she looked up at the static sky, she recognized Lim’s tower, perfectly positioned to pummel her location with pointy projectiles.
She was sitting in the same garden-courtyard as before. She had run in a circle. Captain Rye knew she wasn’t suited for this type of adventure. Captain Rye had failed.
The door shook once more. It felt like hours passed during which she pressed her full weight against it. Two heavy impacts nearly broke it open, but oak was oak. By the time she had caught her breath the undead horde had dispersed, simply having forgotten what they were doing.
Gingerly, she hoisted herself onto her two legs and staggered over to drink from the bowl of respite.
*Gong*
Over a few sips she felt her nose realign as well as something shift in her foot. How uncomfortable, knowing that she had broken something and had barely felt it. If she had, it would surely have caused her to trip and perish.
“I don’t think the adventuring life is for me, Elia,” she said.
Whaaat? Nooo… Rye, girl, brain bud, you did fiiine. Great even! You calmly assessed the situation and made the tactical decision to capitalize on your speed and endurance to delay any further engagements indefinitely.
“I ran away. Captain Rye isn’t someone who’d run like a headless chicken.”
Sometimes, life is all about avoiding life.
A note to herself: never ask Elia for life advice.
Also, while you were scouting around, I used my roaming hand to snag us some fine-ass loot. C’mon, show it, gimme gimme.
Rye sighed. At least one person around here was predictable, if not reliable. She reached into her backpack, pulling out one unfamiliar trinket after the other. When did Elia manage to snag all these things?
Deck of cards
A deck of cards, well-used and slightly spotty.
“This?”
No, the other one.
Lockbox
A wooden lockbox made of fine stoneoak. Pick the lock, or use brute force, risking the valuables no doubt hidden inside.
She eyed the swerving filigree carved into the box. “This looks pretty valuable. We should put it back.”
Oh, and have the undead knights delight in a physical, real world loot box? Me thinks not. But that’s for laaater. I meant that jar. Yes, that one.
Jar of dried tomatoes
Talking tomatoes were among the finer selection of the gods' endeavors to shape the world, though some claim they simply stem from a hidden grove within the dark forest. Such dissent is sacrilege and opens the soul to suspicious inquiry.
They were shriveled little things, pitiable even by the standards of normal dried vegetables and slash or fruit. The sight reminded her of life at home, with a good portion of the harvest season spent dining on the very fruits and slash or vegetables of their own labor.
The sight also inspired a unique disgust, especially when she knew what Elia would demand next.
Hell yeah, actual food. Now, open up and get in mah belly.
Rye pinched her nose and reached for a tomato. “Worga protects.”
One torturous meal later (she only retched twice) and Rye found herself mulling over what to do next. They needed to ascend the castle and that dangerous smiling goop knight was in their way. He was best left to Elia, or simply avoided like the roc. Going up would have to wait. Elia was in good enough shape to hold a sword but holding was not equal to wielding.
If only the three legionnaires were around. They would help, for sure.
“Do you think it would be wise to head back to Crossroad Temple and ask for help – ow, ow, OW.” The oath tattoo grew tight around her hand. “I-I’m not running away, I just… want to find another way. I’ll stay in the castle, a-alright?”
The pressure ceased as quickly as it had begun. This was a nasty oath curse, restrictive in its vagueness.
“I’m on my own. Elia, where to next?”
Weeell, we can’t take the keep. You can’t, rather. Too difficult. Sorry.
With a sigh, she admitted as much.
“Fairytales and theatre always made adventures look fun. You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself at times, but I… I’m just afraid.” She stirred the healing water in idle circling motions. “I bet I’m a big letdown to you. A real bummer.”
What? No, no you are not… Ryyye, I have spent liiiteral decades fighting my way through odds against all reason, I am not disappointed if you can’t manage the same after under a week of on and off complications. And if anything appears I don’t think you can handle, I’ll take caaare of it.
“… swear that you mean it. Swear it.”
Uh, isn’t swearing the thing that got me in trouble in the first place?
“I was testing you.” She managed a wan smile. “Now I know that you’re taking oaths serious.”
And now I know that you know. Knowledge abounds. Now c’mon, let’s get that bread.
The courtyards atop the high wall of the keep had few avenues that didn’t circle back into goop knight territory, but the wall was long and full of opportunity. It was tall too, tall enough that the siege towers and forward portion of Glenrock Castle looked like toys one might hold in the palm of one’s hands.
