Being sent off by the whole town was certainly a spectacle.

Rann, Arshak, Arshiya, Rob, Johnny, Einar, Han and I; all eight of us making up the hunting party had gathered by the gates before dawn, but that didn’t stop everyone waking up (or, being woken up) to see us off.

While the expressions on the townspeoples’ faces I saw weren’t the same sorrowful and downtrodden looks on the day of the funeral, they weren’t necessarily happy ones. Some had big smiles, others looked worried or even doubtful. Word had spread of our quarry, of the mighty Bloodbeast that was barely half a day’s walk from town. Of the fur and meat it could provide; enough to feed the whole village for a month and get everyone a nice new cloak on top of it. Although their thoughts and opinions on the matter were varied, they all carried the same feeling within them.

Hope.

I’ve been here for… somewhere between three weeks to a month. In that time I’ve gotten to know the leaders of Haven, run countless errands for them, get covered in mud dozens of times and then have to wash it out of my only set of clothes dozens of times, and made a pretty decent minestrone. I also killed a giant stinky bird-thing, although not before it had killed someone else.

Still, I’ve been here a month at most. I’ve sort of settled in, but, in some regards some members went out of their way to make me feel comfortable. I’m new, I’m an adult, I happen to have wings with swords in them, and I’ve started to get the hang of using them. Treating me well is just… common sense. While several people can and have beaten me in a fight, and I have nothing to really counter the Chief’s magic, I do have an ability they don’t. I wouldn’t go as far to suggest that the only reason Rann even proposed this hunt was because of me being here, but, it’s not impossible. I bring to the table skills and assets that no one else has. And well, because of that…

I’m treated differently. Probably not… specially, but differently. I have my own room in the Chief’s residence. Most people my nominal age of 15 still live in the bunkhouse, along with all the younger children. Rooms are in short supply, and houses even shorter. Each of the five council members have their own home, while the owners of the various businesses such as the baker, tailors, and the tanner live above or beside their workplaces. Now, sure, living with the Chief is a dream for some people, and a nightmare for others. I’ve heard the murmurs. Having lived it, it has its pros and cons, sure.

But my memories of the life I had before here are still fresh in my mind. The smiles of my family. The warmth and comfort of my bed. Something as simple as a blue sky. I still taste the honeyed chicken my mother cooked the day before… I came here. Everyone else has been here for years. Decades, even. Han was five when he came here. He probably barely has any memories of his life before he died. Others may have lived here for so long that all but the simplest, strongest memories remain, lost to the entropy of time. Everyone was torn away from their friends and families, and dumped in a cruel, unjust, permanently overcast world. How long has it been since anyone here saw a clear sky?

Hell, I like overcast days. I prefer them to sunny days. But even the clouds here are different. Dark. Oppressive. Hanging heavy like a thick blanket, smothering the lands in their suffocating greyness. There’s no pleasant smell of grass after it rains and the sky clears and everything glistens in the sunlight. All that remains after it rains in the abyss is a heavy, iron-rich smell, a blood-red sheen on the roofs, and puddles of reddish-brown mud that never fully dry up. I loved when it rained. Every time it rains here, all I smell is blood. It always tries to drag me back to that moment. Laying in a ditch, looking up at the starless sky and waiting to die.

Maybe what makes this place hell is how it twists, corrupts, and turns the things you used to like against you.

“Ay. Feathers.” Johnny says.

“Wh- ah… yes?”

“Quit daydreaming and start pulling. We’re on sled duty.” He says, handing me a length of coarse braided rope attached to the sled behind us.

Right. The sled. The large, heavy wooden sled made out of solid black wood, currently laden with nets, traps, and weapons that is apparently big enough to load this bloodbeast onto.

Ugh. I wasn’t looking forward to this, but, it’s my… oh. A slight tug at the ropes, and the sled easily slides forward behind me. Johnny puts his foot back to stop it from running into the back of us.

“Yeah, it’s lighter than it looks. We’re lucky we’re first. Means we won’t be pullin’ it when the bloodbeast is loaded on it.” Johnny sighs, taking up his side of the rope.

“Ah, so we’re heading off now…?”

“Yes.” Rann answers, patting my shoulder as he walks past.

Rann and Rob move in front of Johnny and I, standing in front of the palisade gates, while Arshak, Arshiya, Einar and Han move in behind the sled. Silence hangs for a moment, before a voice calls and the gates begin to move with a creak, sliding behind the walls as they’re pulled along their wheels by three people on each side.

“The gates… slide open? They don’t open outwards?”

