With the Coffin erasing the way they had come, the squad had no real choice but to approach the mysterious steel door. The tunnel that had been created here was no illusion, he’d felt along the walls to be sure and Theopalu had insisted that it was so. Everything that made up a vampire’s Coffin was malleable, so the old elf claimed. Twindil’s light was keeping the vampire at bay for now, but once it wore off, that creature would surely return.
So everyone agreed that the only way was forward. Hoplite hoped that wherever this led, it would be out of this Coffin. As they all neared the door, Hoplite’s eyes widened. The steel grated steps that led up to the gear-shaped door looked like something he would have seen on a factory world. A coincidence for sure, The Soldier reasoned. What shocked him more than the steps however, was the little pad that was embedded into the wall next to the door.
“Curious.” Elum said, squinting at the thing, “What the hells is that?”
“Go touch it.” Alistair urged the Ifrit, “Go on, you first.”
“I’m not going to do that,” complained Elum. “Twindil had better wake up soon, she’d lecture us for getting too close without her.”
Hoplite ducked under the pull-bar, leaving everyone else behind. Lance leaped from the wagon bed, quickly following after him as he approached what appeared to be an intercom. A primitive microphone sat above a large red button, which glowed a faint umber. There was electricity here, and someone had to be on the other side. Countless possibilities played through his head as he raised his hand, staring hard at the button.
Hoplite reached toward it, but Lance grabbed his gauntlet, “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “You have no idea if there’s some sort of trap on the door. Look at those odd fixtures!”
“Intercom,” Hoplite said. “We have these back in my dimension, but this is a primitive version… we push the button, and we can talk to whoever is on the other end.”
“Push a button and talk?” Lance slowly repeated the words, “But if this is like what you have back in your realm, then this contraption is not used with magic, yes?”
“No.” Hoplite replied, “No it isn’t.”
“Sir,” Cat yelled, “Twindil’s waking up, but she can’t move.”
“Thank you, private,” Hoplite said. “Michael and Cat, come here and take point on the door. Everyone else, form around them. Someone stay behind with Twindil.” Hoplite ordered, waiting for them all to get into position.
Lance had been right to stop him. In his excitement, The Child had nearly pressed the button to see who would answer. Such a fluke could have cost them the mission, The Soldier scolded. Hoplite ignored the inward bickering. Once the squad was ready, he pressed the button.
“This is Hoplite Thirty-Seven,” he spoke into the intercom.
After a long pause, a beep sounded and a slightly distorted voice answered, “Greetings, Unmarked. Do you request passage?”
The Ahkoolians jumped at the voice, all but Theopalu. Hands went to their weapons. Michael and Cat held their positions close to the door, giving no outward reaction. The voice on the other side of the intercom had not reacted to Hoplite’s presence, but maybe that was because they could not see them? If they were Ternans, they would have surely been shocked at his presence… though it was impossible that his comrades would have had the time to set up here. That, and the voice had addressed them as ‘Unmarked’, that implied that the voice could see them clear as day. Clearly, Unmarked was the term these people used for those not infected with the Death Spiral, and they would need a visual indication of that to know that they weren’t Fiends.
“Identify.” Hoplite replied curtly.
“Ah, a golem. If you wish to communicate through your automaton, then so be it. I am the Gear Guard.”
After the fifth or so time of being mistaken for a golem, Hoplite decided it was easier to roll with the misinterpretation. A little deception couldn’t hurt if this truly was some Romai holdout run by vampires. “Define Gear Guard.” He said flatly.
“Your visual circuits need an upgrade, Construct. You stand before a gear-shaped door and I have the say whether it opens or closes. As rare as it is to see an Unmarked at our doorstep, I will not allow just anyone through. Do your masters have better communication skills?”
“Excuse you,” Lance cut in, “I don’t know who you are, but you shouldn't be so rude.”
Circuits! How advanced was the technology these strangers had? If they had advanced circuitry, then it was practically guaranteed that they’d have tech from early modern Earth, including guns. They’d need to advance with the utmost caution.
“Does your party fear addressing the Gear Door? Why are the first ones to speak the lowest ranking?” The voice gained a bit of a taunting edge to it.
