Chapter 11: West Gate

The West Gate loomed above them. Shadowing out the town below. Made all out of black iron scrap and harsh gray parts. Built upon repeatedly by reused parts. Some would say the dead would try to escape to the other side. In rare cases some would try to breach through. Most ultimately failed, their remnants smashed together. Folk tale that had long passed over the centuries. The Forge had stood for an unknown amount of time. It was never questioned. Just used and expanded upon. It was a necessity for those in Insmourn. Useful to all the world as well. Being one of the only operating mega city scrap heaps left. The black particles that lingered in the air grew a little thicker here.

The Forgemaster stood alone in front of it. His eyes traced up it. Ashes fell from the end of a huge cigar in his mouth. Hands tight to his sides, fingers thread through belt loops. The cigar bobbled in his mouth as he mumbled aloud.

“Gods be damned. Throw us some luck would if you would be so kind.” Tobias heard him say as the three of them gazed up at the gate. On que Onyx ran into an abandoned building before the great gate. Cans rolled noisily as he dug through piles of junk. Barking with satisfaction he returned with nothing. Dust kicked up and the Forgemaster took a moment to spit and approached the vehicle. It stopped several feet away from him and Tobias approached him. He recognized the car.

“Metlock, hey—” He leaned against his vehicle Lockjaw in hand. Covered in black guts they leaked down the side. Maxwell and Eralar stood in the same shape. He shook his head and pointed to the back seat. Melaine lay on her back. She gave a courtesy wave.

“Friends of yours? Great. Follow me inside at least. Better than waiting here underneath the shadow this gate cast. Gives me the creeps.” With a deep breath he took a huge hit of the cigar. The Forgemaster spoke as he walked to the right sight before the gate. Smoke trailed out from his cigar like a train. Maxwell went to pick up Melaine. She gave him a playful swat away and stood wearily. Inside the buildings before the great gate were dimly lit. Generators churned offering their last bits of power. It was no different here than it was in most sections of the forge. Just a complete mess.

Maxwell, struggling with his breath, filled them in about what had happened at the hospital. Metlock filled in the blanks when he needed a break. Melaine flicked her husbands’ ears, which had returned to normal. Lydon went slack jawed and recounted their own tribulations.

Eralar stood next to Tobias.

“Well, I don’t think our plane ride to Ovoroth is going to happen anytime soon?” She had asked. Gently she rolled up her sleeves, tracing over her tattooed brands.

“It may, just not right now of course. Whatever the Forgemaster must show us, must connect in some way.” Tobias replied. Maxwell shapeshifting huh? Wonder how they are holding together. Right now, they seemed to be in good spirits. Best to not ruin that just yet. Tobias thought.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Eralar gently touched his neck. Expanses of dunes and water flowed against the backdrop of mountains and hills. The sand sculpted like waves. Tobias followed the symbols on her arm, then met her eyes and blushed. Her fingers lingered for a moment then with a sudden yank, she pulled something from his neck. It stung and his brow furrowed. In her hand were two long strands of bone.

“Really, how did you not notice these?” Jest coated her words as she grinned.

“Too much is happening at once. Hard to keep up with myself.”

Tobias glanced at the Forgemaster. Quickly and direct he laid out their options. After the Strider came upon the shore and did damage, CGA was still spread thin. Massive amounts of repairs needed to be done. It would take a few years for things to be functional again. Tobias winced. He had already lost track of time. All that happened no less than two weeks ago. Between the monsters coming ashore and all these new developments, Insmourn was in serious trouble. Forgemaster spoke on citing well known disasters that happened in the past. Chemical leaks, sickness outbreaks, huge chunks of old structure falling from above. The list went on and on. He recommended they continue their little tour.

What could they have possibly done? Go out and breath in whatever was killing their people, and join them moments later? Invent and cure whatever was going on? Militarize the remaining folk and fight invisible battles? There was hardly much time to choose. In fact, there was none. The damage had been done. Countless things beyond their control sprung to life as they spoke. The Forgemaster crossed his arms. Believing the Planetary Defense and world leaders could take care of this. By the sounds of, whatever was being kept below, could very well have an answer that could help more than Insmourn.

Eralar moved closer to Tobias with her head in a bow. Onyx came and sat next to her. She reached out and gracefully stroked his head. He responded with a satisfied sigh.

“I know what it’s like to see your home destroyed. To leave and abandon it to the unknown is cruel. We must move forward. You remain along with your friends. There is still a lot rooted here.” She said. In a soft, quiet and velvety voice.

Tobias gave a half smile and nodded. It’s true there was not much the small group could do. Unsheathing the sword, he uttered a few words to it.

"Ver vas, Kredna Hermekk.” Were the words he spoke before ascending trails in the Desolation Mountains.

Tobias looked down a long corridor. Lights flickered on and off every few moments. Shadows wove in and out as light and dark mingled. He could taste the rust of ages past. This wasn’t even the start of it. Beyond wherever this lead, belonged to the oldest sections of the forge. Knowledge of how these were built long lost. Still, they stood. Monuments to time. Inspiration for the future? To build upon each foundation to make it stronger. Something that will last. Or reminders that everything will fade. Becoming obscure footnotes by others. Hidden by walls, dirt and sand. Sunken ruins, built over by nature. Lost in the earth itself. Decaying out of sight.

The Forgemaster sealed the door behind them. He struck a large iron key against his chest. Sweat formed on his fingers as he held it tight. Unanimously they agreed to move forward. Ancient gears spun eagerly. Not being used for some time, the rust did not stop them.

Before them stretched a sea of scrap. Mountains of gears and derelict buildings. Giant chains lay waste over buildings. Others on the brink of detaching. Machines gathered from every age. Cluttered together coated in layers upon layers of dirt. Hopeful they entered. The West Gate offered little light or solace to those under its shadow.