Barty was a troglodyte.
As they stared, he reached up and gripped the bowl of the worn-looking pipe in his mouth in one hand, one blackened claw dipping into it to tamp whatever leaf he was smoking. Only then did he look up at the new arrivals.
“Ah! Wonderful!” He walked up to them energetically, eyes alight with interest.
Reshid knew what kind of creature he was looking at, but he didn’t remember how he knew. Like most of what he remembered, it was disconnected information that felt more like a familiar rumor than the actual lived experience that it probably was. Almost reflexively, he reached up and found the stone that hung on an old leather cord under his shirt. He hadn’t given it a moment’s thought, hadn’t even noticed it since he’d woken up in a crypt, surrounded by the stench of death and virtually no memories. How strange.
Seconds had passed, but no one else moved. Everyone was staring at the creature. The ragged group was stunned, and the trogg was examining each of them in turn, looking them over in a way that made Reshid feel oddly exposed and uncomfortable.
Troglodytes were not commonly seen on the surface, and even their existence was a matter of debate in some circles. They occasionally traded with small villages, lone travelers, or traveling merchants, like Reshid had been. Governments and reputable academics, however, had little use for stories of a functioning society of sapient creatures supposedly living in the Deep Paths alongside hordes of undead monstrosities.
“Yes. Excellent specimens, Hasan.” The creature stopped, peering at one of the visibly decaying slaves, a manic grin spreading on his face. “Good work! I see you even found a few rotters for Agatha. Perfect!”
Only then did he appear to notice that the objects of his attention were all looking at him. He shifted uncomfortably, and tugged awkwardly on one sleeve of his clean and colorful robe, which seemed very out of place in the otherwise dirt-caked village.
“Um... Hello everyone, welcome! You may call me Bartholomew, and this is Agatha. We’ve, uh… rescued you, in a sense.” He coughed into his hand, “Don’t worry about the chains, they’ll be coming off soon. Simply know that you’re going to be working with us for the foreseeable future. Unlike your probable fate under the slave catchers, you may rest assured that this does not involve becoming a ghoul’s dinner.”
Reshid traded an uneasy look with the one-eyed Em. Anyone who survived more than a few days in the Deep Paths inevitably saw what ghouls were capable of. The trogg continued, his voice taking on the emphatic cadence of a lecturer or politician.
“You will be examined, trained, and put to work on behalf of the Confederation, the city of Duskhaven, and yourselves. We are working for the betterment of all peoples, within and upon the face of the earth, dead and alive. What we’re doing here is important, and you can be a part of it! Uh…” He interrupted himself, “You will be a part of it!”
The woman, Agatha, put her hand on his shoulder to quiet him. In a much more gentle tone, she said “I’m sure you’re all still disoriented and exhausted. We’ll have Hasan get your chains off, and get you something to eat. We’ll be meeting with each of you to discuss your options as a revenant going forward, and how you can help us with our… project.” She paused for a second, clearly unsure of what to say next, then she turned to the trogg.
“Come on Barty, we’ve got work to do.”
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The two bustled off, leaving Hasan and a few other guards to unchain them. They worked quickly.
Reshid realized he must have looked surprised—the fire-haired guard who freed him stopped to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as she moved on.
“Alright, everybody line up and listen!” Hasan shouted as they finished. He stood, standing tall and straight, glaring like a drill sergeant. The guards stood to attention, and the rest obeyed instinctively. This was someone used to being in charge.
“We brought you here to offer you a choice. An opportunity that most of us… “ he gestured at himself and the guards, “...didn’t get. Most of us don’t make it, coming down from the crypts. The ghouls get you, or the slavers catch you and then sell you to the ghouls, or you become a ghoul yourself because you’re too damned ignorant to know better.” He paused, his gaze moving over the group.
“If you work, learn, and follow instructions, we’re going to teach you what you need to know to survive down here and to grow as a revenant. More importantly, if you make yourself useful and show your value to our community and the Confederation, you may be offered additional resources and training to help you grow.”
“Don’t underestimate the value of what we’re offering. You aren’t prisoners here, or slaves. Those who want to leave can do so at any time. Just keep in mind that every single one of you was ghoul food this morning. You’re at the bottom of the food chain out there. Bartholomew and Agatha will assess you tomorrow morning, and we’ll begin training the day after. Rest in the meantime and get your bearings. You’re free to wander the town. Food will be brought to you here. Dismissed!”
He turned, gesturing to the two guards to follow, and left them standing there.
Left to themselves, more than a few of the others just sat down on the ground where they’d been standing before. Others struck up quiet conversations, swapping stories about the various horrors they had witnessed.
Reshid didn’t join them. Instead, he went to sit against the outer wall of the stable to rest his aching knees and back, mind fuzzy with exhaustion. While his body felt mostly normal, recovered from the horrible state it had been in before he’d managed to identify and draw in the essence from an ancient tree, he still felt like an old man.
Just when he settled into a comfortable position, he heard someone calling his name. Em was trying to help their disabled friend get up from where he was sitting. Sighing, he heaved himself up and joined her. They guided the man into the stable, where each of the stalls was outfitted with clean hay for sleeping, blankets, and a few other necessities.
The building was well ventilated, but the rancid smell coming off the soldier quickly grew thick in the confined space. Reshid gagged, stepping back as he fought to keep his stomach under control.
Em stood over the man, peering down at him completely unbothered. “He’s not going to make it much longer, I don’t think.”
Reshid grunted, not wanting to waste the breath needed to respond. The smell was getting so thick that he could taste it as much as smell it. He tried pulling his ragged shirt up over his nose, which might have helped slightly, if only in his mind.
Eventually, the silence grew awkward. Em looked up.
“Oh, right.” She gestured again, and a light breeze streamed through the door and up, out of the wide gap between the wall and the roof. The light in her eye dimmed slightly and the smell lessened.
“Thanks.” said Reshid. “Have you seen any like him before? What happens if he’s too far gone?”
Em shrugged noncommittally, “Who knows? I’m not going to be happy if he dies on us after we hauled him through the actual underworld all day. We don’t even know his name!”
The walking corpse on the hay bale let loose a wet, rasping noise. He was holding his hand in front of his face. Dirty white bone was exposed at more than one point where the skin had torn open on his fingers. He was laughing, though Reshid didn’t know about what. Then, in a whispered rattle that made a shudder run down the back of Reshid’s neck, he spoke.
“Call me Charlie.”