He spoke over Lance’s outburst, “What do you mean by lowest rank?” Hoplite asked, noting a small glass cylinder above the door. “Define that.”
A small mutter of something resembling ‘empty-headed peasants’ hissed through the speaker, then the voice resumed, “You there, Incher, state your business.”
“Incher?” Hoplite asked. This door guard, whoever they were, was starting to grate on his nerves.
“Your highest ranking individual is decided by inches, is he not? Though a mere Incher, only one of your men has the decency to wear hair upon his face. So, I ask again, Incher, what is your business at the Gear Door?”
The room fell silent as all eyes fell on Michael, the marine blinking in shock a moment before he pointed to himself, dumbfounded.
“Huh?” Michael asked, “The hell is he talkin’ about?”
“I see,” the speaker crackled, “then I was sorely mistaken. Who among you Unmarked is leading this ragtag group of humanoids? I wish to speak with someone of basic intelligence.”
“Basic intelligence? You little…!” Elum clenched his grayed fist.
“Those are strong words from someone hiding behind a giant metal door.” Alistair grunted.
Kid’ka turned to Theopalu and asked, “You’re sure we have to go this way?”
“Well… I’d rather not. Damn, this is awkward.” Theopalu replied, pinching his brow, “There really isn’t any other way out of here.”
Hoplite examined the thick metal of the Gear Door. It might be too thick to tear through, but maybe bending and breaking the hinges or locking mechanisms could allow them inside without this guard’s say. He stopped that line of thought almost as quickly as it came to him. Forced entry would only escalate hostility, and who knew how many potential hostiles lay within?
Lance threw up her hands. “By the Pillars, the second Twindil is out, no one can organize. Fine!” The dark-haired Watcher stood tall beside Hoplite and announced , “We are simple travelers that seek passage through the tunnels. I promise that we mean your home no harm.”
“Curb your elf tongue,” the Gear Guard hissed. “Simple travelers could not endure the ravages and insanity of the Marked’s lands. Judging by your appearances, there’s nothing common about you.”
Lance’s face scrunched, but this time she bit her lip instead of retorting.
“Got us there.” Michael shrugged. “Alright then, Mr. Gear Guard, you said that I’m kinda in charge thanks to my facial hair, right?” Cat rolled her eyes. The marine continued, “Our party of super fighters need to pass through your tunnels out to the other side. The Fiends –we call ‘em Fiends and not Marked by the way– have overrun our path. And the way I see it, we’re caught ‘tween a rock and a hard place. Help a fellow beardy out?”
A spell of silence followed. Hoplite marveled at how this request was the one that seemed the most credible, or worth considering.
Finally, the intercom hissed again, “Weapons will not be permitted upon your persons for the duration of your trek through. Only after accepting those terms will the Gear Door open for you.”
Hands reaching for his knife and guns at his side, Hoplite barely held himself from protesting. The others of the party raised their voices against the idea.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Theopalu gathered everyone together in a group huddle and hushed their complaints. “Use your heads, young ones,” he lectured. “The only other way out is for the Coffin to open again… and that isn’t going to happen. Unless we plan on mining through miles of rock, this is our only way through.” He then began to whisper, “Dangerous as they may be, the Romai have offered passage. Besides, many of you youngins have Foundation and Houses you can build. You’re not helpless without weapons.”
Alistair wrung his hands on his large hammer and looked away. Kid’ka heaved a sigh, muttering something under his breath. Cat and Michael held their firearms close. Lance ran her fingers against the chains encircling her arms, frowning.
“What if I have weapons that I cannot remove?” Lance asked the intercom, “These will not come off, no matter what I do.”
“Then you will be bound, failure to comply with this order will leave us no choice but to deny you passage,” the voice replied. “And if your golem becomes aggressive, it will be disabled.”
Lance’s frown deepened, and she looked up at Hoplite, likely waiting for him to give his opinion. He wanted to deny the Gear Guard and tell him that they’d not be willing to surrender their weapons, but their limited options made it difficult to be so flippant.
Hoplite didn’t like the idea, but The Soldier inside him reasoned that his suit would allow him to defend himself without much effort, even without his guns. On top of that, vampires likely needed access to his bare flesh to drain him. Out of everyone, he had the best chance of fighting his way out. But was that enough to satisfy him? He examined the group he’d been traveling with. Compared to him, they were essentially naked, and taking their weapons would leave them even more vulnerable. Could their magic truly protect them against what lay within?
