Tales of the Underworld Contest

Explaining the background to my short story above (or the beginning of a longer story), I imagine the underworld to be the home of a druidic cult that worships an old religion that centers around a Mother Creator figure. In the distant past, they were persecuted for their faith by the "outworlders" (what they call those that live on the surface). They retreated to the underworld and turned dank, dark caves into a place of beauty and rest. Hidden in the underworld for centuries, they have only rare contact with the outside world. Within their caverns, they have learned the magical arts of healing and rock-shaping. Instead of mining rock and crafting it, they can magically shape rock to suit their needs. Their vast, underground cities look like they have naturally shaped over centuries, but is in fact the work of their own craft.

In my story, Jerome happens to come into contact with these people who help him in time of need, healing his wounds but leaving before he wakes up. If I were to continue from here, it would tell of Jerome's discovery of this hidden culture and how they came to be. An even longer story line would include Jerome's return to the surface to advocate for the druidic culture, bringing about a long foretold reunification with their "outworld" brothers and sisters.

Some things that can be integrated with the Shroud story (we know of so far)... Perhaps the druids and the gypsies are distant relations. The druids were those that retreated in the face of persecution, while the gypsies tried to stay and reform. Over time, the gypsies could not impact the world as much as they would have hoped and became a transient and isolated people with their own distinct culture. Perhaps the gypsies still have glimpses of this "old religion" in a syncretistic worldview that incorporates other beliefs as well.

 

Cathedral Passage

The light glowing from phosphoresce unseen, the myriad of stalactite and stalagmite shadows, the incessant dripping of minerals and the rushing of turquoise water all heightened the senses of the five-man hunting party crossing the cathedral floor. Bearak, the party's scout, cautiously followed the tracks that had brought the five men deep underground. Suddenly, he threw his hand in the air and the party members froze in their tracks. Bearak cautiously backtracked to his comrades.

"Has anyone noticed anything, strange?" Bearak inquired as he reached his companions.

"Why, what is it?" asked Hyell, the leader of the hunting party.

Before Bearak could answer, Merkor, the tallest and strongest member of the troop said "Since we entered this newest cavern I've noticed some of the stalagmites seem to have faces.".

"Faces." chuckled Hyell, "you're imagining things." "I've never ..."

"No, haven't you noticed it. Some of them have bumps and creases that resemble faces", interrupted Bearak. "That's why I stopped us. I could swear as I looked up I saw eyes flick shut on that big one ahead to our left, and it wasn't the first one."

The members of the party quickly glanced around at the surrounding forest of stones with fine tuned alertness. "I see what looks like faces too." said Selor.

"Get a hold of yourselves!" barked Hyell. "Sure were in a strange place but we've been in strange places many times before. And besides, stones don't have faces. By the gods, stones aren't even alive. What you're seeing as faces are imperfections of nature; nothing else."

"You're right." Bearak nervously responded. "I guess the strangeness of this place is getting to me. Crazy; stones don't have eyes."

"Alright, let's get back after that prey before we loose whatever it is." prompted Hyell.

With that, Bearak quickly resumed his lead position, cautiously choosing a path wide of the stalagmite he could swear was looking at him before he stopped the party. The five-man team quietly but hurriedly made their way to the far end of the cavern and into the next passage, keeping focused eyes on the tracks of their quarry. That, however, did not stop a single man from also keeping a wary eye on each stone tower they passed.

Just as Zylach, the last member of the hunting party, entered the exit tunnel, grins formed and eyes blinked open all across the floor of the departed cathedral cavern.

 

Hammer of Creation

Prologue-
Kalron was born to the IronShield clan of Dwarves deep in the forsaken mountains. Kalron
was a promising weapon smith when his magic skills appeared. With the rarity of mages
amongst the dwarven people his clan got together and sent him to the elven commune in the far off Trenning forest.
While with the elves his skill as a weaponsmith and magic blossomed being an extraordinary mage as well as weaponsmith. His strength with the earth combined with the elves natural magic made his metalcrafting an art with the elves came to treasure. Such that on his acceptance into the ranks of mages he was gifted with a staff imbued with
mithril which made it virtually indestructible and also functioned as a staff of spell storing.

Into the darkness-
It was the first days of spring and the elves were entering into the season of gathering. A group of elves and elf-friends gathered to head into the underdark to gather rare metals/gems/fungi. Of course their first thought was to include Kalron.
They set off first thing the next morning the group setoff, 3 elven warriors a cleric and mage as well as kalron. After 2 days and a few orcs they were at the base of the Razor mountain chain. After a days search they found an entrance to the underdark and headed down into the caverns. The initial descant was slippery with moss and a stream of water. In no time Kalron felt at home and took the lead. For 2 days he moved south and east deep underground, periodically they would come across a group of orcs or even a few dark elves. But none were a match for the group of veteran fighters in the lead supported the magic behind them.
At last they neared their objective, a cavern of great wonder at least that's what the elves kept saying. Kalron felt a slight tremor and stopped the group, this deep into the cave complex should be sturdy and yet he could sense the instability around them. The group started forward the floor shifted and slid away. The group found themselves free falling all trying to find a hand hold or something to slow their descant. Kalron saw his chance if he could just leap far enough out as a small ledge presented itself. He brought his feet under his body and pushed with all his might. He was rewarded when he felt his hands grasp the edge of the ledge. He worked his to his right and wedged his staff into the corner. As he was moving into the corner to brace himself he heard a thwap behind him, he turned quickly and felt a stinging on his cheek as the arrow through his pack cut his cheek. Damn elves could be heard bouncing off the walls.
In short order he had their rope tied off on a series of spikes as he climbed up further. After a few minutes he was on the edge of the pit looking down as the elves were all well on their way up. He tied his rope off just in time to see 3 orcs coming his way. He released a lightning bolt that tore through the orcs but unfortunately hit the wall behind the orcs and came back at Kalron. When Kalron came to the elves were chuckling and his beard was smoldering.
They proceeded down the tunnel that the orcs came from only to be greeted by a clamoring group of orcs, more then they could see or count. The warriors raised their weapons, the cleric uttered a prayer and without thinking Kalron released his fireball he memorized. As he completed the spell the other mage screamed "NO!". But before Kalron could reassure him the fireball detonated, well away from the group in the midst of the orcs. Orcs flew every which way from the blast. And then there was a growling from behind the orcs, a rolling fireball. GAS! the mage yelled. Everyone hit the ground as the air was sucked into the fireball. Orcs ran screaming in every direction, those who survived were on fire and the rest....oh the smell.
As the air rushed back in and the area started to cool down a wave of fear and panic crossed Kalron and he slipped into the pit down his rope just as a huge ball of some liquid flew over head and splashed into the far wall. Kalron felt a burning and sizzling down his back as the acid burned through his pack and cloak. Above him he heard growls and the sound of battle. He climbed up the rope and was greeted by the site of the elves in battle with a rather large black dragon. One of the warriors was already down and the cleric was desperately trying to heal another. Having learned his lesson he unleashed a stream of magical energy. The energy hit the dragon and it seemed to scratch the dragons scale. Desperation time as he whipped out his only scroll, his mentor told him there was a chance of failure as the scroll was above him. But he read it and recited the spell, he felt the chill leave his finger as the cone of cold left his finger and enveloped the dragons left side. The dragon howled in pain but before he could turn on the new attacker the cleric raised his holy symbol and uttered a single word. Kalrons reality rolled and when he woke he found himself once again on his back.
The elves were babbling quite excitedly and pointing at the far wall. Kalron followed where they were pointing and couldn't believe his eyes. There was a large chunk of silver that seemed to have rainbows playing through it. He knew it from legend, raw mithril. Everyone was excited and had forgotten about the dragon, the orcs or...the dragons lair. All anyone could think of was how to get that thing home. After a few hours they removed a large chunk of mithril and wrapped it in a few cloaks.
They moved into the next cavern and everyone stopped and jaws hit the floor. The cavern was huge the stalagmites rose up to meet the stalactites and each glittered with a variety of gems. The rest would have been as beautiful but most the unusual vegetation was beyond singed. Kalron had pretty much torched the place when the gas caught fire.
The whole trip home everyone was in great spirits and insisted Kalron put the staff in the wagon, he'd done enough damage.
When they arrived at Elven home they were greeted as heroes, except for a few of the mages who needed the vegetation and fungi. Kalron took his portion of the mithril and worked with the even metalsmiths and between them they created the hammer of creation, a fairly unremarkable hammer with elven runes the length of the shaft. But when used in metalsmith of any kind it grants the wielder various benefits as well as making it impossible to fail.

 

?Cynric! Quickly this way? Directly ahead a shallow forest with a mountain back dropping. Elwin swiftly shifted his petite legs in the direction of a monumental tree, embellished with a single rune. I could not quite make it out from our remote location but the closer we came the more it resembled the mark of thieves. Elwin shouted from advanced position, ?There it is!? His hand extended with one of his four severed fingers directing us to a trifling passage between rock that looked as if it entered the mountain. Hesitant but also concerned with my capture continued as closely behind Elwin as I could. He was hasty for a smaller fellow, he could not have been any taller than my chest. Nearing the tree the runic language became clear to me as I was well versed in the majority of languages. ?Exit?.

I passed the grand oak tree and scurried to the ground as Elwin shouted from within the cave in my reply, ?I do not deprive myself of food as you may.? ?That much is evident.? Elwin remarked. from the distance I heard the guards shouting the direction we had fled so I gave a final attempt at drawing my gut inward to fit through this puny opening. ?I?m inside? as I exclaimed I felt a strain from my top knot. Elwin drew his dagger from his sheath stepping up to free my hair ?No!? I shouted without concern. Elwin withdrew his dagger and reached over to try to free it first with his full hand as he did a brisk object came through casting a shadow and obstructing my view of Elwin.

As the object retracted I was able to see Elwin laying on the cavern floor inanimately. I drew my own dagger to free myself and hopped down to check his condition. Noticing his shallow breathing he was alive. The wound from what resembled a halberd seemed to have only glanced his forearm. having enough time I dressed his wounds with a quick scrap I dismembered from my cloak. I hoisted Elwin's malnourished body across my back and continued onward into the obscurity of the mountain.

Elwin began to wake. ?Be careful you took a nasty blow to your head.? He groaned in response as I stopped to let him down. ?Where are we?? I replied a few miles north from where we entered this explicitly narrow opaque passageway. ?Are you familiar with this location?? Elwin, ?I haven?t been here since I was a boy.? Cynric, ?Great so we just follow this onward and we will resurface?? Elwin, ?Not exactly? Cynric, ?What do you mean?? Elwin, ?Well most of these corridors are layered with traps to keep unwanted guest out.? Cynric, ?Then why haven?t we been taken?? Elwin, ?No one wants us dead.? He said as he stood at his full height brushing his cloths clean of dirt. Taking the lead once more Elwin continued ahead, ?Come on I will introduce you to the family!? It was either follow or head back in the direction of those who wanted my head so I proceeded on in curiosity.

A hour lapsed of following mostly Elwins voice in the ill-lit corridor we finally caught glimpse of a flickering light distant and faint but evident it was the unsteady flames of a torch! I uttered in question, ?Are we there?? Elwin did not reply just hopped forward through the light slightly before mimicking the tongue of an owl. I could not reproduce that sound I thought to myself as I remained perched near the edge where Elwin had just dropped. A head sprang upward, it was Elwin. He asked if I was coming? I slowly leaned forward to evaluate the spacious area.

?Come on.? Elwin marked. I hopped down from the ledge landing firmly on the shallow ledge. I caught the sound of Elwins voice bouncing through off the cavern walls. Other sounds followed such as running water almost resembling a stream. I clinched the cavern wall with my fingers while extending my right arm forward to gradually gain forward momentum. Elwin one foot in front of another without a care in the world whistling a tune was almost clear of the rock and onto a set of sequenced wooden platforms that concluded the isolation between us and apparently friends of Elwin who awaited his arrival in celebration. Still hesitant I slowly made my way closer to Elwin and his friends. Laughter echoed from the group through the cave. I with each step grew more and more daring. I was finally hopping from wood step to wood step. I had reach the group and was presented with a cup of ale. Out of breathe I snag the cup and downed the ale. Reingard the stranger who shared the cup was impressed and asked me to join them for dinner.

Reingard and Elwin conversed as I was occupied by a few of Elwins other friends who were very curious about where I had come from and why I was in the region. As I shared my journeys more and more gathered to listen. Just as I was about to explain my exile My name was shouted from from Reingards quarters. I asked everyone to excuse me and went to visit Elwin and Reingard. Both sitting a tables length apart Reingard looking stern and unpleased, Elwin freightended. I greeted them both regardless and walked in closer to the table where they sat. Reingard asked me my name. I replied, ?Cynric?. He shouted, ?What is your god damn name!? I replied once more, ?Cynric?. He exclaimed, ?the Scourge!?. immediately after Reingard had confronted my practically nose to nose we stood. ?Guards!? shouted Reingard. I was agile to my tongue, ?Trudo Eam? invoking a spell to hasten my retreat by knocking Reingard back but as I finished my incantation I was struck down.