“Do you also feel like the biggest and smallest person in the world when looking down?”
I visited the Hoover Dam once. Gave me the same vibes.
Rye on the other hand never felt more unsure of herself. “I wonder if the people living up here even thought of themselves as the same kind that lived down below.”
I mean, they’ve got trees and flowers to mix up the drab rock and stuff.
“Hm.” Rye hm-ed as she moved along the wall. Small patches of grass and sparse trees dressed in colors of autumn ran across the bending heights, a trunk rising up every thirty feet before the walls met the sheer cliff face to each side of the narrowing pass. A great tower melded into the mountainside, Rye craning her neck to confirm that it reached up to the very peak.
This was not Lim’s little tower built as an accessory to some building. No, this edifice was monumental, a standalone remembrance to the heights which the people before the empire had dared grasp at. It was a wizard’s tower, or a conjurer’s if one preferred the academically correct nomenclature and Rye had positively devoured every snippet of information while enjoying Arvale’s prosperous bathing culture.
The towers were a relic of bygone ages when those who studied magics could and would demand anything from food to servitude and sacrifices from all they could lay their eyes on due to a technicality in the wording of pre-empyreal law. They were tyrants and local despots, willed to cruelties if only to uphold that reputation and prevent judicial reform, though it inevitably came with the consolidation and birth of the Empire. Nowadays, conjurers only had two paths ahead: study in cramped lycea and remote temples or be sent to the frontiers to support the legions in their battle with forest monsters and worse things.
C’mon, you can’t tell me you’re not curious what’s on the inside.
As hard as she had been burnt, that dream, that itch was coming back. If true adventure lay a step ahead, she would never find out if she stopped here. With a flex of her arms, she felt how relaxed, how energized her muscles were after a single sip of the water. She could travel the entire world like this in one sitting, of that she was sure. A few steps more couldn’t hurt then, could they?
“Alright. But only for a little bit. A little adventure.” She grabbed her sword and secured her gear. “Let us penetrate this edifice of forbidden knowledge and plunge its depths for greatness, for riches, for maidens!”
Suure, just remember: You can pull out wheneeever you like.
They both devolved into graceless giggles. Of one mind and manner at last.
Slowly, she made her way from tree to tree, taking large detours around any corpse that could just as well be a sleeping dreg. A quick glance over the parapets showed her the exact route she’d taken; the front gate and the courtyard of the Fane-Eater, the rows of walls growing ever more broken the greater the distance to Glenrock castle, and the smallest hint of a path snaking up to disappear towards the Crossroad Temple currently out of sight.
“We really did come far, didn’t we?”
The bird isn’t down there.
“Hm?”
I said: THE BIRD ISN’T DOWN THERE IT COULD BE ANYWHERE WE HAVE TO RUN OH MY GOD AAAAH!
While Rye wasn’t filled with Elia’s all-consuming Ornithophobia (a very serious illness where people thought birds were real), she snuck towards the tower with as much haste as was reasonable.
A single, possibly imagined beat of wings turned reasonable haste into ‘as fast as humanly possible’, with no regard for discretion. She zoomed past a garden filled with dried petunias and poppies, trampling flowers as she rushed quick and quicker. More and more dregs stirred in her wake, but they were slow, so, so slow compared to the knights. Before they could figure out left from right, she had already closed the door of the tower behind her, a muttered prayer of gratitude on her lips.
If the outside looked big, the inside was made for giants. Wooden struts the size of tree trunks and ancient arches ran off of a central pillar of carved stone, though Rye focused more on the remnants of what had once been wooden floors, now rotten to reveal a singular, precipitous fall.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Looks like it goes all the way down to the ground floor. If you ever die in a place like this, don’t do it on one of those unreachable struts.
“I’ll be sure to aim for the longest fall.” Rye said with a flat voice. Her stomach twisted at the thought. “I’m Captain Rye. Captain Rye fears no danger.”
Attagirl! Now you’re thinking with souls in mind. Also, shards. We’re getting close to a rare boon, brain bud. Paradise lies ahead.
Weird. Rye was only seeing worm-eaten stairs filled with holes.
A nerve-wracking ascent and a lot of sweat later, Rye reached the top where they ended in the first room with an intact floor, mainly because it was carved into the cliff face itself.
Rye walked past a bookcase, then over a toppled one, then through a bookcase that had been seemingly cleaved down the middle more cleanly than was humanly possible. She definitely found the conjurer’s study, though they must have either left in a hurry, or were made to leave by force.