A small voice filled the echoing chamber, “I have faith. We’ll be out before we know it and back on our quest. Don’t worry, my friends.” The half-elf raised herself into a sitting position and forced a smile through the scar on her lip.
“Twindil…” Alistair whispered. After a brief moment, he nodded and approached the wagon, then placed his hammer beside her. After a pause, he frowned at the rest of the group and announced, “You want to count the threads on your cloaks? Get to it.”
“Your order is not needed.” Hoplite stated, moving toward the wagon with everyone else.
As infuriating as this was, there was truly no other option unless Hoplite wanted to force his way through. Yet, if these Romai did in fact have access to guns, they’d be able to gun down the entire party, save for himself. Michael might be relatively fine in his tungsteel armor, but Cat’s diver gear was not nearly as durable… raising hostilities would be sub-optimal. He could always rush in first, by himself… but his gut told him that was a bad idea. It was a strange feeling, one he rarely felt during his life, but he found that this instinct was rarely wrong whenever it did appear. He’d play along with this disarmament… for now.
Once their weapons were all put away in the wagon, Michael placed his hands on his hips and announced in a proud voice, “It’s done! You can open that door now.” Perhaps being called the commanding officer had inflated his ego?
A sharp hiss came from the door and pillars of steam erupted at four points of the ten-sided gear. A loud motor clanked to life and slowly pulled the giant door inward. Gradually, the tunnel inside was revealed to be covered in smooth, stone-gray material, somewhat reflecting the meager underground light. This material, if he wasn’t mistaken, was concrete. Hoplite also saw intricate engravings lining the tops and bottoms of the walls, carved into the concrete.
They seemed to be depicting stories of squat bearded men facing off with horrible monsters, axes in hand and shields raised. Others showed these men laboring, carrying massive blocks or rolling barrels toward a large robed figure, hands outstretched. There were even more engravings, depicting more stories than he cared to count.
However, these carvings weren’t as notable as the humanoid that stood in the now open doorway. Standing at four feet tall was a mass of brown hair that covered the majority of his facial features and most of his chest. Only a round nose, bottom lip, and sharp dark eyes poked through. The rest of the creature was stout and dressed in a dark gray military uniform that reminded Hoplite of the ancient wars on Terna that had engulfed most of the world. A steel helmet covered the top of his head, smooth and plain. A bright red insignia of the red hand and eyeball blazed on both of his gold tassled shoulders. Hoplite’s attention went to the weapon in the creature’s hands: a short rifle clenched tightly on the guard’s thick hands.
There was no other word for this thing except “dwarf”. Whispers circled around the party, agreeing on the assessment with wonder. The most dwarven beings Hoplite had encountered had been at the Fiendwall, but those Wallers had been significantly taller and more human-proportioned. Just like he had learned at the Death-Day celebration, all modern Ahkoolian dwarves had interbred with humans, diluting their DNA. Could this be a purebred dwarf?
He was not the only one there either, twenty other dwarves all stood behind him, all aiming rifles squarely at them, clad head to toe in gray steel plate armor, the metal engraved like the concrete beneath their feet. Hoplite’s hypothesis was correct, they in fact had weaponry similar to that of early modern Earth, specifically the Second World War. Strangely, these guns seemed to be made of a pale wood, but where they got wood down underground, Hoplite didn’t know.
Saluting with palm out on his forehead, the first dwarf snapped his heels together and announced, “For your journey inside our domain, I shall be your guide. You may call me Dundale, First Footer of the Outer Guard. I do not expect similar greetings, as your journey’s conclusion outweighs formality, Unmarked.”
“Affirmative.” Hoplite stated.
The dwarf’s eyes locked on him like a hungry wolf. “Impressive golem.” His words ended on a questioning tone, but he left it hanging. Instead, his attention flashed to Halm at the back. The rifle snapped up and the guard yelled, “Away, Marked, or you’ll taste lead!” The twenty others followed suit.
“Don’t fire!” Twindil yelped. “He’s aware of himself and is our friend.”