“The Chief’s handiwork. Makes ‘em easier to move and sturdier too.” Johnny responds.

“Expedition team.” Rann calls, and everyone stands to attention, so I go along with it.

He turns to look back at us, taking a deep breath… and then simply nodding his head towards the world beyond the town walls.

With that, the expedition team sets off, as the crowd behind us cheers and calls for good luck.

The sled is indeed lighter than it looks, sliding through the muddy earth with ease. The hard part is trying to keep control of it so it doesn’t crash into the back of my legs.

As the last of us moved through the gates, they began to creak and slide shut, and the clamour of the village behind us quickly faded into the distance; until the only sound was of boots squelching through the mud.

Occasionally, the four people behind the sled would murmur amongst themselves, too quietly for me to hear. Rann and Rob in front of us stayed silent, keeping their eyes forward as they led us along the hidden road that led to Haven.

“So. Rann. Where exactly is this bloodbeast of yours hidin’? It’s gonna be harder to move around luggin’ this giant sled here.” Johnny asks.

“It’s lurking in a cave to the southeast. Once we reach the seeping wound, we’ll follow it upstream and come round behind the cave. We’ll set up camp, then set our traps, and strike in the morning.” Rann answers.

“Up the seepin’ wound…? Falian’s brass balls…” Johnny sighs.

“The seeping wound…?”

“It’s a stream that runs downhill from the south. We call it the seepin’ wound because the water’s red and sticky like blood seepin’ from an open wound.” Johnny answers.

“That’s…”

“You’ll know it when ya see it.” He sighs.

“Right.”

I mean… blood seeping from an open wound? That’s almost distressingly easy to imagine.

After this exchange, we continued marching in mostly silence.

I don’t know how I would have made it on my own out here.

Everywhere I look, it feels like it’s the same twisted, gnarled trees with dark red leaves, looming over me and leering with mocking faces carved in their bark, forming a thick, almost impassable forest on all sides of the path. Black rocks and pebbles lay scattered across the ground, most half-buried in the endless sea of mud that carpets this whole godsdamned place. At least it makes it easier to pull the sled.

Which I’ve been doing for… maybe three hours now? The scenery hasn’t changed much. The path we’ve been following, narrow as it is, is mostly hidden by the thick trees either side of it. As far as I know, this is the main route to Haven, which is supposedly hidden from the other inhabitants of the Abyss, so it makes sense that the road itself is hidden. Still, I swear it feels like we’re going in circles…

Until the group comes to a halt.

The thick line of trees breaks and gives way to a small clearing; a crossroads of sorts. Numerous trails run off in different directions, and a stream of dark, blood-red water runs through the middle, coming down from a gentle uphill slope.

“Seeping wound, huh.”

“Told ya.” Johnny quips.

Looking up along the stream, the slope is pretty mild, but it just runs on and on up into the distance. No vegetation grows along the stream’s edge, it’s just lined with black rocks stained red by the filthy water.

“We head up along the seeping wound until just before the stonefields. We head east from there, we’ll reach behind the bloodbeast’s cave safely.” Rann turns to address the group.

“All the way to the stonefields…? You said half a day’s march, Rann…” Rob sighs, shouldering the heavy polearm he’s been carrying.

“It’s half a day to get there. It’s a full day to get there safely.” Rann responds. “Let’s get moving.”

With a groan of compliance, the group starts moving again, turning to head up along beside the stream. This route is wider than the path we were just on, but the fact that we’re now pulling it uphill along a very slippery slope means it’s taking a bit more effort to keep the sled moving.

“How long are we on sled duty, Johnny…?”

“However long Rann decides we are, Feathers.” Johnny grunts.

“Half a day. We’ve only been walking three hours.” Rann chimes in from the front.

Walking behind Rann and Rob… they’re both just… big. Rann, with his giant flat-tipped greatsword, and a red creature’s pelt draped across his square shoulders. His arms and his legs are thick with muscle, and he’s the second tallest man here. The one who is the tallest is Rob beside him. Rob isn’t as stocky as Rann, but he’s nearly head-and-shoulders taller than Rann, who in turn is head-and-shoulders taller than me. He carries a long, sturdy polearm with a long, sharp head like a glaive. It looks nearly as big as the goddamn bear spears loaded on the sled. Rob’s weapon is simple in its design, though. Rann’s sword has something different about it.