The more she looked at the maps of the night sky and horribly faded constructions of the movement of certain stars, the more she felt… disappointment.
Where were the magical lights, the exotic pets, the crystal bobs and potions of love, laughter, and linguistic expertise? It was just books and maps and diagrams with scribbles leading from one straight to another. It was a cave of a madman, albeit one madly in love with mathematics. She couldn’t make tails or heads of most of the writing – mostly because it was scribbled in barely legible shorthand – though she recognized the sequence of notable celestial objects. Strange, she was familiar with these but the names just wouldn’t come to her.
Does this actually make aaany sense to you or do you just enjoy looking smart?
“Hey, I understand this quite well. See, this here is the feathered lion, this the pool of… tears, this is the, the… this is… I…”
All this running and the pressure was making her develop a cold headache. She dabbed her nose and the glove coming away bloody where a club had smashed it in an hour before. The healing water was not as all-powerful as Elia made it out to be.
Hey, look over there.
Her arm pointed towards a collection of alchemical bits and bobs sorted in unlabeled jars. Pots of cast iron, tin and baked clay held powdered reagents and shriveled remains of plant matter, though the assortment was rather frugal compared to the moth-eaten literature. Her focus was torn back to the scrolls. She would rather not let Elia find something to shove in her mouth again. She knew this constellation, she was sure of it. She was this close to an epiphany.
Brrr, you feel like it’s getting a bit cold in here?
“No.” She wiped the blood from her glove. A scattering of drops hit a tattered scroll absolutely covered in astrological symbols and calculations that went on and on and on. Easily fifteen feet of… of what? Of a record of the blue branch constellation? Or maybe, maybe it was a magical spell disguised as something else.
She had to know. Had to read on, had to–
Boop.
Scholar’s Scroll
Scroll containing conjurations of the scholars of Yorivale. Those born with a weak spirit are fated to never gain insight into the art of conjuration though through rigorous repetition, near anyone may learn to conjure patterns of the basic strata, as this scroll assures.
“You really know how to take away the suspense in things,” she said while noting how much of a mess she was making.
And you were staring motionlessly for at least a solid minute. But hey, good find. Also, I haven’t used [Psychometry] on nearly enough things. Let me boop.
In favor of not staining the scroll, it went into her bag. She made doubly sure it was not in range of anything that could spill or smear. It was indeed quite the find and possibly worth a lot, though the thought of selling it came more as a silly thought.
No, she would use it for herself. She had one spell after all and wasn’t afraid of self study. If she learned the basics, what other wonders could she work?
Hey, what’s that?
Rye pushed the beakers and pots aside and lo, there was a pearl easily the size of an apple hidden beneath a rotten tome. It swirled with wafting, blue-colored sand, beckoning her with what Rye was certain were just imagined shapes and whispers.
Boop.
Essence of Yewen
Contains the essence of Conjurer Yewen. Conjurers study the shapes in the stellar seas and many bind themselves to globes of polished ice, exchanging a part of themselves to preserve both soul and body.
Huh. The more you know.
“Wait,” Rye squinted, thinking. “Is this the marble that one undead was blabbering on about? The scholarly one?”
Uh, sure? Sorry, but who are you talking about again?
“The one undead, from the temple. The babbly one, you know who.”
Yeeeah, no, what are the odds? Even if it were, I don’t see whyyy we should give it for free.
“Because we’re nice.” She pocketed the orb before sifting through the piles of scrolls, hoping to find more. “I’m nice. Captain Rye helps all.”
Woop-dee-doo. If our souls ever get weighed against a feather, I bet having given a man his pebble will make all the difference. Real philanthropist over here.
A loud slam shook the tower, and a banshee shriek filled the air. Rye immediately hid under the table as a shadow loomed beyond the walls, blotting out an entire floor’s worth of cracks in the masonry as it clambered along with grinding steps. She watched in horror as a featureless white eye peeked through an arrow slit on the far wall, then retreated. The next shake tossed a few containers off the table, releasing a foul odor as they ate their way through the strewn about books.
It’s the bird! We need to move, it knows we’re here, IT WANTS OUR SOULS!
“No, no, no! Why me, what did I do to deserve this, whyyy?”
A hand slapped her across the face.
“D-did you just slap me?”
You’re welcome. Now, see those struts? They reach down all the way to the floor below. Do a mario and wahoo and yippie your way down there. You’ll see, we’ll be dandy-o.