I was awaken by a cold flow of water over my head as I was deep inside a well lit room with several corridors. I heard a voice and looked up to see Reingard sentencing me. I was not sure what he was saying but it resembled a court with their community gathered around spectating. As the haze dissipated I was able to hear the few remaining words Reingard had to offer, ?May you die a horrible death within the Labyrinth of Blight!?. I gathered my footing and rose stripped of everything besides my pouch of reagents. I noticed a metal glistening from the touch light. I slowly approached it noticing it was my scythe. I grabbed it up and tossed it on my back holstered on my shoulder by its extruding handle near the blade. I thought of a few spells before making my way forth. ?Coniuro Cibus?.

As I satisfied my hunger with the conjured apple I noticed a puddle of blood and a figure suspended mid air. I walked closer only to find Elwin stabbed and hung to death. I reached for my scythe to lower him to the ground, I would not let him be left here.

 

During your travels you happen across a small village blanketed in fog that appears to have been recently deserted. Exploring the village you find various journals and letters describing a series of brutal murders, unexplained disappearances and other strange phenomenon such as the ever present fog and reports of horrific creatures stalking the streets at night. You also come across a secret gathering place that strongly suggests that some of the town?s people were members of a demonic cult.

Continuing your investigation you learn that the cult members were harvesting a rare mushroom found in the catacombs beneath the village. These mushrooms were used in the cult?s rituals, and possess hallucinogenic properties that allowed them to gain control over the minds of the other villagers. Upon entering the catacombs you soon locate the mushroom patch but no sign of the cult or the missing villagers. A strange shimmering archway leads further into the darkness of the catacombs and curiosity compels you to venture forth.

What starts off as a rather dark and claustrophobic tunnel soon opens into a hall way resembling a prison ward lined with locked but empty cells. Believing that the answers you seek must be close at hand you press on and soon spot what looks like a women in the shadows up ahead. You quicken your pace but as you approach she turns and walks into an adjacent room closing the door behind her. As you reach the door you find it locked and can hear the sound of someone sobbing on the other side. After unsuccessfully trying to open the door you reluctantly decide to move on. You take a few steps further down the hall when suddenly you hear a blood curdling scream. You quickly turn back towards the door but can no longer hear the sounds of sobbing. You notice a growing pool of blood at the base of the door. You pause a moment to consider whether or not you should leave this dark place when you hear the high pitched screech of rusty metal doors opening. You look back the way you just came and are horrified to find that all the prison cell doors are now open and a multitude of what can only be described as nightmares are pouring out into the hall. You are cut off! You can either move deeper into the catacombs or die where you stand.

As you journey forward the catacombs become stranger and more horrifying with every step. You come across challenging puzzles, numerous horrifying monsters and even a few wayward travelers. Most of the people you encounter will seem lost, confused, angry, half mad, or overcome by guilt and sorrow. A few however will seem almost at home down in the darkness amongst the monsters.

Talking to the people you come across, solving puzzles and finding various clues you eventually piece together the cults plan. They are attempting to make contact with their demonic deity but rather than summoning the demon to our world they have opened a gateway into its realm. The catacombs under the village are not simply a passage through the earth but a path into hell!

Pickup a copy of Shroud of the Avatar for the shocking conclusion!

 

The Warrior and the Flower
----------------------------------

The warrior opened his eyes.

Cold, hard ground. A far-off glow. The sound of a river.

What happened?

He tried to move, but his body wouldn't listen. His eyes refused to focus; his brain, to recall where he was or what he was doing.

With a forceful grunt and an exertion of muscles strained beyond their limits, he managed to prop an arm beneath him and roll over onto his back.

<i>Thud</i>. The pain was unbearable.

He screamed. Once he reclaimed his breath and the red in his vision cleared, he could dimly make out the arched rock ceiling far above him, dripping with stalactites. He couldn't help but feel as if the cavern itself was preparing to pierce his chest and finish him. The reverberations of his scream came echoing back, solidifying in his mind the size of the expanse he was lost in. How undignified.

A cavern. Of course. The Catacombs.

A drop of water fell onto his forehead from the menacing spikes above, rolled down his cheek, and touched his lips. The salty, mineral-ridden water was anything but refreshing.

The warrior noticed the hand resting on his chest was sticky and warm. He brought it with some effort before his face and saw what he dreaded.

Blood. A lot of it. Looking down, he could see the outline of his fractured armor, exposing an open wound in his gut. He put his head back and closed his eyes, grimacing as he attempted what he already knew was a futile effort.

Just as he was afraid of. He couldn't feel his legs, much less move them. His situation was becoming clear. Now is not my time, he thought desperately. Vainly.

The warrior strained his ears to hear anything he could over his own labored breaths. There was the quiet rushing of the underground river nearby, the occasional plop of water into one of the Catacomb's many eroded pools, and the faint far-away scratching of some tiny creature.

He was alone. Alone and dying in this cold, wet hell with no escape.

It was starting to come back. The last thing he remembered was accepting the job. A weasely-looking man covered in pockmarks had offered him a none-too-generous sum to escort him and his goods to the other side of the mountain range that separates the continent. Going through one of the shallower levels of the Catacombs was a common enough shortcut, and one that the warrior had taken before, though it wasn't his preferred route. Somehow the dirty merchant made it sound like it was his idea from the beginning.

He swore, his voice a thin rasp. Thieving bastard. He pieced together what had happened. He should have been more careful, but he was too sure of himself, too proud. In a blind grasp at a few extra coins and, with luck, a bit of glory, he was led right into a trap.

The spearhead of the merchant's goon was probably still lodged in his belly.

Not my time, he thought again. Though what difference does it make? What mark have I even left on this world?

The warrior had lived a lonely life. Not necessarily by choice; that was simply the way things were. He traveled whenever he could, fought in his share of violent battles (with both humans and daemons at the other end of his blade), and had seen more adventure in his few short years than many did in entire lifetimes. In the end, however, his nights were spent alone.

Had he caught the eye of the odd barmaid? Of course. He had even spent many a quiet hour poring over the great sonnets of bards past as reference for his own amateur love poems, always clumsy but full of emotion, to give to his sweetheart of the season. But, as they say, 'twas not meant to be.

The smiling faces of his past brief romances floated to the front of his mind in what he now knew were his final hours. They were of no comfort, but he smiled back anyway.

Most of their names escaped him. Not that they mattered anymore. They had almost certainly moved on, found new lovers, and started families as the warrior wandered on.

He thought of one, still, often enough. He used to see her face in the clouds, on the surface of a serene lake, in paintings of royalty. He heard her voice from time to time in love ballads and sad songs. He smelled her hair on the breeze of spring mornings and felt her touch on the finest of linens. He was painfully mindful of all the feelings he was never eloquent enough to put to words.

He was brave enough, or perhaps stupid enough, to take up a life of adventuring, but never brave enough to go back to her and confess his feelings. And it was too late. It was too late a long time ago. How many years had it been? He dimly recalled a time when the future had been filled with a million unexplored possibilities and his youthful heart ached not with love but wanderlust.

What was her name? the warrior asked himself. Strange. He had always remembered. The other women in his life eventually faded from his heart, but her, he had always remembered. Her eyes, at least, he would never forget: they were an icy blue that reflected the quiet sadness within.

Yes, he couldn't forget those eyes. She was a poor girl growing up and had faced more hardship than most. The warrior felt both hatred and love whenever he looked into those sad eyes. Hated the pain within, but loved that he could break that ice with a smile when he tried. Her laugh was the most beautiful sound in the world to him ? a veritable reason for living.

But rather than staying in his hometown, he chose instead a life of danger and excitement. He would come back to visit of course, from time to time, but things were never the same. Eventually, after his parents died, he never returned.

What was her name? he wondered again. The pain was less now, and the warrior found himself lost in his memories. He strained to remember. She was blond, he knew. Her hair was dazzling in the sunlight, and her skin was fair. They had spent many nights together on the knoll, gazing at the stars and talking until sunrise.

They never kissed, regrettably. Her lips, they were ?

The warrior was getting tired. He let his head roll over and his cheek touched the wet rock. That's when he saw something he was surprised to see there.

A flower. A single yellow flower, blossoming somehow from a stale patch of dirt nearby. It was young yet, but healthy. How did it get here? Why choose such a desolate, depressing place to bloom? The warrior stretched out his arm, but the flower was just out of reach.

He struggled, tried to think back to the day he left home, but a fog was settling in. Had he gone to see her? Did he even say goodbye? Her name, perhaps it was the name of a flower....

The flower was so close. The warrior strained himself one last time and pulled himself nearer to the small miracle. He touched it as his last thought entered his mind once again ?

What was her name?

*****

?Lookit this poor sod. Probably met the same fate as the other two we saw a ways back.? The gruff adventurer kicked at the dead man's boots.

?Wallet's gone, too. What a waste.?

His companion, a bard with long, flowing dark hair, knelt down next to the warrior and studied his face as he brushed a stray strand behind his ear.

?Wonder what his story was,? he mused quietly.

?Who cares. Let's get outta here in case those bandits are still around,? his partner sniffed, glancing around with a trained eye.

?Yeah. Alright.?

The bard stood and stepped over the warrior as he followed the other, careful to avoid disturbing the outstretched arm gently grasping the stem of a lone, unplucked weed.

 

What follows is my contribution to Underworld stories.

Appreciate any feedback. Good chance my grammar is terrible.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

?This is no place for us Moriens? Ark murmured as they pushed deeper into the caverns of the Underworld.
?Calm yourself. The gold we earn from retrieving the reagents found here will be more then worth the risk?. Moriens face was set, scanning the depths of the shadows for fungi, mosses and other things that may hold value on the surface.
?How much gold is worth risking your life for....?? Ark?s comment was only half muttered, the silent echoes fading in the face of the darkness.

They descended into the darkest recesses and occasionally they would stop and harvest some flora with value as a medicine. The juxtaposition of finding healing elements down here was not lost on Ark As the darkness hungrily devoured the light from their torches the flame seemed to dim as they descended further down. They talked of mundane topics; to avoid the silence in the depths of the earth from overwhelming them. In the pauses Ark could swear he heard the caverns themselves breathing, a pulsing of life in the jaw like caves that threatened to crash down and devour them. He didn?t feel like he belonged in there. It was as if anything living was an intruder in this place.

The cave started to expand into a cavern and Ark could hear a sound that was so familiar, yet so unexpected at first he couldn?t identify what it was. A dark blue light throbbed in the cave as they proceeded baffling the two of them as to what could be creating the source.

?What on earth could be giving off any light down here?? Moriens asked, picking up his pace to investigate.
?Be on guard? Ark replied ?If there is light it must mean someone else is down here.?
?Unlikely, but not impossible I suppose? Moriens had all but started jogging to the source where the caverns expanded.
?Hey! Wait up? Ark called out just as Moriens rounded a bend, out of sight.

Ark jogged up to where he lost sight of Moriens and was astonished to find the cave had opened up into an enormous cavern. Through the centre of it a dim glowing river flowed through the rock. It cut a path through the stone and disappeared into a small cave cleft by the constant stream of water. Small flecks of azure light seemed to swim through the current and there was something unusual about the stream. It seemed to have cut the rock cleanly to make its path.

Moriens had knelt over the water and was transfixed by its flow

?It?s astounding! Look at the light! I?ve never seen such a thing in all my life. Ark, if we take this to the surface, I?m sure we can sell this for a fortune. If we collect enough of these small lights I could place it in a jar and read by it anytime of night. Beyond that there must be even more possibilities, surely?
?Be careful? Ark warned, ?we don?t know what it is yet, it may be dangerous??
?Of course, of course, but we can only find out what it is if we study it?.
Moriens took out a glass jar from his pack and opened it, ready to catch some of the water rushing through the lake. As his hand entered the cool water the blue lights swarmed around his hand and he tried to manoeuvre the jar to capture them.
?How curious, the lights seem to be attracted to my hand. They must have some form of life if that is the case.? Moriens said.? They don?t feel of much though? Wait? The water is becoming warmer.?
?I don?t like this, leave them be for now.?

Silence?.

?Hey! Moriens, knock it off, if they are creatures of some sort we should come back with more equipment before you start your study of them?.?

Moriens gaze was fixed on the water, stony faced. His eyes glazed over as visions of his own death filled his vision and the lights reached out, further enveloping his arm. He let out a piercing scream
?I can?t move, I can?t move! I ?m going to die, I can see Death and Hades in the light?
Ark rushed over, terror outlined on his features.
Within the moments it took to get to Moriens the light had reached his shoulder. Ark looked into the water and saw the guise of death moving in the azure light. He remembered all the stories of the river of death that flowed through the underworld. He had written off the River Styx as a myth. This was just ?under? the world, not some purgatory, surely. He then recalled that this place was no normal place and much like the lunar rifts, the underworld was closer to some places then reason would dictate. He looked up at Moriens and saw an object of terror as the light swarmed around his face and had obscured all but one terror lidded eye. Light poured into his being through mouth and nostrils and his scream was cut short. Light began to move towards Ark and he swung his Torch towards it and drew his short sword scrambling back frantically. He accidentally flung his torch in a wild swing and it fell into the hellish stream and was extinguished. Ark was left in the blue glow of the lost souls reaching out; jealous of his life and wishing extinguish it. Wanting to make him part of the stream as it was doing to Moriens. He turned and ran to the corridors he had left. His last glimpse of Moriens was his body slumping over and into to the river. Ark was unable to tell if he had fallen in, or was pulled. The light was forming anguished faces, cackling as they stretched out to Ark.