It looks old. The leather of its grip is old and worn, fraying around the edges. Many scratches line the dirt embedded along its length, but the blade’s edge shines with vicious sharpness. Its crossguard is a simple steel bar, and the pommel is just an iron ring, with a short length of chain hanging from it. It’d be an ordinary sword, if not for the flat tip. Only an executioner’s blade has a flat tip, normally. Perhaps that is what it was. Along the blade’s fuller, some form of letters or runes are carved into it and inlaid with faded gold. Executioners seemed to like writing things on their swords, so it’s probably something about death or deliverance or… whatever executioners like to write on their tools.

“Yeah, I could never figure out what’s written on his sword. No one can.” Johnny says, noticing what I was staring at.

“Does it matter what it says?” Rann calls behind him.

“It could be cursed! It could belong to some terrible Daemon!” Johnny raises his voice to make a point of his concern.

“If it belonged to a Daemon then they’ve had plenty of time to come and get it. The sword has been in the armoury since before I was here.” Rann grunts.

“You’re talking about daemons as if they actually exist…”

“That’s cos they are- oooooh.” Johnny, making some realisation, comes to a halt, and the rest of the party stops with him.

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“Right. You never went to school here, Marina. Nor has the Chief told you.” Rann turns to look at me… no, everyone’s looking at me.

“There aren’t actually… daemons, right… horns, leathery wings, evil and all that…”

“That, Feathers, is either a Draaf or an Azore. Daemons come in every size, shape and colour.” Johnny answers.

“Some Azores have feathered wings! The Chief taught us that!” Arshak calls from behind the sled.

“I’ll believe that Azores have feathers when one lands in front of me!” Johnny yells back, insulted at the idea that these Azores could have feathers.

“Get a move on. We’re burning what little daylight this muddy hole gives us.” Rann orders, and the party begins moving again, and silence hangs for a moment.

“While we’re moving, we can bring Marina up to speed. You three young ones up the back, you can join in too.” Rann calls back, which is met with a loud groan from Arshak.

“What is a Daemon?” Rann asks.

“Uh… inhabitants of the Underlands?”

“We’re the Damned, Marina. There are Daemons, but most people are either Damned, or the natives of this world called Denizens. Can you provide an answer, Han?” Rann says.

“A Daemon is a being of great power and authority over a single concept, similar to the Gods, only Daemons walk this world among us.” Han answers.

“Good. What are some examples of Daemons, Arshak?” I can hear Rann’s grin.

“The Daemon of Power, who controls all forms of power. The Daemon of Empire, who controls the Trivum Empire, the largest empire. The Daemon of Riches, the richest being in the world. The Daemon of-'' Arshak drones on, before,

“Alright alright we get it.” Johnny cuts him off.

“How do you know about this? Are there any Daemons in the Abyss..?”

“Only reason we know anything about the world beyond the Abyss is the piles of books the founder of Haven brought down with him. And as far as we know, there’s no Daemons or anything smart down here. Just us Damned, and we’re the most Damned of the lot.” Rann grunts.

“So there’s people like us outside the Abyss?”

“Yes, they came from the Overlands like us. But unlike us, they don’t pick up the… same traits we did.” Rann says, rubbing his pointed ear to prove his point.

“That’s the part I don’t get… Why did we get white pupils and red eyes and red hair and… half-elf ears. Why did we get these bits added on or changed.”

“Why’d you get wings, Feathers?” Johnny pointedly asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do we. Just one of life’s many mysteries. I’d say it’s a blessin’ that you have ‘em, but whatever magic gave you wings didn’t seem to magically teach you how to use ‘em, ay?”

“Even if they did…” I look upwards. “I wouldn’t be confident. It’s a long way up.”

“Good point.” Johnny peers up. “Falian knows how deep down this hole we are…”

“Six hundred tals.” Rann answers casually.

“Eh? How d’you know that?” Johnny says, surprised to get an actual answer.

“It’s an estimate taken by the man that founded Haven. It’s recorded in one of the books in the library.” Rann shrugs. “Can’t prove if it’s true or not.”

Six hundred tals… if I recall, a ‘tal’ is roughly a metre, so, 600 tals is… We’re 600 metres down. Yeah. That’s a really long way for someone who has never flown before.

“Since they were mentioned. What are some of the native races of the Underlands?” Rann asks.

“Uhh… those… giraffe things..?”

“The hell is a- no, the Draaf. You know of dragons, yeah?” Johnny interjects.

“I’ve seen them in books and read about them.”

“Take the horns, scaly wings, and tail of a dragon, put it on a human. That’s a Draaf. Supposedly they’re just as territorial as dragons back up top are.” He answers, using his hands to mimic said horns, wings, and tail.

