The Pillar was much closer than anyone was expecting when the crew woke up. The spatial inconsistencies of the Down Below had been charitable, and Salamin said that they would arrive at Tragnil in under an hour.
Omet followed the captain into the command room near the head of the Potirangi, mainly because they wanted to know how one was supposed to command a giant flying fish monster, but also because they had a few questions about the destination. They and their companions were shockingly in the dark about where they were actually hitchhiking to.
The command room was surprisingly small, all things considered. A rectangular slit in the wall at the front provided a windshield-esque view of the view in front, except sans windshield. Directly in front of the view was a raised pedestal, the top of which was covered in what looked like tiny, lavender-colored hairs, which were currently indented into a straight line. A couple of spots to either side of the line in the middle slowly slid down the pedestal, which seemed to correspond with the mountains passing them by. Three chair-shaped mounds formed out of the floor in front of the pedestal.
The wall on the left was dominated by some kind of map of the Down Below. A large circle labeled ‘P’, seemingly representing the Pillar, formed the middle, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of tiny dots, which became fewer and further between towards the edges of the map, eventually fading out altogether at a seemingly random and variable distance from the center. Next to the map scale appeared to be some kind of formula that Omet did not have the education nor mental capacity to understand.
After walking in, Salamin checked a spot on the map just below the Pillar, then looked at the passing mountains. “Yeah, we’re good.” She placed her finger on the line in the middle of the pad, then traced a new line which curved very slightly to the right.
She turned around to see Omet leaning on the door frame, the flap of fabric covering it leaning to one side. After no initial greeting, Salamin decided to start the conversation. “Mornin’. You have a nice rest?”
“Mmph.” Omet tried to make a gesture with their head, but put too little energy into it and instead just flopped onto their shoulder.
Salamin cringed slightly. “Not a morning per- uh… Primus, huh? Is that how it works? Do you just replace ‘person’ with ‘Primus’ and you’re all good?”
Omet limply pointed at one of the ‘chairs’. “...Can I sit… down? If I fall down, I’m, uh… not getting back up.”
“Be my guest.”
Omet slumped onto one of the seats, rubbing their eyes in silence. Salamin watched in slight concern. “Hey, um… Y’all know what’s going down over in Tragnil? Because if you can’t manage waking up, I reckon it’d be best if y’all just… didn’t.”
“Right, right…” Omet looked up, still unable to maintain a particularly rigid posture. “I, uh, I actually came here to ask you about all that. What… y’know… is Tragnil? Because we’re all just making this up as we go along, we have no idea where we’re going.”
“Hmm, yeah, you should probably figure some of that stuff out while you’ve got the time. Because right now, Tragnil is… a lot. Right now, that is.”
“Then lay it out while we’ve got time. Hopefully, I’m awake enough to actually remember any of it.”
Salamin took a seat opposite them. “Looks like it’s a bit of a tradition for you and your friends to take stuff in right after waking up, huh?”
“...What?”
“Oh, it’s just that last… Nah, not gonna pry. So,” She clapped. “Tragnil. Biggest city in the DB, so that’s cool. You’ve got probably a few hundred thousand monsters living there, center for magical innovation and, more importantly, trade. Important for folks like me, at least. Mostly just popular since it’s so close to the Pillar, space is more stable in those parts compared to the areas further away.”
Omet tried to hang onto her words. Thinking about the giant monster city was already exciting them enough to bring their brain up to full speed. “Cool. Sounds pretty nice, though. At least, by Down Below standards. This place is normally dangerous, right? Big Joeys and all that?”
Salamin winced slightly. “Yeah, um… maybe don’t call anyone a Joey. That’s more of a Primus thing, we just prefer being called monsters. Or people, if you don’t feel like distinguishin’ between us and humans.”
“Oh. Oh, uh, I’m-”
Salamin waved them off. “Ah, don’t worry about it, I know you’re new. But yeah, most of the DB’s not the best place for livin’ out in the open. That’s why so many people are so excited to leave. Y’all hear about the Green Veil stuff?”
“Oh, yeah, we’re here because of that.”
“Yeah, well, even the folks in charge of the city are tryin’ to get in on the action. The head honchos, call themselves the Leviathan Council or something, they’re takin’ a volunteer army to some secret spot to meet with the Lady, then they’re headed up to make a name for themselves among the humans. Probably still gonna act all mysterious and not let most people see them, of course. Pretty much everyone knows they’ve got no plans to come back, so tons of people are headed to Tragnil to take over the joint. I’m not much interested in politics, though. I’m just tryin’ to make a buck from the opportunity.”
Omet’s attention faded on the words beyond ‘Leviathan Council’. “So you’re telling me that a council of enigmatic figures are in control of a major city located in a metaphorically ‘down’ monster-infested region with unstable laws of reality?”
Salamin had definitely not expected that particular line of questioning. “Uh… Yeah?”
“Yeah, neat.” Omet was conflicted. One the one hand, Tragnil sounded like the best time possible for them. On the other hand, the place sounded like it could end up a warzone. “Well, giant bat-aliens notwithstanding, um… That’s interesting. If it’s no bother to you, do you think you could take the time out to fly us over to wherever the Lady is? Like I said, we’ve got… business with her.”
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“Primus stuff?”
“...Yeah, pretty much.”
Salamin shrugged in her seat. “Well, sorry, but I don’t even know where she is. Only the folks in power’ve been in on how that phase of this weird collective plan works. I don’t know anyone who’s even seen the Lady, I think someone on the Council might’ve just gotten bored and decided to try an invasion early. Makes no difference to me, of course.”
“No, the Lady’s definitely out.”