He ran until he could no longer run; back into the Darkness.

Exhausted he sat.

Alone.

With no light.

Lost in the bowels of the Underworld.

Another lost soul.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Moths


The luminescent fungus painted a surreal picture of the cavern, giving off a soft, alien glow that did not so much chase away the darkness as coddle it like a lover. It threw gentle shadows across the caverns that danced and fluttered as the fungus pulsed, the stalactites seemed to move and the floor of the cave seemed to roll, the esoteric light playing tricks on the senses, lying to the eyes. It had been nearly an hour since Cameron and Weaver entered the flickering underworld, and Cameron hoped that Weaver had an idea of where they were, because he sure as hell didn?t. To Cameron, it just looked like an abyss of rolling, soft half-light, a blanket of numb sensation calling him into the darkness to lay down and sleep. Lay down and sleep, and not wake up.

?When you said we were going to the underworld,? Cameron grumbled, ?I thought you were inferring the bad side of town. Thugs. Gangsters. Not a literal grotto.?

?Did you know that you always bite your lip when you?re nervous?? Weaver smiled back at him, swinging her sword around limp-wristed in front of her to keep her arm warm and her body preoccupied.

?Will you stop waving that around?? Cameron griped.

?What are you afraid of?? Weaver asked.

?I?m not afraid of anything.? Cameron shot back.

?Except moths.? Weaver smiled.

Cameron bit his lower lip harder. ?I?m not afraid of moths. I just don?t like them. They?re filthy creatures and they live in filthy caves, and they nest in your closet at night and eat your clothes.?

?I think they?re nice. They?re fuzzy little things, like cuddly butterflies that aren?t as colorful, with little rabbit ears. They?re like friendly little flying rodents.? Weaver laughed.

?Rodents are filthy too.? Cameron mumbled. ?What manner of insanity are we searching for in this strange cavern anyways??

?Hickman promised a right good bounty if we brought back some of that creeping fungus. He says he uses it in his spells.? Weaver replied.

?Hickman?? Cameron stopped walking. ?That wicked old mage is behind this??

?He?s not wicked. He?s just a little eccentric. You know all wizards are.? Weaver laughed.

?He?s sick in the head and the heart. A man ought not do half the things that man has done. He ought not trifle with magic the way he does.? Cameron growled.

?You?re biting your lip again.? Weaver smiled. ?Come on, the money is good.?

?They ought to have a system for it.? Cameron grumbled. ?A mage should have to wear a badge or a garment to declare how off his rocker he is.?

?Right, a magical world where wizards wear different colors to show everyone whether they?re good or evil.? Weaver laughed.

?Its not a bad idea.? Cameron replied.

?I wish I lived in a magical world like that. I?d have a floating castle and a half-elven lover, with a handsome red beard.? Weaver cavorted whimsically.

?Knowing you, you?d just run him off and he?d go and marry some golden-haired harlot with a pure heart and a wicked desire to stick a spear in you.? Cameron scoffed.

?You wish you were one of the men I had run off.? Weaver sneered. ?And I know all about your desire to stick a spear in me.?

?So where does that leave us then? Rambling around in some half-lit god forsaken cave, searching for moss for some doddering old wizard?? Cameron asked.

?Well, We haven?t got any reasonable skills to make a normal living off of, we ain?t too worried about where our money comes from, and we?ll probably die poor and alone in a crypt somewhere, I imagine. You?ll die a virgin, of course.? Weaver laughed.

?Ah.? Cameron nodded, ignoring the last insult. ?So we?re adventurers.?

?That?s about what I said, isn?t it?? Weaver smiled.

?Might as well get this over with then.? Cameron stepped out in front of Weaver, walked three paces, then promptly slipped, fell, and careened down a moss-slicked slope about 30 yards below.

?Son of a *****!? Weaver shouted, dropping her pack and catching herself at the precipice where Cameron had fallen. ?Cameron!? She shouted. ?Cameron??

?I?m okay!? His words floated back up to her in the dim, hazy light. ?Can?t see **** for anything in these damn caves. How was I to know the floor was slippery like that??

?You?re a * idiot, Cam!? Weaver shouted down to him. ?Don?t scare me like that!?

?Don?t come down here!? He shouted back. ?I don?t know if I can make it back up myself. Its too slippery to climb.?

Weaver opened her pack and threw the stakes, the hammer, and the rope out onto the cavern floor, then set about hammering the stakes into the cracks in the sedimentary rock, cursing under her breath the whole time. When she was satisfied that she had driven an anchor that would hold Cameron?s weight, she threw the end of the rope down the slippery egress.

?Hold on.? His words echoed up the chasm, but he was out of her line of sight. The cavern twisted or curved under itself, he had gone out of her field of vision.

?There?s something down here. Its fungus. Its growing up the cave wall.? He shouted up.

?Does it have a ruddy, red-green color on the caps?? Weaver shouted down.

?Yes.? The word floated back.

?Then get a jar full of it, and then get the * back up here.? Weaver yelled.

?Right.? Cameron replied.

Weaver sat down next to the spike where the rope was anchored, and forced herself to calm down. She pulled out her water skin and took a drink.

* idiot. She thought. How could he not know the floor of the cave was slippery? Its damp and carpeted in moss and bat **** and a ton of other gods only know what.

Weaver saw a moth float by in the soft light.

?Hey Cam, you clumsy *head, better make it quick, there?s a moth up here waiting for you.? Weaver shouted down.

There was no reply.

?Cameron??

?I think I found something.? Cameron?s voice floated up from deep below her. ?Its... *! Gods damn it!?

?Cameron!?

Silence.

?Cameron!?

?I?m fine.? He sounded closer. ?I?ve got the fungus. I?m coming back up.?

He came back into her line of sight, and grabbed the rope. He half-climbed, and she half-pulled, and after much grunting and cursing, and after both their clothes were slick with moss and bat guano and sweat, he was back up over the precipice and on the cave floor with her.

?Let me walk in front, you idiot.? Weaver gasped. ?You have to have sure footing to ramble around in a cave. Gods know you walk with as much grace as a pregnant goose.?

?Right.? Cameron breathed.

?What did you find down there anyways?? Weaver asked.

?It was just a shaggy old chest made of damp, rotten timbers.? Cameron explained. ?It must have been some old bandit?s cache.?

?What was in it?? Weaver asked.

?Rotten old silks. Covered in moths.? Cameron spat.

?I don?t think moths like the damp. As a matter of fact, I?m not so sure its the kind of critter that lives in a cave that much.? Weaver replied.

?Well whatever they were, whatever they were eating was long ago made worthless. Now its just a pile of rotten wood, old ratty cloth, and bug ****.? Cameron explained.

?Let?s get out of here then.? Weaver said, brushing herself off.

?No, let?s go deeper.? Cameron insisted.

?I thought you hated this place.? Weaver replied.

?When did I say that?? Cameron asked.

?You were complaining the whole way in.? She scowled.

?Well if there is an old bandit cache in here, and it has any gold, that will have survived the moths a lot better than the silk.? Cameron replied.

?Ah, so that?s what conquered your fear of moths then.? Weaver smiled. ?Greed.?

?Why would I be afraid of moths?? Cameron asked innocently.

Weaver only looked at him, bemused. ?Come on.?

They trudged down through the tunnels, and slowly but surely, the luminescent fungus gave way, darkening the corridors and retreating before the chilly depths. After a half hour of walking, the glowing fungal blooms were so sparse that they had to stop and light a torch.

Almost immediately, Weaver was surrounded by a halo of dancing moths.

?Look Cameron, friends of yours.? She smiled.

There was no reaction from him. He wasn?t even biting his lip.

?Cameron?? She asked.

?What?? He replied.

?Moths, Cameron.? She waved the torch about.

?They can?t be moths. Its too deep and damp.? Cameron said. ?They must be something else.?

His lip didn?t even twitch. He didn?t even smile, much less give away any other cue to his behavior. It was like his face was a blank slate.

Weaver tried to ignore it.

Maybe he?s just finally decided to quit acting like a mopey little brat. She hoped.

They continued deeper into the cave. Soon, there was nothing to see but the dim halo of the torch?s flickering glow, a swirling nimbus of moths circling around it.

?What did you say you think we?d find down here?? Weaver asked.

?Kobold treasure.? Cameron grunted.

?You said bandit treasure last time.? Weaver turned around.

?Did I?? Cameron replied. ?My mistake. Keep going. They wouldn?t hide it where the light is. They?d hide it somewhere good and dark.?

Weaver watched as one of the moths landed on Cameron?s face and scrambled about on his forehead. He didn?t brush it off. He didn?t seem to notice.

?Keep going.? He said.

?Why do you think all these moths live down here, where there?s no light?? Weaver asked, cautiously walking forward.

?Well, they can?t be moths then.? Cameron shrugged.

?They?re enough like moths to make you **** your pants, Cam.? Weaver shot back.

?It must be just a little deeper.? He ignored her.

Weaver kept walking, but she tightened her grip on her sword. She couldn?t explain way. Cameron wasn?t himself.

?Cam, do you remember that night we made love in the glade behind old Farmer Weis?s orchard? Under the stars?? She asked.

?I treasure it as one of my fondest memories.? He smiled.

Weaver had never touched him. She had never in her life found him attractive, although she knew he lusted after her.

?Get the * away from me!? She turned around with her sword out.

Cameron responded by batting the torch out of her hand, it sputtered and died, and then there was only darkness.

Weaver slashed the air wildly in front of her. Her steel didn?t bite. She didn?t feel it hit anything.

?Come on Weaver, its me, your friend... Caramon.?

A cold sensation, icier than the chill of the damp cave crept up her spine like an ethereal hand. It occurred to her that Cameron was right all along. Old Hickman was a wicked old mage. Old Hickman was strange... He did do things that shouldn?t be done with magic. She had to assume he knew something she didn?t when she took the job. She had to assume Cameron?s suspicions were right, although he couldn?t know why... Back when he was still Cameron.

?Who the * are you, really?? She sobbed. She felt something touch her, brush past her shoulder in the dark.

It was just a fluttering moth.

Another one smacked into her face, then flew away.

?You were right.? She heard Cameron?s voice say, ?They aren?t moths at all.?

Weaver swung wildly again. She grunted and shouted and cleaved through the thick, musky cave air, but nothing ever connected. Her sword glanced off the cavern wall, and in the heartbeat of illumination that came from the sparks flying from the impact, she saw nothing but the swirling mass of moths, so thick as to block vision to anything else in every direction.

?You?ll find it much easier to see in the dark after you join us.? She heard Cameron say, further down the hall, his voice echoing with a ghostly timbre.

?Does it hurt?? She asked the darkness, crying. She dropped her sword.

?Only until you forget what humanity feels like.?

* edited for language - Koldar

 

<strong><b>Krelm and the Underworld ? Part 1
A Shroud of the Avatar Fan Fiction</b></strong>


It all started when Krelm ventured north east into the forest, to hunt for a stag to feed his family. It had been a lean year for crops, and what little they had after their tithes had not lasted long. They would starve if he didn't make the journey. That would be a worse fate than risking the danger that lie within these woods.

The Baron?s men had set upon him as he was taking aim with his bow on a great beast of a stag, with ten points adorning its velvet covered crown. It was punishable by death to be caught hunting in the Baron?s woods. Without hesitation, and with little regret, he loosed the arrow in their direction, falling one of their steeds, which fell on and rolled over its master, crushing him beneath its weight. Chaos broke out amongst the small band of patrolling guards. Five remained, and they all had horses.

He had fled deeper into the forest before they could recover from their shock. The thicker forest and gullies would provide him much needed advantage if he was going to have any chance at escaping. Thankfully, the large hood of his cloak had hidden his face. All he had to assure was that they did not catch him, and they would be none the wiser as to whom was in the forest, hunting the Baron?s stags.

He bounded up a root strewn hill, and leaped off the other side, landing in on his right thigh into a slide. Nothing mattered but escape, not the pain, not the lack of breath; not the hunger in his belly. For his family, he would risk everything. His feet hit the bottom of the ravine and he sprung up into a run immediately, following a shallow creek bed south into the darkest part of the forest.

Shouts echoed out over the ravine has the patrol crested the hill, hot on his trail. He risked a glance over his right shoulder at them. They were cautiously guiding their horses down the hill. Soon they would catch up if he didn't make it to the thick forest ahead. They would be forced to pursue on foot from there. Vines, roots, rocks, and thorn bushes had claimed this inner most sanctum of the forest as their own, and they had grown thick as a wall baring invaders from their realm.