“That’s one. What else?” Rann nods.

“The Aren… they’re sheep people.” Rob says, suddenly joining the conversation.

“Yes, supposedly they have the horns and wool of a sheep. They may even have hooves instead of feet.” Rann chuckles a little. “Wonder if they taste like mutton.”

“Dunno what the point of all this is… Not like we’ll ever leave this place…” Rob murmurs, just loud enough for the four of us up front to hear.

Rann suddenly brings the party to a halt, turning to look at Rob, who shrinks back a little.

“What...? No good fillin’ ‘er ‘ead with things none of us’ll ever see…” He says in his own defence.

“You’re lucky the Chief isn’t here to give you an earful for that.” Rann grunts, starting to move again with the rest of us following along behind him, and another awkward silence falls for a time.

“Johnny?” I lean in to whisper.

“Yeah?” He answers, keeping his voice down.

“What does Rann mean by the Chief would give Rob an earful?”

“Ah. Yeah, the Chief has plans to get us out of here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not that any of us know the details, but, apparently yeah she has plans. Better than nothin’ I guess.”

A way out of this six hundred metre deep hole. From what I have seen of “the edge” of the Abyss, it’s just a sheer cliff face all the way up. But wait, if some guy got down here…

“Hey, how exactly did the guy that founded Haven get down here? And… does he have a name?”

“It was a man named Blaine. He was Damned, but he arrived with nothing changed about his body - meaning he arrived in a place called the Gateway, the safest place for someone like us to end up. He was lucky. So lucky he was that he amassed considerable wealth for himself. One day he heard of the Abyss, and the fate of the sorry souls that inhabit it. He decided to make a difference. He gathered everything he could think of. Tools, building materials, furniture, weapons, food, and books. He built a crane on the edge of the cliffs above to bring supplies down to the Abyss.” Rann answers. He’s certainly told this story before.

But if this guy, Blaine, built a crane, then…

“What happened to the crane?”

“Thought you’d pick up on that. For two weeks, supplies were brought up and down, and Haven began to be built, as an outpost of sorts to link the rest of the world with the Abyss. During that time, few of the Damned down here were found and either escaped or settled in Haven, as its first inhabitants. Then…”

“Then?”

“The crane went up, and never came down.”

“They were abandoned?!”

“Could be. Sabotaged, betrayed, forgotten, who knows.” Rann shrugs. “Could be still up there. Far as I know, nothing from it ever fell down here.”

So… There’s a chance.

That, if I build the strength, experience and courage, I could fly up and out of the Abyss, find the crane, and lower it back down and re-open the link between the Abyss and the wider world. That for the first time in a hundred years, people could- wait. No.

If it’s been a hundred years and that crane has still survived, it’s almost definitely not working.

“You picked up on why I brought you along now, didn’t you.” Rann says, seeming to read my thoughts.

“You’re putting a lot of faith in me…”

“Haven’t let me down yet.” Rann glances back at me. I can’t see the lower part of his face past the fur of the pelt draped across his shoulders, but I can tell he’s smiling.

I appreciate his vote of confidence, but he’s still asking a lot of me.

We continued on following the accurately named “seeping wound” stream as it wove its way amongst the trees for another hour in mostly silence. Although the sled wasn’t heavy, the slight uphill slope and slick mud beneath posed the constant risk of the sled sliding back downhill if we slacked off too much while pulling it.

Aside from the dark red of the iron-rich water running alongside us, everything on the ground is just… brown. Dark brown mud, and dark brown tree trunks bursting from the ground. There’s no undergrowth, and no vegetation beside the trees themselves. Unlike the leering trees closer to Haven whose trunks twisted and snaked up to the sky, these trees stand tall, straight, and utterly featureless. Their leaves, from what I can see, resemble the needles of a pine tree, only their leaves are as brown as the mud coating the ground. The only thing breaking their illusion as ordinary pine trees is that I haven’t seen a single pinecone, neither in the trees nor on the ground.

“Halt.” Rann says, drawing my attention away from the strange flora of the Abyss back to him.

He looks around for a moment, then turns to face us. “We’re halfway there. Einar, Han, you’re on sled duty.”

We’re halfway already? Huh. Didn’t feel that long.

Han and Einar move up from behind the sled, with Einar taking Johnny’s position (and giving me a glare) while Han takes the ropes from me.

“Huh… lighter than it looks..” Han comments as he takes up the rope.

“Yeah. Have fun you two.” Johnny says, as the two of us move around behind the sled, in front of Arshak and Arshiya.