Spitting on the ground, Dundale growled, “No Marked shall enter our fortress, away!”
“But he’s-”
“Don’t worry,” the giant Fiend leaned down closer to Twindil, “I’ll find a way out and we’ll meet up again. I doubt tunnels made for dwarves could fit someone like me anyway.” He finished with a flex.
“But…” the paladin bit her lip. “You can’t, not after we already lost Nolvi…”
“I can’t be killed and I know where you are going. This is not goodbye, healer.”
She inhaled deeply, then lowered her head. “Make sure to not get hurt, Halm.”
The giant orc nodded and took a few steps back from the party with hands raised in peace. “I will find you again, at the Rotting Ilum, if not sooner. Do not worry.” Halm finished, turning back to the sealed tunnel.
Would he even be able to leave? Perhaps when the Coffin re-opens… but then Halm would have to deal with the vampire. Maybe not, the creature had seemed to want the party to come this way, it may not care about Halm’s presence one way or another.
A grunt from the guard drew Hoplite’s attention away from the retreating back of the Fiend, “Speaking Marked and Unmarked visitors, what else will this day bring?” The leading dwarf shouldered the rifle again and announced, “You will leave your wagon here at the entrance, bring it just inside the door, and leave it behind. We will bring our laborers up to move it for you to the other end of our complex. If you must ask questions, speak while we travel.”
As Hoplite returned to his place at the head of the wagon, he noticed something he hadn’t before; his radio was buzzing with activity. He bumped his chin, listening to the readouts inside his helmet and adjusting the frequency.
“I need more steel for the forge, deliver fifty ingots to my shop located in Central Square, the Bustling Blade, I will compensate you once you arrive.” A deep voice crackled over his radio.
“There will be a delivery charge.” Another deep, yet feminine voice replied, “A tip will be expected as well.”
“A tip!?” The voice shouted back, “Why I ought-”
Hoplite adjusted the frequency again, picking up on different signals as he hoisted up the wagon bar. These dwarves had radios as well… the stone of the Akan-Dark must have been too thick for their signals to reach above ground, otherwise he would have picked up on them. Yet, he only now was receiving the signals after he had passed through the Gear Door, was something else at play? Michael and Cat both paused too, glancing at each other and then at Hoplite, clearly having picked up on these signals as well..
Outwardly, he ignored the look and began pulling the wagon, but inside his helmet he scanned the radio waves for information. He almost didn’t notice that the road before him was sloping gently downward and the Gear Door hissing back into place behind him. He set down the wagon inside the concrete tunnel, the squad of dwarves all aiming their rifles at him and everyone in his company. The stone-gray tunnel was lit by a string of wire and glass light bulbs on the ceiling and it was spacious enough for even Hoplite’s height.
The Gear Guard Dundale looked over his shoulder and warned Michael, who was walking close to the wall, about something that sounded like ‘fat-heads’.
Michael straightened up and snapped, “Who’re you calling fat head?”
The lead dwarf answered flatly, “We call it a fat head.” He pointed to the cluster of brown and white wide-capped mushrooms growing along the wall. “And you’d best not tramble them if you like breathing air.”
“Oh…” the marine grinned through his embarrassment.
Dundale stopped, and the other dwarves gripped their guns tighter in response. He glared up at the party, his eyes narrowed through all his brown hair. His voice emerged as a low rumble, “There are allowances we can make for outsiders, but know this: you hold no rank and therefore cannot be brash or argumentative. Pull something like that again, Incher, and you’ll be torn apart.”
“Like, not literally, right?” Michael asked slowly.
The leading guard exhaled sharply through his round nose, then resumed his march.
“Just like Basic all over again,” he muttered quietly.
Hoplite stared at the mushrooms… How were they growing within solid stone? There was no Earth set into the wall that he could see. Did fungus not need soil in order to grow? Admittedly Hoplite did not know, but despite that this still seemed strange. After that, the guards surrounded them, binding Lance’s arms behind her back with thick ropes before they all began descending the tunnel.
It angered Hoplite to see Lance bound like that, but he knew not why, as these were the conditions the dwarves had established for them all to gain entry into their fortress. Maybe it was because she was now the most helpless of them all now? Even Twindil, as wobbly as she was, at least had her hands free.