His feet splashed and sloshed as he bounded through the stream. He slipped his axe out of his belt as he approached the wall of foliage, and bolted up the opposite side of the ravine, looking for the easiest place to cut a path beyond the barrier. He hacked and slashed his way through a promising hole in the brambles, barely big enough to crawl through. He could hear the horses in the ravine below now, and knew he had little time left. He pushed forward on his belly through the brambles, using his arms to shield his face and neck from their cutting needles. His heart was racing, and it felt like a full day had passed by the time he had made it beyond the first barrier to an overgrown clearing full of green leafy plants and canopied by towering pines, poplars and firs. Only the slimmest bit of sunlight made it through the canopy.

He needed to find a place to hide. The soldiers would not tarry long here, for days end would mean death most certainly in this place. Wasting no time, he bounded over bushes and clumps of tall grass, leaving as little natural path for them follow as possible. The thickness of the trees would provide him cover as he moved further away from where they would emerge. Distant curses alerted him that they had made it through the barrier, just as he spotted an ancient tree that towered above all the others around it. A hollow barely big enough for a slender man without armor to squeeze into. Risking whatever may lurk within, he tightened his cloak around himself, un-shouldered his bow and quiver and wiggled his way inside. It was dark beyond measure inside, but spacious enough for many men to fit comfortably. He was able to stand to full height, and could not feel a roof above him as he reached into the darkness above with his axe. He sat against the inner trunk of the tree, facing the opening, his bow in his lap with a nocked arrow, preparing for the worst.

It felt like hours passed as he sat in the dark bowels of the ancient tree, like a trapped rabbit waiting to be pounced on by a wolf. He could see what little light there was outside beginning to fade as the sun began to set behind the western mountains. A glimmer of hope entered his mind for a moment, but was shattered as he saw the flicker of torchlight on the ground outside. A dry branch cracked beneath a solid footfall, followed by a muffled curse. He slowly and quietly stood and moved further back in the darkness of the tree, ready to draw and fire his bow on whoever dared to look inside.

Krelm listened to the men argue amongst themselves as to who would take a look inside. Eventually one of them felt brave enough to show them all how silly they were being, and poked his head inside, his arm outstretched before him with a lit torch so that he could see what lurked in the depths of the shadows. Before his eyes could adjust to see past the torchlight in front of his face, an arrow hit the soldier in the left eye, killing him instantly. His body slumped to the ground awkwardly in the opening, and the torch hit the ground and rolled towards Krelm. He lunged to put it out with his foot as he nocked another arrow. There were four men left that yet threatened his life. His first flurry of stomps failed to scuff out the flames, so he jumped on the torch with both feet, in an attempt to smother it of oxygen as he pushed it into the soil.

A loud crack deafened him into a state of shock as the ground beneath him and the torch gave way to emptiness beneath, and began a freefall decent. A surreal sense of falling in a dream took over all of his senses, and his life flashed through his mind as he flailed his arms, losing his grip on the bow and nocked arrow as he did so. All he could see was darkness as he prepared for the end. His scream finally found his throat, moments before he saw a feint glow rising to meet him.

A moment later the darkness shot away in all directions as he cleared whatever dark hole he had been in, and the sudden awe shocked him harder than his predicament of falling into the unknown, drowning his scream in his throat once again. A giant pool of water was rising to meet him swiftly, its depths glimmering with a greenish blue glow. The site of it all overwhelmed his senses as he fell into the ancient stone cavern, with pillars of rusty brown stone holding up the world above him. Stalactites and stalagmites were everywhere, and islands of dirt, stone and crystal littered this giant cavern. He thought he saw something purple and pink flutter about near a distant pillar.

He slammed into the surface of the water awkwardly before he could fully take in his surroundings, unaware of its sudden arrival. He felt his left arm go numb, and immediately he was flailing against the warm water, trying to find the surface through a storm of bubbles that filled his vision. He let his natural buoyancy do the majority of the work, and he broke the surface like a cork shooting out of a wine bottle as he gulped in a number of large breaths. He tread water as he looked around for solid ground. Not far to his left was an island covered in yellowy green mushrooms that towered like trees, and purple plants with tiny blue flickering orbs of light moving about them like bees after pollen on flowers. A few layered stalagmites reached toward the chamber?s stone ceiling far above, and water trickled out of the top of the center most spire, eddying in small pools along the mineral?s surface, before following a small stream out into the pool of water. Everything glimmered in this place, and an overwhelming sense of peace filled his heart and mind. He swam ashore and lowered himself against the smooth stone to catch his breath. A hiss and a splash sounded as the torch he had attempted to stomp out hit the water where he had been, followed by a small shower of debris that used to be the floor of the tree above.

Exhaustion hovered like a threatening storm cloud at the edges of his vision as he tried to focus on his surroundings, and his thoughts became muddied. He failed to get up off the ground half a dozen times before laying still. Darkness crept across his vision until his new world faded from view. He dreamt of his family, and cried out for them in his nightmare, forever just out of reach. Then there was the fall. He dreamt about it over and over, forever falling. As he dreamt of the ground rising to meet him, he startled awake just before impacting. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. Hunger ripped at his belly, and he looked around for anything that looked edible. He had no idea what he could trust in this environment, but if he didn't try eating something, he would starve to death either way. Clumps of mushrooms were everywhere, sometimes forming small circles. It seemed as good a thing to try as any. He picked a number of them and ate his fill.

A tingled began to spread throughout his body, starting from his belly and spreading in all directions. At first he feared the worst. Had he had ingested deadly poisonous mushrooms? When pain or convulsions failed to follow his heart settled. He felt oddly energized, and he felt as though he could lift a mountain. He laughed as he jumped to his feet to survey his surroundings with fresh eyes and energy.

Crystals of all sizes jutted from the stone pillars and walls of the cavern all around him, and the glow from the water lit everything with an almost sun like quality. A land bridge just beneath the water?s surface formed a path that wove through the center of the water, branching out to circle around each of the stone pillars. A dark violet haze formed the only darkness in the distance, and even that emanated a glow of dancing colors. Little orbs of bright blue floated and fluttered about the cavern, and once again he thought he spotted a purple and pink creature moving about on one of the stone pillars.

Cautiously, he made his way along the land path, the shallow water splashing about and sending ripples across the glass like surface as he did so. Ripples reflected in the glowing light on all the surfaces, magnified by some of the crystals in places. As he approached the stone pillar in question, he heard something scuttle across the stone surface, and caught the tail of something as it moved out of view on the opposite side of the pillar. He kept his hand on the hilt of his axe just in case he needed to defend himself quickly, but felt there was no immediate danger. He waited patiently where he stood, hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature, and to ascertain if it was threatening or not. The silence was broken by a series of screams and splashes back from where he had come, and a loud thud. He looked back, and to his horror, saw three of the soldiers flailing about in the water. A fourth had hit the rocky island that he had slumbered on, his body shattered and bleeding.

He cursed under his breath. What drove them to follow him he wondered as he turned and fled deeper into the cave before they could collect themselves and spot him. He needed to find a way out of this place, but part of him felt as though he could live down here forever, and be at peace with that fate. What about his family thought? They needed him more now than ever. It drove him forward into the unknown with a renewed determination. Krelm spotted an old looking wooden bridge over a small chasm in the cavern, and a short ways beyond it, a cave let led into darkness. It was the first opening he had seen leading away from this main cavern. Glowing water trickled and flowed over the edges of the chasm into another body of water far below as he crossed the bridge. Again he thought to himself, ?What is this place?? Clearly someone or something lived down here. Where else could that bridge have come from?

It was magnificent, and his mind was racing at all the possibilities of what it could be. He knew that even if he made it out of this place alive, he would be back. It wasn't a thought so much as a certainty in his bones. He raced into the dark opening before slowing down; looking over his shoulder to be sure the soldiers had not spotted him. There was no sign of them. The tunnel had a slight incline to it which seemed promising, but without light, it would be slow going. He kept one hand on the rock wall on his left as he slowly progressed ever upward. The tunnel began to spiral slightly but consistently, and it felt like days were passing by as he climbed. A gust of fresh air hit his face, and his heart jumped as he thought he saw the darkness begin to break ahead. He picked up the pace, and before long could see light ahead. He burst from the tunnel to blinding light as his eyes quickly tried to adjust, and once they came into focus, he found himself standing in the middle of a thick forest glade. Sunlight pierced the canopy of trees overhead, casting rays of light across the foliage in random locations. He had no idea which way the edge of the forest was that would lead him home to the south west. He needed to see the sky to spot the location of the sun. Deciding that the quicker he picked a direction, the quicker he would find his way home; he chose a direction and headed off into the forest.

Krelm spent the better part of two days finding his way out of the forest, and when he finally emerged, he found himself far to the south, near some farm lands a great distance from his own home. Relief overwhelmed him as he emerged from the forest, falling to his knees and letting the sunlight kiss his upturned face. He had managed to find a fresh water stream and followed it out of the forest. He had not hungered since eating the mushrooms in the cave, nor had he needed to sleep. But he had needed plenty of water, more than usual he felt. After resting on a small hillside overlooking the farmlands for a short while, he got to his feet and began his long journey home to his family. He would need to make a new bow and quiver, and then be off to hunt again to provide for his family if they were to make it through these lean times. The cavern was never far from his mind, and the mystery of what lay deep beneath the surface ached in his mind. It haunted his dreams, filling him with a tingling sensation every night, and he began to hear a voice beckoning for him in his sleep; soft and distant, yet familiar.

His wife and son were going about the days chores when he arrived home four days later, looking worn and ragged. They ran to meet him, wrapping their arms around him as they wept with joy that he was alive and well despite his outward appearance. He smiled as he took his wife?s face in his hands, tilted her chin up and kissed her deeply. They begged to know what happened, but he would not speak of the events within possible earshot of others in the village. They went about the rest of the day completing the chores in silence. That evening, over dinner inside their quaint little home, he told them everything in a hushed voice. His son listened intently, his jaw almost on the floor, and his stew untouched as he was mesmerized by Krelm?s tale. The glint in his wife?s eyes spoke of her amazement and held an unspoken request of never return to that place. She knew better than to ask such a thing of him. He would provide for his family first and foremost, but when the time was right, he would return to that place. He finished his tale, and beckoned for his son to eat his stew and then crawl into bed.

That evening, he slept with his arms wrapped around his wife, a safeguard for his unconscious mind that would keep him tethered to this world if the voice returned. He knew already that the underworld would claim him when he eventually returned to that place.

Final word count 2,960. Thanks for reading, and enjoy. Feel free to leave feedback here: http://corlagthebard.blogspot.ca/2013/04/i-wrote-this-bit-for-concept-art-piece.html

Cheers,
Corlag the Bard

 

A Forgotten Secret in the Underworld
as told by Grandmaster Bard Holt Ironfell

"Perhaps you think all adventures end well, but travel with trusted friends long enough, and you witness death, and worse. That is the Underworld as I know it: death, and worse. I have been but once, and only great necessity would drive me back..."


Follow Grandmaster Bard Holt Ironfell and his most trusted friends as they escape a world where the villains have already won, in order to protect a dangerous secret. Stepping through an ancient and hidden moongate, they end up lost in a vast and foreign Underworld, only to encounter a horrifying evil of the depths.


Join the escape at http://holtironfell.blogspot.ca/2013/04/a-forgotten-secret-in-underworld.html
(Easier to read on the site than on the forums. Dat font size.)


Or in audio - Narrated by the bard himself,
For those weary of reading, just listen!

http://soundcloud.com/pwnmusic/forgotten-secret

Set to Orchestra Tracklist:
Flight to the Compound - Alexandre Desplat
21 Days - Alexandre Desplat
Faith 0 Hans Zimmer
Somni-451 Meets Chang - Tom Tykwer
What Came Before - Lorne Balfe


Perhaps you think all adventures end well, but travel with trusted friends long enough, and you witness death, and worse. That is the Underworld as I know it: death, and worse. I have been but once, and only great necessity would drive me back. I shall tell you my tale. Perhaps in doing so, I shall save your life, or make the wise amongst you forget the idea altogether.

I once told you that the world I am originally from has no heroes, I told you that the villains won. You know me as a Grandmaster of Bards, a man who has forgotten more secrets than you have ever known. When I sought to escape, the methods I was forced to use were not only illegal, but jealously guarded by the most wicked and powerful evils of my world.

To accomplish my escape from my birthplace, a desert world which now threatened to profoundly destroy me, I had to bring some old friends with me. Heroes we were not. We wanted out, needed out, before our pasts caught up to us, and we were willing to do anything... Try anything.

In the middle of the tablelands desert, past the warlike tribes and feral humans, inside a mesa?s deep fissure, hidden on a dark wall, was a gateway surrounded by runes, the likes of which had faded from the memory of this world, if they were ever a part of its history in the first place.

It was the Omari ranger, Moonblade, who had come to me about it. He had ventured into the city-state that controlled the Northlands, in search of me. A rare event, as the Omari were of the deep desert, and preserved the larger part of what precious virtues they could hold onto by staying clear of the so called ?civilized? places. So it was that Moonblade found this ancient thing in the lost and dying lands.