“We’ve made good time. We’ll get to the campsite an hour before sundown. Let’s move.” Rann orders, and the party sets off once again.

“Hoh… am I glad I won’t be pullin’ that thing with the bloodbeast on it. Can’t imagine how heavy that sucker’d be.” Johnny sighs, rubbing his upper arm.

“Who will be pulling it with the bloodbeast on it?”

“Rob, and whoever’s in the best shape after the fight. Which definitely won’t be me.” Johnny smiles, tapping his temple with his finger.

“What makes you so sure of that, huh?” Arshak questions from behind, raising his voice.

“That’s a trade secret.” Johnny smirks back at Arshak.

“What trade? You don’t trade anything.” Arshak shoots back.

“Ahh, you’ll get it when you’re older, kid.” Johnny shrugs.

“Older?! If I’m old enough to be part of the expedition team I’m old enough to know whatever your dumb trade secrets are!” Arshak yells, to which Johnny just chuckles.

“He’s teasing you, Arshak.”

“Hook, line, and sinker, kid.” Johnny grins. Arshak’s face goes red, crossing his arms with a huff. Even Arshiya giggles a little at his embarrassment.

“Since you lot back there are so rowdy… Let’s continue our lesson.” Rann comments.

“Ugggghhhhhh…” Arshak groans.

“Oh! Can I ask a question!”

“Go ahead.” Rann calls back.

“Do any of the books mention where the dead Six God’s bodies are? Or what happened to them?”

“No idea.” He answers.

“Oh.”

“Although. I did read something about that. A theory.” He continues, noticing my disappointment. “That we’re standing on one of the dead Gods’ bodies, right now.”

“... The hell kinda horseshit is that, Rann? When did you start readin’, anyway? Been spending too much time in the Chief’s library?” Johnny says, almost insulted by the idea that we’re standing on a dead god’s body.

“I didn’t write it. Just some think that the Gods’ corpses are where us Damned turn up here. Although even I noticed a problem with that.” Rann says, glancing back at us.

“You noticed it was horseshit?” Johnny wryly comments.

“I read there’s seven places the Damned arrive in. Only six gods’ corpses to go around.” Rann shrugs.

If it really is the gods’ corpses that bring us here… then why would there be seven locations that the Damned arrive in, when only six gods died?

“It doesn’t sound that far-fetched that the god’s bodies brought us here, but there being seven places that the Damned arrive in does kinda counter that, aha…” Han ponders.

“... Are there horses in the Underlands?”

“Supposedly.” Rann says, scratching his beard. “Dogs. Cats. Rats. Horses, rabbits, chickens, sheep, pigs, even gryphons, the Underlands has them all, on top of its own unique animals. Maybe they came here along with the gods. Not like any of those animals are down here, though.”

“Maybe the gods brought those animals with them with the hope that one day, we could live in this world like we did in our former world.” Han nods thoughtfully.

“Oh and what would you know of that, Mr Songman? Were you a priest in your past life? Did the gods whisper that in your ear?” Johnny pipes up.

“You got any better explanations, colonial?” Han shoots back, sounding angered.

“Let’s not start name-calling…” Rann sighs, defusing the situation.

Songman, huh…? Actually.

“Where is everyone from? Uh… before we all ended up here?”

No one answers immediately. Rann glances back over his shoulder, before turning to look ahead. “Near Drachenkoenig.” He answers.

“Arshiya and I are from Samarkal. The Spice Isles, if you don’t know any better.” Arshak grunts.

“Nordfjellene.” Einar answers dryly.

“The Westlands..” Rob answers, almost sounding unsure about it.

“Song, the Heavenly Empire.” Han responds.

“Newport, shinin’ jewel of the Giornovan Empire’s new world colonies! The Songman there’s just jealous we got there first.” Johnny answers smugly. “How bout you, Feathers?”

“She’s from the Sovrana Republic.” Han chimes in, smirking back at Johnny.

“Who asked… whatever. Really, Feathers? That dinky little place?” Johnny asks, brushing off Han’s retort.

Calling the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen that has dozens of epithets relating to its beauty “dinky” irks me for some reason.

“Yes, that ‘dinky little place’. The Gem of the South. The Shining City. The Peerless Azure. The Serene. The City Where Gold Flows Like Wine And Wine Flows Like Water. The-”

“Alright alright I get it, I was joking. Sheesh…” Johnny waves in defeat.

The small talk continued as we made our way along the winding trail following the blood-red stream of the seeping wound, passing the hours along with stories of our former lives.