“...Well, okay then.” Salamin got up. “Still, if y’all want to find her, you’ll have to find someone high enough on the pyramid to know that kind of thing. But if you find out, I might be inclined to drop you off there. Sounds like fun to watch, honestly. I’m gonna go check out our supplies. We ought to touch down in Tragnil in around half an hour, quarter-Whalon.”
Omet stayed seated for a while after Salamin left before they managed to muster the energy to get up. Outside, things were beginning to pick up. Waia was drawing something on the roof of the bunkhouse, Quet was laying out a picnic, and Mark and Horan had taken a piece of rope and were trying to see if Horan could wakeboard on the air currents left behind by the Potirangi using nothing but his feet. It was not going well.
Omet sat down next to Quet. “Well, I got the down low on where we’re headed. Hope you’re hyped for a monster city, because we gotta find someone with a map before we can find the others.”
Quet tapped a glyph which released a covered saucepan in a burst of greenish mist, which she placed on a small tripod. Tapping it was surprisingly difficult with gloves on. “Well, I know you’re gonna like that. Should probably figure out where that gas is coming from, too…”
Omet took their cardigan off and set it aside. “You seem a touch apathetic about that, I thought you’d be excited, what’s up?”
“Uh, no, nothing.” Quet slid another glyph under the tripod and tapped it. A massive burst of flame leapt out and engulfed both the tripod and pot in white-hot heat. Trusting in her gloves to keep her safe, Quet frantically scrabbled to fix the spell, unable to see anything through both the flame and the thick cloud of green fog that engulfed her entire field of view. She found purchase on the glyph and lowered its power, shrinking the flame to the size and intensity of a stovetop. “Okay, that was unexpected. Sorry, uh, you were saying?”
Waia slid down the roof, sketchbook tucked under her arm. “Heard fire. What’s up?”
“Why is everyone asking me that all of a sudden?” Quet retracted her hand from her makeshift stove and pointed up. “If you took the time to look up, the answer would blatantly be ‘the sky’. Anyway, are you good with leftovers for breakfast?”
Mark walked over and sat down while Horan tried to fix his own hair behind him. “Depends on what the leftovers are. What, uh, what d’you got? And left over from what?”
Quet pointed to the saucepan. “Well, I’ve got some champurrado reheating in there, and I’m in a tamale mood right now. I’m trying to burn through my May stockpile.”
Horan finished smoothing his hair over and sat down next to Mark. “I’m assuming there’s a story behind you having a monthly stockpile?”
“Oh, no, just for May.”
Omet leaned in. “Yeah, our Domain has a thing where we dedicate the whole month to more traditional local foods.”
Quet continued. “And every year, they’re all, ‘This year, we’re gonna go the whole month, just watch’; but they never do! I cook up enough food to feed thirty-something Primoi for a month beforehand, and I make a schedule for when we eat what and everything, but then they give up after a week and get me to make a pizza or something. Every. Single. Time. It’s been like this since 1871.”
Omet nodded. “We’ve never even come close to a whole month, I think the furthest we’ve ever gone is the sixteenth.”
“But they keep telling me, ‘Okay, Quet, get ready. We’re doing it this time, we’re sticking to it the whole month’. But they never do. So now, I need to spread all this stuff I lovingly made out over the rest of the year. Might as well try and unload some of it while we’re on the road.”
Waia raised her eyebrows. “My Domain never gets together for anything like that. Jealous. So, what exactly are we eating? Beyond a name.”
Quet ladled a creamy, brown substance from the saucepan into five mugs. “Well, this stuff is made from-”
“It’s vegan hot chocolate,” interrupted Omet.
“Hey, you are doing champurrado a disservice, Omet! This stuff has cinnamon, and corn flour, and- wait, did I put cloves in this batch? Bottom line is, lots of C-ingredients. That consistency with the name is not to be disrespected.”
Horan took a mug and tasted the contents. “Whatever’s in it, it’s pretty good.”
Quet handed out the rest of the mugs. “Well, it’s not good enough for the rest of my family, so why even bother?”
Nobody had anything to say in regards to that, so Quet dished out the rest of the meal. While everyone was eating in silence, Omet remembered to recount the details Salamin had given to them earlier.
Mark swallowed his fourth tamale. “Things can’t ever be easy, can they?”
Horan nodded. “I’m with you, dude. But no, we’re not turning around.”
“I didn’t say we were going to.”
“But you were gonna.”
“Says who? I’m down to do this. Can’t really back out now, anyway.” Mark reached for a fifth tamale, but was slapped away by Quet. “Ow, okay… Well, as long as none of us get any ideas while we’re there, Horan, it should hopefully be a pretty in-and-out mission.”
Horan looked confused. “W-why me?”
“I still remember Antioch, don’t forget that you have a track record.”
“That was one time.”
“Should’ve been zero, but fine.” Mark took a drink of his champurrado.
Waia harrumphed. “Man, I was told that this would be some dangerous, high-octane adventure. This is way too straightforward, I should’ve packed less rocks.”
“Well, we’ll see about that later,” Said Mark. “Whoever might have the info we need might be a little tight-lipped.”
Waia grinned. “I’m liking your style so far.”
Quet winced. “Okay, let’s just put those ideas on the ‘maybe’ pile for now. Hopefully, we can just convince someone to give us what we want, and then we can bounce.”
Salamin stomped over to the entrance of the bunkhouse, seemingly oblivious to the five passengers sitting outside, and leaned in. “Hey! Which one of y’all unlocked the warehouse door?”
A faint voice came in response. “You’re the one with the key, captain.”
“Right, I am.” Salamin pulled her head out and looked at the passengers. “Could’ve sworn I locked it… Hey, y’all might want to pack up. We’ll be coming into view of Tragnil real soon. And Pillar abandon me, is it a mighty sight.”