I was affluent and connected, powerful enough with the Bardic Circles and rich enough to have bribed myself into relative comfort and ease, but there was something very dangerous now that would inevitably lead me to a fate much worse than death. Sorcery of all sorts ? psionics, elementalism, any deviant knowledge of any kind ? was illegal in the city-states, for they were ruled by terrible and mighty god-kings. Even reading, which I had learned how to do long ago, was punishable by death for the common man. But I had learned a secret about my world that had terrified me to my very core, a secret at long last, which would be my doom.

I told Moonblade to meet me at the ruins of an old fortress to the west, in eighty-six moonrises. Although time was short, I had made promises to some people which I intended to keep; that is not to go alone.

First, Jobi Mockery: my jester. He and I had long ago stolen an elixir from the gypsies, back when they were favoured by a powerful sorcerer and had access to such treasures. We could not be sure of our success, as to measure its effects would take a long, long time. I admit, we could easily have stolen a potion that did nothing. But seventy five years later, we hadn?t aged, and everyone who knew of our heist was dead.

I have many tales of Jobi?s exploits but the gist of it is that of all my friends, Jobi was the most at home in a world of villains. If he wasn?t possessed by a lust for poetic justice, he?d have been one himself. But, a more clever thief and abstract thinker, I knew not. If there were puzzles in our path, or traps to overcome, Jobi could take on the perspective of those who had put them there in the first place.

He was not hard to find, always where the trouble was. The problem was the trouble. I found him in the South, posing as a noble of questionable but unverifiable origins. Did I mention we?d faked our deaths a few times? A consequent necessity of elixirs of everlasting life.

There were others that I had sent for, and who came.

Caitlin-Ji had served honourably and blindly in the North and gone deeply into the trust of the powers that be. She had been hard and cruel, but there was virtue hidden in her, and she had hidden it from even the mindbenders of the Sisterhood, to whom she had almost been made a brainwashed slave. But she had turned it around. She knew their powers, knew that they controlled the North with their psionic manipulations. Before she left with me, she desired to fulfil one last task: to slay their Precentor, who possessed a legendary longsword made of steel, the rarest of metals in my world, though common in yours.

The Sisterhood?s Precentor knew what a man was thinking before he thought it. It was unthinkable to kill Her... except for someone with an escape plan like mine. And Caitlin was the best of the best. No one understood how she did what she did though, because no one understood the virtue she had hidden within, driving her.

Ceridwen, my great grandson and an Ironfell, was older than I technically was, but he had believed my tale when I had revealed it to him. He was an accomplished bard, with an apprentice, Kialyra Greyroot. He played the violin with such soul that it had possessed a nation with its enchantment. Who could suspect that violin? It was impossible for most to comprehend why someone would use outlawed magic not for power but for music, and so, in this wretched world, it went unremarked upon by the authorities.

Kialyra clung to Ceridwen and was as lovely a songstress as he could have hoped for: meek, humble but intensely loyal. In the South, where Ceridwen owned a tavern and a home across the plaza, they were like an oasis in a desert of cruelty, poverty and corruption. They would be needed, wherever we ended up: this world was undeserving of them, and if they did not come with me, once I had left in the manner I would leave they would be hunted down as accomplices anyway. I would not leave such beauty stranded here. If only I had realized... well, we?ll come to that soon enough, I promise.

And so it was that that eighty-sixth moonless night came where we gathered at the old ruins in the west, the last remnants of civilization before the ash of the desert consumed all. I, Holt Ironfell, Grandmaster Bard; Ceridwen, my only living decendant; Kialyra, as I learned, his truest of loves; Jobi Mockery, my oldest friend, and Caitlin-Ji, having concluded her own epic tale in this world ? met the Omari, Moonblade, and we six set out into exile across the hateful expanse of the tablelands in order to escape the world forever.

Hidden by the short night and in the long hot day that followed, a large drably garbed group like us could pass unharassed, at least one way through the unruled territories, before a warparty of insane ferals or brutal tribesmen could respond. Fortunately, we only needed to go one way.

As dusk drew near, a curious thing happened in the sky. A secret so well kept that it was a thing forgotten, but a thing Jobi and I knew, because we had seen it once before. So precious and so dangerous was this secret, that we had lived two hundred years hiding it.

We knew the secret of the moongates. The true secret. Knowledge that had started wars between powerful Avangeons and members of the ancient Council, leading to one of them turning to wickedness and becoming a creature so powerful that he laid waste the land, sucking the life force from it and then mysteriously disappearing from the world. So were our oldest legends, our oldest myths.

As the sun set perfectly over the dust and silt, the three moons rose over the tablelands, like slow soft notes in a chord of a heavenly hymn, a synchrony that had happened only once in our unnaturally long lives before. But we were young then, and we hadn?t stepped through. We didn?t know what we?d stumbled upon, and it had closed. When the Templarate in the North had found out about the occurrence, they destroyed the site completely. They?d have destroyed us too, had they known we were witnesses.

For two hundred years we had sought another gate, and waited.

Moonblade stepped back from the fissure and uttered quietly: ?We have little time. Come my friends.?

My gaze turned from those familiar moons for the final time and I entered the rocky fissure. The darkness grew as night came on, but the moons rose and their dim light found its way through the cracks and hit the runes upon the wall, which began to resonate with immense power. The stone wall warped into life. Energy, beautiful beyond imagine, welcoming us. Within minutes it would be gone. We looked at one another, knowing not the perils that awaited us on the far side of the moongate, but knowing well the ones on this side, and that it was too late, even now, to turn back.

I have promised you a tale of the Underworld, but to understand my tale, one must understand how I got there.

It was dark on the other side. There were no stars, nor moons, and the shining gate was gone. All was a cold silence. We could hear eachother's breath, and the echo of our own scuffling feet and gear. We had absolutely no idea where the moongate had taken us, save that we must be deep underground. I had the immediate and disorienting sense of being hopelessly lost.

?Are we alright? Ceridwen? ?Lyra?? I spoke, echoing as if a large cavern lay overhead.

?Do not move.? Moonblade?s voice. ?There could be a chasm, I?ll have light going soon.?

A torch flared in his hand, held aloft, lighting first his weatherworn face, and then the ground around us, and dimly, a circle of stones, which we stood in the middle of. A fine layer of undisturbed silt lay everywhere.

Caitlin-Ji, the pragmatist amongst us, spoke: ?We must get to the surface.?

?There might not be a surface,? Jobi Mockery, unhelpfully offered, but he was right.

Kialyra frowned, crossed arms, worrying about what lay beyond the light of our torch, with Ceridwen placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Moonblade was silent, listening, watching. He was our ranger, after all, and served us well. The Omari were fearless, one with the land, and even untold trillions of miles from his desert, on another world, was the first to figure it out.

?There is oxygen enough for the fire, and the smoke rises and catches a faint current of air. The fire seeks the exit too. We shall be like the smoke, and rise to the surface.?

A very shamanistic moment, all told. We followed the smoke. There was no time, in the Underworld. No directions. We were ever watchful of down suddenly opening up, as a drop into some chasm or cavern could easily be lethal. Movement was tedious.

That?s when we heard it. Water. A faint but constant echo, an unmistakable tap tap tap of water. We did not question Moonblade?s Omari instincts. In the desert, water was life, for obvious reasons. It was the sound of survival.

But other things survive by water. All living creatures, on every world, require water. We had come thirsty from the desert, into a silent and dry system of caverns and tunnels, and approached, ever closer, ever more jubilant ? forgetful that that tiny sound, bouncing off the walls in vibrant echoes, must be the compass of many a blind being in this Underworld.

We should have been more quiet. When we first heard a rush of water, we moved double-time down the tunnel, and when we caught sight of the falls into a deep chasm, we celebrated and knew that it was the first real sign that we might indeed quench both our thirst and follow it upward to the sun. But the instant we Bards began our jig, Caitlin-Ji descended into an unmistakable and characteristic seriousness, drawing the long steel blade she had acquired from the Precentor.

?Silence, fools!? Caitlin-Ji snapped, and her tone froze us in awareness.

There was something hateful in the air then. Something worse than all the foes we could have imagined facing. We had forgotten, that the age and power of the forces we?d tampered with might also be known here and that guardians might watch over this side of the moongate.

It rose like a living moon from a chasm, the crystaline formations in the cavernous chasm beginning to glow as if haunted. In all my years I had never heard tale of such a thing. It was a terrible creature to have forgotten about, to have left living down here. The Underworld, like the world from which we had escaped, had no heroes.

My dear companions cannot tell you what they saw, but I know what their fates must have been like. Levitating from the dark waters below, the creature was made of eyes and mouths all over, tentacles and teeth, a magnificent evil from the depths of the world. It gibbered endlessly and was large enough that its chanting voices shook the chasm, filling our minds.

The caverns were populated with specters then. The world we had travelled from had travelled with us ? inside our own minds. Men Jobi had killed when we were young, gypsies, wicked things we had witnessed and done. The jester shrieked and ran into the darkness, fleeing miserably, unable to cope.

Kialyra went mad with fright, and I went to shelter her. Ceridwen was blinded, held by hallucination, and must have thought me an enemy of some sort. He drew at me, roaring, and I fell back, the creature in full view behind my friends. Moonblade crouched, covering his ears, and only Caitlin-Ji was clear minded and stalwart enough to have drawn upon this horror. Would the Precentor?s sword have any use against it?

?My mind is shielded, Holt.? She screamed over the gibbering behemoth, ?It can hear what you think. Empty your thoughts, lest it consume you! ?

She?d not killed the Precentor of the Sisterhood without learning a few things. Pulling a glass throwing star from her side, she whipped it at the creature and struck it in one of its eyes. Its? chanting was interrupted only a moment.

?Run damn it! This foe is too great.? Moonblade grabbed my arm and pushed me away as I protested.

Suddenly, in a scene forever cursed to remain in my memory, Ceridwen fell to his knees, eyes wide in shock as Kialyra, meek and innocent, had plunged a dagger into his heart, possessed, only to come back to her senses too late. Her lover, and the last of my blood, dead by her own hands. Crushed in realization, her body went limp, and she fell off the cliffside into the void below, heartbroken.

?Holt, you must go. You of all of us must go. Your mind must not fall to this beast!? Moonblade was beside me again.

But I had forgotten why I must go. The creature had attacked my memory, was feasting on the rich knowledge and lore there, growing stronger, its eyes awakening more fiercely its mouths chanting more powerfully. It spoke our language now, formulating recognizable nonsense.

We huddled into a crevice, and Caitlin-Ji backed into it with us. ?We can defeat it. The Omari has the discipline, I have the mental training, but Holt, you must go. It is stealing from your mind, I hear it name ... names it should not know.?

I stared at Moonblade, in silent question.

He stared back gravely, shaken, teeth clenched.

?Cait and I might win, and survive. Not with you though, Holt. Your mind is too rich. Who knows how long it has starved in the darkness. It feasts on an entire other world! Go! If we survive, I will follow your trail. Flee, now!?

I ran and the sound of battle and the creature faded behind me. I stumbled as I heard Caitlin scream, but I could not tell if it was a battle-cry or death-cry. I went toward the water, and followed snaking paths and tunnels by intuition alone. There was no sign of Jobi. Eventually I climbed what appeared to be old stairs made of sandstone, worn by the ages. I did not know how Moonblade would ever follow me, but he had found me before.

I wandered alone in that darkness for untold lengths of time, my memory damaged by whatever psionic attack the creature had used. I crossed a wooden bridge and realized that wood must mean trees, and a bridge some form of constructive intelligence.

Eventually, I found the light. The sun. Long I waited by the entrance to that cave, a forgotten sinkhole in the middle of another nowhere. But no one came. For a time, I forgot all things, cursed, and wandered the surface of a new world.

I had forgotten a secret I once knew, a secret I had hoped to keep the evils in my world from capturing. Now, it had been stolen, somewhere deep in the Underworld. Perhaps it?s best I never return, never try to relearn what was lost.

My only worry, is that I still remember how important that secret was to keep.

 

Field Trip

It was a bright spring day as the young adults approached the cave entrance; they stopped a respectful distance away and waited. Shortly a huge black scaly head followed by a massive scaled body emerged from the cave. Not one of them feared this monster as he had been the protector of their community for generations. The ancient black dragons booming voice greeted them, "As most you know I am Death-Knell but please call me DK"

The spring field trip was always one of DKs favorites, the humanoid children upon turning 16 seasons would spend the summer with the warriors and farmers, the winter with everyone else learning the ways of surviving the harsh cold and then in the spring they would spend a day or 2 each week exploring the underground world and it's many dangers as well as great beauty. DK would tell those stories of orc armies and the lesser in numbers but always dangerous dark ones, distant cousins to the elves and dwarves. He would also warn of the monsters down below, lurkers that would drop and envelop a humanoid, suffocate then devour them.