The engraved tunnel ahead eventually opened up into a wide chamber, filled with many occupants. Stone tables and booths created aisles to walk down, each with a dwarf salesman or woman standing close to their wares. The stout creatures had a variety of beard colors –from black to blonde– but brown was the majority. The female dwarves notably had incredibly long hair, braided in a similar fashion to the males beards. Hoplite had been expecting pure-bred females to also possess beards, but that did not seem to be the case. None stood above four feet tall. Silence swallowed up the bustling area, each dwarf staring with wide eyes at the strangers.
The radio station Hoplite had tuned to suddenly chimed, “Newcomers in the market. Dundale leading. Five minutes until arrival.” A reply came just as curtly, “Logged.” Hoplite scanned his cameras and the silent spectators for a sign of the possible speaker. They had camera’s down here as well, either that or periscopes like what was at the Gear Door, for Hoplite could not spot the speaker amongst the crowd.
Alistair and the others seemed to squirm under the pointed stares. Elum shoved his arm behind his back while Kid’ka slouched deeply. Lance drew her mouth into a line, but tried to hold herself higher after she glanced at Hoplite. Michael and Cat seemed to waver between sending challenging stares back and ignoring the attention. Theopalu lingered closer to the end of the procession with the hobbling Twindil, muttering the word “awkward” over and over to himself.
“This is Central Square, you will not be purchasing anything.” Dundale stated.
The exit from the market couldn’t come any sooner. Their guard took a right at a branching path, then began weaving through a strange labyrinth of twisting and diverging routes. Everywhere they went, there were engravings set into the walls, the floors, the ceilings, all intricately weaved together… it was beginning to irritate his eyes. Instead of looking too closely at them, Hoplite began keeping note of the trajectory and direction they faced. A few legs of northward tunnels, then an eastern offshoot, and then northwestern curve. Many rooms passed by that he could see in his periphery: a wide area full of huge mushrooms, workshops, and even a puff of steam from a bathouse. Every dwarf they passed froze and stared, even while they were in the midst of a job.
“What is with all these etchings?” Elum asked, narrowing his eyes at the engravings.
“It is our history,” Dundale replied curtly. “The history of our fortress is woven into the stone that guards us, so that we will never forget our trials and tribulations.”
Eventually, their guide slowed as they entered a large oval room. This room outshone all others. Gold flecked the walls, glass lamps gave the area a soft yellow glow, and a huge steel door with gold swirling patterns lay on the other side. An ornately carved picture of dwarves, piles of gold, and three hooded figures holding out their hands over them all dominated the west wall. The east wall depicted a glowing human-like figure hovering in the air, feathered crimson wings stretching out from his back as the same hooded figures from the other mural shielded panicked dwarves that looked to be fleeing for their lives from the red-winged humanoid. Was that a depiction of the Pillar-God Oros perhaps? He was the one that had supposedly driven the Romai to extinction… and the depiction here made him look outright demonic, his face contorted into a wrathful sneer. Along with the mural, finely woven rugs covered the floor. Framing the rug was a line of guards standing at attention. Similarly dressed as a Gear Guard, but with beards nearly to their knees, one at the front barked for them to halt.
Dundale saluted sharply and announced, “Dundale, First Footer of the Gear Guard, is here to bring our guests to request an audience.”
“Audience?” Alistair quietly said. “”I thought we were going to the closest exit.”
“Quiet, human,” the long-bearded dwarf snapped, “any passage is determined by our Lords. They have been expecting you. However, know that you may only address our Lords with the proper honorifics and after you are given permission. Any breach will be punished accordingly.” For some reason, his gray eyes lingered on Hoplite.
“Affirmative.” Hoplite stated.
The party and guards held a long, tense pause, before Dundale nodded.
“Open the gates to our Lord's chambers!” One of the guards shouted.
Inwardly, Hoplite prepared himself for what lay within. Based on the murals, he had to assume that these ‘Lords’ that he was going to meet were in fact, vampires. Potentially Sixth Age vampires at that. He considered, just for an instant, killing every dwarf in the room and fighting their way back to the wagon… but he knew that his companions would not survive such an act.
He would need to play this game if he wanted them to survive.