A glance down the open structure left her stomach a churning mess.
“Right.” She closed her eyes. “I am Captain Rye. I am an ocean. A calm, gentle place.” The tower shook once more and she shut her eyes even tighter. “I have boots. Boots will keep me safe.”
She stowed her sword and staff, tightened her belt, and eyed the first jump. A six-foot drop on a wooden beam loomed ahead, one foot making the difference between hitting solid ground and hitting solid ground with agonizing delay.
She measured the distance twice, waited for a lull in the quakes and jumped. Wood greeted her feet just as she thought about how insane this idea was. Even the split second of free fall was enough to make her heart race towards a stroke.
Next one, over to the right.
“I know!” Another deep breath. “I know. Don’t rush me.”
Sure, because I’m the one rushing you, not the several ton stone bird outside. At least the huge ass tower won’t fall over, even from that much.
The next jump followed, a nine–foot drop.
She landed with both feet and the beam creaked. After freezing for a solid half minute, she moved on to the next one. And then the next. And the next.
Whoever built this place sure was a fan of wasting space.
A complicated jump was up next: An eight-foot leap down over half as wide a gap. The alternative: a simple twelve-foot drop, with a chance to catch herself at fifteen should she miss.
Being a fan of intact ankles, she braced her legs and jumped for the closer one. She landed right as the tower shook, her right foot hitting wood while her left missed completely. She slammed against it, failed to wrap her arms around it and fell.
A moment passed as the rumbling quieted down. She cracked an eye open when she didn’t feel herself go splat. Her cape had saved her, snagged in a rent of the wooden beam. It was also choking her and at that point she pondered whether she had done something to anger the gods.
It had to be after she died, because of something Elia did that they were both paying for. After all, the gods wouldn’t punish a model prima, not for nothing.
For a tense moment, the floor seemed to come closer as her field narrowed to the only thing holding her up. Her nerves didn’t like this one bit. The beam concurred. A sudden crack and it sagged in the middle, thin strips of wood holding it together for a few more seconds.
Straight down!
“T-the clasps!” They were stuck, unwilling to open under the pressure.
The beam creaked again. Rye was out of time and in a brief bid for desperation, she nearly fumbled the petal knife, but caught it at the last moment and cut herself free. She hit a wide strut with too much force, but it was wide enough for her to roll along its length.
You alright?
“M-my cape…” she whined. “Ow.”
Her mouth tasted of age-old wood and her left ankle graced every movement with a tender pain. But she was alive. Bless the gods. “Elia? I think… I might have dropped your sword.”
If there was one thing that could have increased her shame, it was the deafening clatter of steel shattering on the stone floor after a thirty meter drop.
“S–sorry… I’m a, a… a total screw up. I–“
Elia’s annoyance was more than validated this time.
It’s… whatever. I’m used to not having fun stuff for long.
As Rye wiped away tears filled with wooden dust and shame, she looked to the right. There lay another corpse, hung across the strut’s edge like a towel left to dry. At least breaking her spine would have spared her from this humiliation. Then again, not dying from an unplanned fall had its upsides. “L-looks like we’re luckier than some.”
And Quibbles remains unsquished. I commend thee. If he had been squished, I would have flung us over the edge.
Rye laughed nervously. Elia totally was one hundred percent serious. Rye could imagine an endless number of horrible scenarios where death by her own hand would have been preferable had she been stuck in the maze for decades. She wasn’t sure that even after that long she could have mustered the courage. She never would have, likely, and never would now.
With a groan, Rye pushed herself up, rubbing her eyes as she could see the next landing spot this time.
Rye, I know you’ve been avoiding this, but please for the love of your favorite god or goddess, check if that guy has anything useful on his body.
A reluctant glance was given to the corpse. “I think that’s more of a she.”
He, she, they, everyone turns into spaghetti at terminal velocity. Elia possessed an arm, snipping in front of her face in a way that was seriously not helping her concentrate. I’m serious, Rye. Anything the dead have won’t help them more than it will us.
Rye knew she was right, just as hard as she believed she was wrong. An agonizingly long time went by as she simply stared at the dried remains of a once-person. The roc must have scared her too, or the intermittent shudders did her in.
Think of it as a gift. A torch, passed from one undead to another. She died so you could live. Be grateful she died here and not at the bottom
As she thought, her guilt was not going away anytime soon. But it wouldn’t be the first time she acted against her proper judgement. Rye approached the dead woman, whispered a prayer, and searched through her few pouches.