As the day wore on to night the young adults returned to their homes to pack and get ready for the first overnight. False dawn was just lighting the skies the next morning when the group reported to the cave entrance once more and DK invited them in. All had heard of DKs great lair but only these field trips allowed any humanoid to get a glimpse. DK had put a lot of time and effort into his home constructing a massive lair full of wonder and beauty. The central chamber a massive meeting room designed for a council of ancient dragons when the gifted were more numerous. It had some ramps but was obviously not designed with humanoids in mind. They proceeded down a side passage, each youngling dreaming of the horde and wanting to just get a glance of what this old one had collected.
The tunnel abruptly ended, DK turned and his form shimmered and he became his humanoid form. Lesser in power but still a force to be dealt with he placed his clawed hand on the wall and uttered an incantation and the wall opened into a roughhewn corridor. He ushered all his charges into the tunnel and as the wall closed the group was engulfed into pitch blackness that few could see. With a word DK created a ball of light for each of the humanoids and off they went. It didn't take long for the teenagers to get lost, even the ranger trainees were baffled but stick close to DK they did.
Then as they came around a corner they all slammed into DKs humanoid form as he stood there staring down a pair of shadowy figures. The 2 seemed to go in and out of the shadows cast by the balls of light DK had created. They listened as DK and the pair exchanged words in a language none could comprehend but the 3 speaking. All of a sudden all the balls of light shot towards the pair and for a brief instant their forms could be clearly seen, dark elves, dangerous and deadly. But as the group watched the lights explode harmlessly DK followed it up with a slash of his claws and a ripple appeared in the air and went for the 2 intruders. The one had drawn a sword and was raising it as the ripple caught him and he disappeared. The second dodged the ripple and cast a spell of his own. Suddenly it was dead silent and the teenagers couldn't move or see. When sight returned both of the dark elves were gone and DK insisted they move on. They traveled quickly the rest of the day, which seemed like an eternity down here.

The next morning they awoke, ate their cold rations and continued on. Until once again they hit a dead end. DK called them near and as they gathered he created a bubble around them. He strode towards the wall touched it and recited an incantation and the wall opened. But this time the teenagers felt a great deal of pressure and could see in the darkness they were traversing under a great body of water. They all hugged closer to DK as he moved into the water, pushing his way through he got to another wall opened and went through it. They were in another passage and continued on.

Shortly they entered into a large chamber; from the echoes this chamber was immense. DK sent his balls of light out in every direction and increased their brightness. The teenagers gasped in unison, there were immense columns running through this chamber like a massive cathedral all seemed to be made of calcium with lime veins and something that made them glitter. There were fungi in the distance that glowed with strange colors, some blue, some green and a few purple. Every now and then they would come across veins in the walls, most DK told them were copper but there were also a few silver and a gold vein or 2. Some of the teenagers started prying with their daggers but DK stopped them. We are exploring the beauty not mining to get rich he said.

 

The Familiar Darkness - Chapter 1: The Weary Traveler

The evening fog had settled upon the town as he walked through the gates, covered from head to toe in the grime of the long, dusty road he?d traveled by foot. A tattered brown hooded cloak hid most of his features, but his exposed eyes expressed hollowness not unlike that of a man gone wild with madness. Perhaps he was mad, or nearly so. His gait expressed a deep rooted tiredness like that of a man who had not seen the luxury of a bed in weeks. Resting comfortably in its scabbard, but gripped tightly in his right hand, was his faithful sword, dried blood on the hilt hinting certainly to tales of great danger. A heavy wooden and steel crossbow lay clipped to the left side of his belt along with two small pouches. His left hand seemed to be massaging something in the right-most pouch, and if you looked closely enough you could just make out a whisper from his lips.

Raucous youth gathered on an opposite street corner were too busy with their merriment to pay the traveler any attention. In fact, the few townsfolk who did happen to notice him at that late hour took only fleeting interest in him. They had places to be and promptly forgot any details of the stranger. Once he was out of their sight for a few minutes, most would never even recall the stranger in their midst. If they could remember him, they would remember seeing him turn towards Trish?s Tavern, stop at the threshold, look up and down the street before finally releasing his grip on the sword?s hilt and pushing open the large heavy doors to the tavern

Inside the tavern a light melodic tune was plucked by a silent bard playing a simple harp. There were no vocals to his tune, yet there was a sadness mixed with a euphoric nostalgia of a time and a place long ago. The traveler glanced at the lone bard sitting in a back corner, but the bard paid him no notice what so ever. Picking a stout wooden table with equally sturdy chairs in the opposite corner, the traveler moved through the room and took up the chair directly in the corner, placing his back against wall and granting him a full view of the room in its entirety. There were only three other people in the place and it was clear from their state of stupor the barkeep had served them well this evening. The traveler pulled his fingers from his pouch, cinched it closed, and waved the barkeep over as soon as they made eye contact.

Slowly, as if he had nowhere to go himself, the barkeep approached the table. ?Didn?t notice ye come in my friend. What canst I get for ye??

Hesitantly the traveler looked at the barkeep a moment before speaking. If you paid close enough attention, you would say he was waiting for something, but not altogether certain how long it would take. When it didn?t happen quickly enough for him, he spoke anyway, ?I?ll have your home brew ale, Dal.?

Bewildered, the barkeep narrowed his eyes for a moment before his face made a fast transition through confusion, doubt, and finally realization. Smiling gently he continued, ?Micke, I didn?t notice ye with that covering of muck. Get ye self a bath mine old friend. But first, let me get ye that ale ? on the ?ouse!?

Relief briefly flashed across Micke?s face before it transitioned back into the weary fa?ade of moments before. His eyes regularly monitored everything in the room ? the bard ? the drunkards ? the cat asleep on the bar ? the dog barking out the back door. He didn?t show it, but for the first time in what felt like years, Micke was finally relaxing inside. He watched as Dal checked on his drunkards and nodded to the bard in the corner. On his way back from the bar, Dal dropped off three more mugs of a foaming drink to the drunkards? table before sloshing down two on Micke?s table. Taking the chair directly opposite Mickke, spinning it around, Dal sat in the chair backwards and proceeded to drain in one impossible swallow his entire mug of ale.

?I would think ye?d stop serving the drunks after they?ve had the good sense to pass out at thine tables.?

Laughing, Dal responded, ?Whatever drinks I put on the table, they?ve got to pay for ain?t they??

?Old friend,? Micke said, leaning forward and taking a conservative sip from the mug, ?if ever I felt concerned that you had been replaced with a doppelganger, that bit of logic would prove the concern as ill placed as any.?

?Don?t got no business changing in mine old age now do I?? Sensing something was off with his visitor, he continued his face inquisitive once more, ?What?s going on Micke? What?s got ye so spooked??

Looking the room over one last time and taking another sip of ale, Micke said simply, ?I need to speak with her.?

Oddly, Dal raised his mug for a drink, seemingly forgetting he had emptied it previously. Setting it back down, he looked at Micke and said with a convincingly innocent tone of voice, ?Her??

?Really, old friend,? Micke began sternly in a very low voice as he too sat forward, ?I canst be held up here playing these silly little games of thine. Ye know of whom I speak, and I must speak with her presently ere more time passes. If urgency was ever in thine vocabulary I beg of thee to apply it here.?

Deciding there was seriousness in the manner of his old friend, Dal observed the room discretely for a moment, looking for any potential for eavesdropping by the other clientele. Deciding they were a safe distance from the others for that, and the bard?s quiet melody would obscure any noise that did escape from the table, he leaned forward and observed Micke more closely. They were indeed old friends as Micke and he, in their younger youth had spent a number of years guarding caravans traveling between the major cities. Too many times they had saved the life of the other during a bandit ambush or other malevolent raid. There were no hidden agendas between Dal and Micke, at least not all those years ago as they fought along the dusty roads together.

?Before I let ye see her, thow must knowest that she is not well. There are times mine own certainty of her sanity is unsteady, but then her mind dost clear and she is as with us as ever she wast before. So speak gently at first, until thow knowest her condition in that moment. And should she suddenly forget who you are, or begin her agitations, I pray thou shalt let her be.? Glancing around the room once more, he continued, ?What?s got ye stirred up so, Micke??

?Remember mine visit two months past? I wasn?t here on some travelling merriment. She summoned me and sent me on a quest that took me deep into the heart of this world through catacombs and a cavernous underworld the likes of which thou couldst never imagine. I?ve seen things I will never be able to un-see. I killed things down there that?ll never stop haunting mine dreams.?

Irritation obvious in his voice, he continued, ?I?ve been hunted every step of the way here; hunted as if a king?s ransom were placed on me as bounty. The rogues, murderers, and would be jailers that I?ve killed on my return here count so numerous that I?m certain any number of wronged widows and children have put up actual bounties on mine life.?

The sudden change in the state of drunkenness from the only other occupied table was missed by Micke who was too involved in his monologue, extremely exhausted, and had erroneously allowed himself to relax in a presumed safe environment. The change was not, however, missed by Dal who was well rested and whose sense of awareness had heightened ever since seeing his friend?s nervousness from the start. They had no sooner stood and began to pull weapons when Dal had sent his chair flying across the intervening space. The chair flew deftly and hit the blade of the sword bearer dead on causing the man to lose his grip as the sword slid backwards out of his hand, slicing his hand open and eliciting a curse from his lips. The chair continued its flight and smashed into his right knee cap dropping him sputtering to the ground. The sword, in its unmanned flight sliced deeply into the man?s side as evidenced by the quickly spreading deep red dying his tunic in the area.

Instantly Micke stood, reached across his body to his already-loaded crossbow, aimed it quite literally from the hip, and let fly a bolt that found its mark through the eye socket of the second man. No curses flew from this man. In fact, he made no sounds other than the thump of his dead body falling to the ground, and the clattering of his throwing dagger he had yet to let fly. The third man rose from the table and immediately fell forward onto it a thin metallic disc partially protruding from the back of his skull. The bard in the corner nodded briefly to Dal before resuming the melody where he had broken off.

Swiftly Micke drew his sword and approached the still barely living man writhing on the floor. Kicking away the assailant?s sword, Micke placed the tip of his blade against the Adam?s apple of the gasping man whose hands tried to slow the flow of blood. Knowing it wasn?t likely to work as it wasn?t the first time he?d captured an assailant alive, he said without emotion ?I?m tired of these attacks, and I?m tired of having to kill for my life. Who sent you and why??

His response was unexpected; any response was unexpected. It was one word, muttered on the instance of death, through his clasped lips, ?Hythloth?.


To Be Continued?

This is definitely NOT the end. What?s to come? Who is ?she?? Why is she important? What were the horrors Mickke so briefly touched on in describing his underworld travels? What was the quest, and what was its purpose? Why are all these men hunting Micke? Who the hell was that bard? Why the reference to Hythloth? Well, for that you have to tune in for chapter 2 or more!

Thank you to the SotA team for putting up this challenge. I?ve slowly conceived of the story line over the last couple of days ? and even as I write it more intriguing plot lines come to me that I know I?ll enjoy exploring, and I hope you enjoy experiencing. Clearly I?m going for a mix of combining a touch of old school Ultima with what I perceive as a ?Shroud of the Avatar? story basis. What?s even more fun is I?ll be able to use the film script I?d written up but didn?t have time to put together in 48 hours from the video challenge.

Thanks again for bringing us back into the world of the Avatar and Lord British!