You have gained: Wyckwax x1
You have gained: Soul shard [Common] x2
You have gained. Nuptial Offering x1
See? You can do it if you try. I’m proud of you.
Those few words sent her stomach into a flutter. She was not supposed to feel happy for robbing a corpse. She closed the corpses eyelids and pocketed the feather with care. “Bless you, whoever you were. May you find peace within our shining sun.”
The rest of the descent was plagued with the same difficulties as before, though none proved lethal to her continued progress. After an eternity spent gauging distances and making perilous hops, the cold floor appeared as such a blessing she would have knelt down and kissed it. Instead, she nearly slipped as the floor had that icky film of oil clinging to it like in every part of this godforsaken keep.
She found the longsword but it was trashed, the blade broken in three places. What a wonderful day this was turning out to be. She had had enough adventure and this time she was serious, though she remained too nervous to sleep and the more she thought on it, the more dignity prevented her from burdening Elia with hauling them out of this mess too.
After her short rest was over, she followed a stairway further down. A horrible stench met her on the way, only growing in intensity as a hallway without a single bit of light yawned ahead, two torches like pinpricks the only sign of light in the far distance.
Always hallways and stairs, stairs and hallways. Can’t they come up with more innovative ways to get from A to B? How about elevators? Portals? Slides and ladders?
“I want to go home,” Rye groaned.
… yeah. I want to go to your home too. Do you think your family would accept me as an adoptive nineteenth child? I can behave if they feed me, I promise.
“They sure didn’t mind adopting an eighteenth,” Rye muttered. “But at the very least they’d treat you like an honored guest, as payment for bringing me home safely.”
Huh. Neato.
They had found the castle’s dungeon and every cell had corpse upon corpse shoved in it, people pickled in their own filth as they were piled high like the most unholy human sandwiches. None were alive, most looked dried instead of rotten. Undead. Everywhere she looked, there were always undead. On the roads, in the fields, in the moat, the castle and the dungeon. Something was very, very wrong with this place, maybe even with the entire northern half of the empire.
She really, really didn’t want to think about what she’d do if the south looked just the same.
Numbly, she made her way towards the light, her only hope for a way out. She was dead-quiet, trying her hardest not to whimper at the smacking lips and chittering squeaks that came from the darker corners. Eyes the size of her own staring back where giant rats feasted on leathery remains. It was better not to look, better to not even think about anything but the two torches dancing ahead.
Of course, the rats had a mind of their own and a keen taste for fresher cuisine. A group of three squeezed between the bars, incisors the size of daggers chattering away.
“Aw m-m-man.” They were almost the size of a dog and surely had an appetite fit for two. “I’m not tasty! I’m undead, too! Ack, no, go away! No, not my boots!”
C’mon, they’re just rats. Easier to beat than dogs even. Kill them.
It didn’t make them any less threatening, nor did it rouse excitement for what Rye knew she had to do. Hesitantly, she drew her hefty knife and sent a few polite swishes in their general direction.
“Away. Shoo, shoo! I’m Captain Rye, I’m an ocean, I’m not afraid!”
But Rye was not a captain without her cape and neither were the rats impressed by her menacing petal knife, nor by the bonks she liberally dished out with her staff. Without the time to conjure a bolt, one lunged forward, eager for a dinner of hamstrings a la Rye. Its teeth met her sabatons just as the heavy blade sank into its neck entirely by reflex and accident. There was an ugly crack, and scraping she could too closely feel.
Terrible, horrible, disgusting.
You have gained: Soul x26
See? They’re worth fuck all. Now slaughter them! Drive them before their city walls and let them watch their homes burn.
“I think I’ll accept a peaceful retreat,” she yelled, her voice shrill as another refused to let go of the tip of her boot. “Go! Away! Go! Away!”
You have gained: Soul x22
More came. Every second spent standing was murder on her knees, every second spent fighting murder on her heart.
You have gained: Soul x35
You have gained: Soul x25
You have gained: Soul x29
“Why won’t you stop!? I-I’m dangerous!”
You have gained: Soul x36
You have gained: Soul x31
You have gained: Soul x30
You have gained: Soul x21
You have gained: Soul x22
You have gained: Soul x80
Oh, that was a fat one!
You have gained: Soul x30
You have gained: Soul x21
You have gained: Soul x25
“WHY MEEE!?”
You have gained: Soul x22
You have gained…