 

Would edit my post if I could, but I can't so here's the extra. Holt in chat asked that I post this to a blog site for easier reading. Here it is should anyone want an easier to read location or to comment on it.

http://fictionalstuffs.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-familiar-darkness-chapter-1-weary.html

 

SILVERWATER-
Spring was coming across this new place. My bottom sitting on the ground was not so cold this morning as it had been yesterday. It was a sure sign of spring. Spring brought storms and warmer weather, longer days, new life, budding trees and growing gardens. I felt energized for adventure.
Familiar shapes made me look up. I smiled as two of my friends approached me. I stood, dusting off my backside. "Hello Wylf, Kug. What are you two gentlemen doing today?"
Wylf smiled like a kind father down at me, indulging my greeting hug. "We've been fishing, Lass. It is a fine day."
Kug bowed in greeting, and I returned it. "We had a good catch of fish. Wylf did especially well. We thought we'd do some exploring. Join us, if you'd like. Nothing like a new land, 'ey? We thought you might like to have company, and we'd enjoy yours."
I was delighted. "Thank you. That's very kind. I would like to explore with you."
Wylf, as was his way, turned on his heel and set out, expecting us to follow. If we had not, it would have taken him some time to realize it. His manner made me smile. Wylf had a great heart and spirit, but he was single minded.
Kug walked beside me. "The water is clear and the fish are big. They taste better than the best trout I ever ate. We'll show you where we caught them. Just check out our fish basket." He opened the latch as we walked along, and grinned when I was duly impressed.
Song. I heard a curious song. Someone was singing. I couldn't understand any words, but it caught my ear, and my heart.
Kug was speaking, and I made myself listen to him. "It's just up ahead. Wylf is almost there. The fish must be in spawning season. The water's thick with them."
"Has that singing been going on for awhile? Where does it come from?"
Kug looked at me oddly, and cocked his head, listening. "What song?"
Wylf was at the water. "Come here, Lass."
My eyes grew rounder. The song was low and strange, gripping me. My friends were trying to speak to me, but their speaking was spoiling the song. I knew I must attend my friends, but would the mysterious song last? "One moment, Wylf." I stepped a few paces away from them, trying to determine the direction of the singer.
"Where are you going?" My friend's voice sounded like a clash of cymbals blaring against the song.
I held up a hand for silence.
"What's the matter?" Wylf seemed to bellow, being out of harmony.
"Shh!"
"She hears something," Kug said to Wylf.
My ear led me to the water. The song was in the water. I was going to follow this stream.
"What do you hear? I don't hear anything special." Kug watched me with a concerned expression.
I pointed at the water, sure that I must be smiling back at him oddly.
Wylf shrugged. "It could be one of those high squeals that not everyone hears."
"No," I said in a hushed excitement. "It's a low song, coming from the water."
The both strained to listen, but gave me a shrug. Wylf simply believed me, and I knew he would do whatever I wanted to do about such a mystery.
"The water sounds sort of musical," Kug offered, "but that isn't what you mean, is it? Do you hear words?"
"Yes, I do hear words, Kug. I cannot make them out. It may be another language. It's a beautiful song. What a strange land. Do you two know anything about this stream?" I was still keeping my voice quiet. "Where does it come from?"
Wylf lifted his brow. "Kug and I went exploring a wee bit this morning. This here stream comes up from underground. We found an opening, but we didn't go in. Did you want to go? We've got plenty of food."
"Ugh, underground? Caves give me the shivers. Why does the water have to lead us there?"
"You've always had some special talents at things I didn't understand, Lass," Wylf said. "Either it's too low for us to hear, or it's calling you. Let's make for the cave and see what we find."
I smiled at my old friend. He never hesitated to face any challenge, especially for a friend.
Kug gave a nod. "We'll be there with you. The path didn't look bad, but we couldn't tell how far down it goes. We can make camp and continue on, if need be. Now we've got your music. Let's go."
I nodded, drawing upon my nerve, feeling my red curls bob at my neck. "You can't be brave unless you feel some fear. I know my fear of caves is irrational. You two gentlemen are with me. I'll have some faith. Let's follow this song in the water."
"Don't go to dangerous places alone, Lass. You can always call upon your friends,? Wylf said.
I patted his arm affectionately.
The men led us to the place where the water went down into an uninviting pool. It was a series of steep jumps for the large, silvery fish. A moss covered boulder hid the opening. The little stream rushed over slick rocks where the fish came leaping out. My friends helped me down, but even with their support, I soon fell on my backside.
Wylf smiled. "Watch your step there, Fireangel. We can't be getting injuries so early."
"I'm as clumsy as ever, I'm afraid," I laughed. "Don't be surprised that I still have no sense of direction. Please keep me on track."
Leaping fish splashed against us until we reached the cave opening behind the boulder. Kug steadied me as I stepped up onto the dry cave floor that ran along the stream. We could see ahead a curved, sloping tunnel. It didn't look dark. The walls were not damp. Our ceiling was tall. Two could walk abreast easily. I took comfort in these things.
Wylf led us now. "I have torches, Lass. It's bound to get darker."
I grimaced. I had seen the utter blackness only found in deep caves before. "Thank you, Wylf."
Yet as we descended, the water became apparent as our source of light. Something in the water, or in the rocks in the water was luminous. As the surroundings became further from the sun, our eyes adjusted to the glow so that we could see very well.
Kug looked uneasy. "I've been thinking about this song you hear, Fireangel. Isn't there something about women mermaids in water who sing deadly songs?"
"Yes, but the legend is that those 'Sirens' sing to lure men to their deaths. This song is not fearful at all to me. It feels sort of spiritual. It gives me a sense of well being overall. No one would be more fooled than me if it turns out to be dangerous."
"Maybe this thing sings to females. No offense, but I don't trust it yet."
"No offense taken, Kug."
Suddenly, as we rounded a curve in the path, the water was louder. It was a refreshing sound. That is where we came to an unexpected dead end. A solid cave wall stood in front of us. Scratches and pits in the wall showed where others had attempted to get past the this obstacle.
Wylf began to investigate the wall, high and low.
Kug looked at me. "Still hear the song?"
I nodded, looking up at the wall before us, noting that among the scratches and banged places in it, there were other marks. Marks made with thought. Perhaps a puzzle.
"What if there might be some bad things in the water?" Kug ran his fingers along the corner of the wall.
I smiled softly. "I hope there isn't. Water is usually full of good. Life needs water. Think of renewal, of spiritual baptisms. Water cleans us. Healing beings have been known to stir the waters in pools in certain histories."
"This song you hear," Kug continued, "I know you said it seemed foreign, but do you get any clues that might help us get past this wall?"
"Not really. Wylf, can you make out those marks at the top of the wall? Do they look like anything to you?"
Wylf looked up and Kug's eyes followed. Squinting, Wylf lit a torch and held it up along the wall. This revealed some coin-sized spiders in webs, to my disgust. Wylf burned them up before he answered. "It could be music notes."
Kug smiled slyly at me. "So, your song could be the key, Fireangel."
I laughed. "Pun intended. Well done, Kug."
"What? Oh, I didn't actually realize I made a pun. Good for me."
"Oh, this means I have to sing this tune? Ugh. I should have brought my lute." I cleared my throat. "Da da da da, da da da da,..." I sang, quite surprised to see that the wall began to grind and move down into the ground as I continued. We all stepped across, and I stopped making the tune. The wall went up. I made the tune again, and the wall went down. I stopped, and let it go up. "I guess it will let us out again the same way."
Wylf chuckled. "Well, that wasn't too bad."
"No. Catchy tune, My Lady. Well, onward and downward, I suppose."
Spilling sounds of water from beneath seemed to be adding harmony to the tune I had. I listened harder to the voices in my head.
"What is that we hear? A waterfall?" Kug tried to see ahead.
Wylf led us. "Come on. We'll see what it is. Keep your wits about you."
We soon stepped out into a cavern. The three of us gasped. Stalactites, stalagmites, natural arches and fountains lit up in beauty before us. It was like sunshine through the colored glass of one of the great temples of the old worlds. The light was glowing up from the abundance of water here.
"Do you see any creatures?" Kug asked.
"No," Wylf and I answered together.
"Look, a footbridge. Someone had to build it." My eyes felt very wide.
Wylf went across the footbridge, and took a defensive stance. I followed with Kug, glad not to tramp on more slippery rocks. Scrutinizing the area, we noticed pink glowing gems, and clumps of mushrooms. This vast cavern could take a long time to explore.
Kug's voice was quieter than normal. "Is the uh, 'song' louder here?"
"The song isn't louder, no. I am hearing harmony now sometimes." I looked at the natural fountain to our left. "Would I be out of line if I want to test taking a drink from that fountain?"
"Have a drink of it, Lass. The fish were fine and tasty that came out of the water above, and the stream comes up from here. I'm a bit thirsty myself."
So we went back across the footbridge to the fountain and took a drink, while Kug waited to see if we took on any ill effects. I felt nothing special, and was a little disappointed. Silly or not, it was fun to expect some magic. The song was a gift, so I tried to be satisfied with that.
Wylf drank quite a lot, and filled his canteen. "Can't say I ever tasted better water."
"I liked that tune," Kug said lowly, "what I could make of it. You still don't get any words you can understand, Fireangel?"
"Well, I don't know, honestly. I am getting words, but I may be making them up myself. I'm still only hearing words from some other language."
"Well, what are your words, if you don't mind sharing?"
"Tell us, Lass."
"I don't mind. Just take it for what it is." I laughed nervously, and cleared my throat. "Uh, let me see."
"A song of stars, of silver stars, and one who fell below
Into the sea, and came to land, to let her daughter grow.
Beneath the sky, beneath the ground, a secret buried deep,
She left her girl of silver hair to sing there in her sleep.
Far from the stars the mother now shines up in the water,
Silver starlight dust to lead a hero to her daughter.
Oh! Long the lighted sky has shone unfurled through history,
While here beyond the shimmering stars lay secret mystery.
O hero fair! The darkness comes, the bleak and joyless Day;
The underworld is climbing up, the Virtues fade away.
O Avatar! We long have we missed your foot upon our shore
And in the dimming faith I add my voice to call you forth.
But if of you I now do sing, oh will you come to me,
Or will my voice be only like starlight upon the sea?"

"By golly, Fireangel. I think you've got something there," Kug said, and looked meaningfully down into the bubbling fountain.
Wylf thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "We've got to find the star-daughter."
"But," Kug said, "don't most caves have luminous stuff in them?"
"Yes," I half-shrugged. "It's true. Deep caves usually have glowing moss or minerals, plants or glow-worms. The water doesn't sing, though."
"You have a point, Lass."
"I don't trust that singing," Kug mumbled. He took a drink from the fountain.
"Which way, Fireangel?" Wylf looked at me.
I had to laugh. "Remember my whole directionally-challenged thing?"
"What about the song? Where's it coming from?"
I blew out air, and turned my head to listen. The voice came from everywhere. I could not sense any directional clue. "The water is everywhere, and so the voice is everywhere. Could one of you lead us in a direction? I'll see if the volume changes or something."
Wylf rubbed his head. "What if we keep following the flow of the stream?"
"Oh, that is an excellent idea, Wylf!" I agreed.
He led us cautiously, and as we moved along the cave shore near deeper water, twelve creatures approached us from the water. One was a water spirit, following what seemed to be a female. It was difficult to tell if these people were human or not. The others looked more muscular than the one who seemed female. They had strange, bulky clothing and hoods, covering them almost entirely.
We backed up some, taking advantage of the natural cave formations for some protection. It was a fight! The water-spirit was sent by magic words to attack us, and arrows began to fly from the other people.
?The arrows could be poisoned!? I shouted. My magic was of less skill than to be able to draw a spirit to my side, but I could paralyze, and did, as I moved forward. I saw Wylf charge into the water, and down went three of the creatures before they could defend against him long.
Kug shot arrows, threw daggers, and lobbed potions at our attackers. The rest went down in defeat before us. The water-spirit vanished.
Surprised the battle hadn't been more difficult, it took us a few moments to realize that it was over. We were all well.
Wylf checked the bodies. "Not much on 'em. Let's get some of those pink gems before we leave this area."
We gathered some of the gems, and went back to the flow of the stream. Kug looked positively revived from having a battle, however small. I smirked. Wylf tramped around in the deeper water where our attackers had come from, making a lot of noise. When nothing more came out, he led us further along the stream by way of dry ground. In the near distance, we saw a town.
Silver fish swam in a nursery at a dock, where their caretaker was feeding them. He gave us a friendly wave, to our astonishment. We waved back awkwardly.
Armed guards stood at this end of town. They didn't seem too concerned with our sudden appearance. They gave us a nod, and showed their weapons, but didn't approach. The three of us exchanged looks.
I stopped at the fisherman feeding his nursery. "Hello. I hear a water song. Is it real?"
"Yes," he chuckled at me, "and no."
"What?"
"The water really sings to some, and brings folks to the Underworld. The legend in the song isn't real. It just helps. The cave wall keeps some out, which is fine." He tossed more fish food.
Wylf scratched his beard. "Did we kill some of your people? They attacked us."
"No. Those are the water-people. They tell those legends in the song. Those creatures don't have any love for land people."
Kug coughed. "So, we're welcome here?"
The fisherman nodded. "So long as you behave yourselves, yes. We trade with folks like you. That's why we send out the song from time to time, when coin gets low."
Wylf held out the pink gems. "What about these?"
"Those aren't worth much here. They're common. They may be worth more above, Mister."
"Thank you," I said to him. "This is Wylf, Kug, and I'm Fireangel. Well met."
He gave us a nod. "Well met, folks. I'm Pisc. This town is 'Starwater'. Need any fish?"
https://www.shroudoftheavatar.com/?p=16474

 

Daedric, Nail, and Tooms
----------
It was even darker than usual in the tavern that night. The lanterns in each corner flickered faintly as their wicks struggled to burn the last few dregs of oil that remained. A subtle fog had seeped in through a crack in the door, giving the dim light an eerie quality. Three bedraggled travelers were the tavern's only occupants, too caught up in their game of cards and stories of past adventures to have noticed that the barkeep and barmaid had retired some time ago.

Daedric, the gallant one, chuckled to himself as he scratched at his salt and pepper beard. ?Read 'em and weep, boys!? he bellowed, laying down three Red Empresses.

Nail, the clever one, groaned. ?You're a cheat, Dae, if I ever saw one,? and threw his hand down on the table.

Tooms, the funny one, chuckled as he gathered up the cards to reshuffle for the next hand. ?Don't get yer skivvies in a knot, ya baby. Dae's on a bit of a lucky streak, s'all. He'll get his comeuppance.?

Daedric showed his teeth from beneath his beard in a greedy grin as he scooped up his well-earned coins from the middle of the table. ?We'll see about that. Nail's just angry I'm stealin' his ale money!? Daedric guffawed.

Nail glanced over at the cold, empty bar with a depressed frown. ?Not like I'm gettin' a refill, anyhow. Just deal the cards, Tooms.?

Just as Tooms had shuffled and was about to slide Nail his first card, the tavern door swung open. The three turned their heads unanimously in a curious stare.

A tall man covered in a black robe from head to toe stepped lightly into the tavern common room. From behind him, a thick fog poured in, creeping around his black leather boots and deepening the atmosphere of the tavern before the door slammed shut behind him.

The newcomer reached up and pulled back his hood with black-gloved hands in one quick motion. He was young, and pale, with very dark features. His eyes were exceptionally dark, and his hair was as black as his robe and boots. He greeted the three tired men with a dazzling, wide smile.

?Hello, gentlemen,? he called in a smooth voice.

The three glanced at each other, slightly perturbed by the man's entrance. It was too late at night for most people to be traveling.

?Hail, young man,? Daedric offered with a raised hand. ?I'm afraid the tavern's closed for the evening. If ye like, I could go try to find the innkeeper,? he began as he started to stand.

The robed man raised a gloved hand to stop him. ?That won't be necessary, thank you. I am simply looking for a place to sit and rest bit. I've traveled quite a long way to be here.?

Daedric shrugged and eased back into his chair. Tooms and Nail turned their attention back to the table. Tooms was about to continue dealing when he realized the stranger was standing next to them.

?Uh... Can we help ye, young man?? Tooms asked.

The stranger smiled down at the three jovially. ?Playing cards, gentlemen?? he inquired, hinting.

Nail sniffed and looked away. Reluctantly, he began, ?I don't suppose you'd want to join...?

Before he could finish, the man was seated, gloved hands in front of him, smiling away. ?I'd love to. Thank you for your hospitality.?

Nail frowned, but Tooms simply sighed and dealt the cards. ?Where'd you say you were from, stranger?? Tooms asked as he picked up his hand.

?I'm afraid I did not,? the man replied. ?It is of no consequence, however. It is a very great distance from here.?

?Well, we've been all over, us three,? Tooms said, and Nail and Daedric nodded. ?Even took a trip or two to the Underworld in our day.? Tooms chuckled. ?Those were some times, eh boys??

Daedric laughed and clapped Tooms heartily on the back. ?I'll say! Nearly escaped with our lives, we did!?

Nail was not nearly as amused. ?I can't believe I let you two fools drag me into that godforsaken abyss. Too many close calls for my blood.?

The stranger was smiling. In his silky voice, he said, ?Do tell! I simply adore tales of adventure. Especially ones as exciting as expeditions to the Underworld.?

?Well,? Tooms began and licked his lips as he fingered his cards, always glad for an opportunity to tell a tale, ?The last time we went was fairly recently. Dae here got a good tip on a treasure horde, he did. Enough, supposedly, to fill our coffers for the rest of our lives and let us retire, the three of us.?

Nail groaned. ?Don't remind me.?

Daedric and Tooms ignored him. ?Source was reliable enough,? Daedric added. ?Had no reason to doubt 'im.?

?Now hold on, lemme tell it,? Tooms interjected. ?According to Dae's source, there was an old daemon nest on the second level, past a maze of passages,? he continued. ?In return for the information, we'd bring 'im ten percent of whatever we found. Seemed like a good plan.?

?Not that you two morons consulted me first,? Nail protested. The stranger chuckled.

?Anyway, we managed to follow the directions easy enough. We got to the second level without incident. Then we followed these narrow tunnels for a ways and got to where the nest was supposed to be. But when we got there...?

Tooms paused for dramatic effect and leaned in, grinning. ?'Twasn't an old daemon's nest at all! It was a dragon's nest! Still occupied!? Tooms waited a moment and then he and Daedric burst out laughing. The stranger joined in. Nail simply shook his head and covered his face with his hand.

Tooms dropped a few coins in the center of the table. ?I still don't know how we got outta that scrape alive,? he added mirthfully.

?How positively frightful,? the stranger said.

Daedric examined his hand and swore to himself. Nothing good this round. ?I'll say. We musta had some kinda guardian angel. Once we rounded that corner and saw those great big red wings, I swear I heard Nail let out a scream that woulda made a banshee jealous!?

Nail rolled his eyes. ?If I recall correctly, your heroics amounted to tripping over a rock and getting your sword stuck in its scabbard.?

Daedric chuckled. ?Well, we were all mighty spooked. Who wouldn't be, in that situation? Am I right, friend?? he asked, and prodded the newcomer with an elbow.

The stranger smiled back, teeth glistening brightly in the dim tavern light, and nodded. ?Dragons are natural-born killers, after all.?

?Ye got that right. Especially when their horde is threatened. I swear it came at us like a bat outta hell.? Daedric dropped a few coins on the table.

?Bat, nothing,? Nail said, flipping through his hand. ?That dragon was hell incarnate. We didn't stand a chance.?

?What happened then?? the stranger prompted, curious.

Daedric shrugged. ?We bolted, I guess. I don't rightly remember.? At this, Daedric paused and looked confused.

Tooms nodded and shrugged. ?I reckon we were too scared to think straight, let alone remember what happened. We just ran, I assume, and we ended up here.?

Nail frowned slightly at his cards. ?I remember feeling the damn beast's breath, though. I could go living without feeling that hellfire ever again.?

?Ye got that right,? Daedric agreed.

Nail dropped a few coins down and gestured to the stranger that it was his turn.

The stranger examined his cards. With a wide, pleased-looking smile he dropped a dozen coins onto the table.

Daedric grunted and folded his cards. Tooms followed suit.

Nail began laying his cards down as well, not willing to call the newcomer's raise, when he stopped. ?Wait a minute.?

?What?? asked Tooms.

?How did we get here??

?Whaddya mean?? Daedric asked.

?I mean, how did we get out alive?? Nail questioned, intently. ?We ran? From the second level of the Underworld all the way back here? Why don't we remember it??

The three, admittedly stupefied, sat quietly and thought.

?You don't remember at all?? questioned the stranger, smile deepening.

The three turned to him, faces painted with looks of confusion. They shook their heads.

?Would you like to know?? His grin stretched wide. Too wide. And his eyes were far too dark, too inviting.

The three nodded slowly, entranced. The tavern was filled with fog.

The stranger laid down his cards. A royal flush.

?I'm afraid that you did not.?

 

My contribution to Tales of the Underworld.

?The Kingdom once cried for a man of valor,
tales are told from local tailor?

Lord Garriot?s beliefs was true enough
trained his son with swords and shields
so strong so tough
-Father, I?am now ready for them fields!

Unfortunately and kept in hidden from swordmaster chief
his son was nothing less than a common thief

Totally uninformed of his sons behavior
forth and out the offspring was sent
with hope and trust of argument
his son, his avatars savior!

?The Kingdom once cried for a man of valor,
tales are told from local sailor.?

Nor sea or seaserpent could take this Prince crown
because he aimed so bisarr, past the star
down below, into center of sunder
sacrificed it all, screaming of thunder!
But all he really did was
awakened as plunder.

Committed crimes and dwelled deep into mine
had an effect that made him change line
The once pure hearted son of Garriot
were no longer spoken of as the compatriot.

Totally uninformed of his sons behavior
forth and out an representive lady was sent
with hope and trust of argument
his son, his avatars savior.

?The Kingdom once cried for a man of valor,
tales are told from local jailor.?

-This is the last and third part to tell
listen carefully or you may end up in hell

Beloved and beauty flavoured like flowers
she scouted the land for several hours
time past when she suddenly heard
whispers, from a tiny blue bird.

Entered the darkness with one lightsource to hold
hands shivered of fear once she layed eyes on the gold
piles of skulls
piles of bones
she ran so fast, she ran so deep
she ran right into dungeons keep

-Who are thy my castle enter, the price is high, or mabey low
your shadow, it?s been sold.

/?P?Rince

______________________

Perhaps the fair lady stayed in the underworld as an servent to the Prince, ashamed of what she had become, or not.
The rumors tells that prince without shadow walks the land only at night, mabey because it's harder to actually witness someones shadow without daylight.

The Lord is not sure what to believe because it's not yet witnessed with his own eyes.
The Prince consumed his dark side, the shadow is as metaphor of true evil.
Will the Prince return to his former Kingdom and once rule beside Garriot?
If, how does he redeem his debt?

Will Lord Garriot believes in his son of becoming the Avatar be enough?
Many questions and many twists can be adjusted to the Tale.

Hope you enjoyed the reading!

/Rincewind

 

I am not a good story teller, I am more of a musician.
Here is my bad attempt at story telling, the plot is brilliant but the execution of putting it into a story is really bad.
Thought I would give it ago, I might edit it later, I kept it short (about 550 words)

The Devious Bandit Mastermind
By 3djake

In the abandoned city taken over by a evil bandit clan, deep inside the old rulers castle was the leader of the clan Deamon Axerunner. Deamon was a devious and greedy sort, he always dressed in his favorite black leather armor that belonged to the old rulers bodyguard.

?Joplin, I have a task for you? said Deamon, Joplin was Deamon's number one master thief. ?You will break into the armory of Wellstern and steal some of their weapon and armor, they can not notice anything is missing? said Deamon, ?As you command? replied Joplin.

The great city of Wellstern once had a great army but had not been to war in decades and had made peace with its worst enemy in the nearby city of Chellstern, no one even remembers why they were fighting. None the less, breaking into the armory will not be easy.

?Ugein, come over here? Deamon barking orders again, ?Yes? replied Ugein, a little imp of a creature who was actually a very good spy. ?I have word that the princess of Chellstern has being leaving the city every day and I want you to find out whats she is up to? said Deamon, ?yes, yes of course master? said Ugein.

Later that day, Joplin returns with the armor and weapons from the great city of Wellstern and Ugein also has news. ?Master, master, princess likes the prince of Wellstern, princess goes to visit him outside the city walls? said Ugein, ?you, you and you, come here? barks Deamon at some of his bandits, ?take these weapons and armor and kill the princess when she goes to meet the prince and kidnap the prince and bring him here, make sure you leave some weapons behind. Joplin, I want you to break into the prince's private chambers and leave this Chellstern emblem on the floor?

The city of Chellstern became outraged when they found their beloved princess dead and were out for blood, of course they found they weapons from Wellstern around her bloody corpse, the city of Wellstern were also out for blood when they found their prince missing and the emblem from Chellstern on the floor in the prince's bedroom.

Deamon's plan was coming together nicely but now he needs to sell them weapons, he sent his blacksmith to both cities to offer them fine weapon and armor, both cities have not being to war in a long time and needed new weapons and armor to expand their armies.

Both cities accepted the deal and Deamon's plan worked, the bandits were raining in gold as they made new weapons and armor for the war but Wellstern's army was much larger and was winning the battle, Deamon needed a way to keep the war going, he sent some of his finest warriors wearing the armor of Wellstern to attack another city. Once again another one of Deamon's plans worked and that city joined the fray and evened out the playing field.

As time went on the devious bandit king kept the war going on and on and on, the prince spent the rest of his life in a dark dungeon in the old abandoned city.

The End

 

Once upon a time,

There was a brave little girl who wanted to see her grandma. Her parents said, ?No for the way is dark.? The girl thought they were being foolish. She was a big girl, her father said so last Wintermeet. So being a big brave girl she made plans to see her grandma alone. While they were aslept she gathered some things to prepare for the journey. First, she grabbed her favorite stuffed button-eyed unicorn, Mr. Tarlo. Second, since the way was dark she grabbed a Fairy Torch. A tube like device made of copper and glass. If you clicked the button it rang a small chime causing the fairies living inside it to awaken. They gave off enough light to read by. Then she gathered a small vial labeled, FireLotus Honey Nectar to slack her future thirst. She didn?t need food it wasn?t that far to grandmas. Next, since it could be dangerous she retrieves her father?s crystal sword, Darkblade, from the closet. Too heavy for her to lift she decided to tie some rope to the hilt, so she can drag it behind her. Finally, she entered the pillar garden. She used her Father?s device to harness the light of the New Moon. This light she aimed at a broken pillar. A small portal appear an image of cone shaped objects were on the other side. ?Stalagmites, stalactites,? She couldn?t recall which was which. But she did know to avoid those who fell from above and those who crawled below. She clicked the button the torch waking the fairy inside. The fairy groggily shined some light.

Off she went.

The gravel filled trail showed her the way to the great Margoyle bridge. How odd, she thought, no margoyles. They should be some on the bridge entrance but there were none. She looked over the side to see if any have taken flight. The fairy light showed not a one but she could hear the river far below. She crossed over the bridge and took the trail to the Mushroom Forest of LSyn?th.

A large cavern housed the mighty fungi forest. Many varieties of grew there, tiny ones, small ones, and some the size of a pony. Some mushrooms were the color of chalk or deep blue like the daytime sky. Others smelled like lilacs while some smelled like balmy feet. Plenty of them glowed with a bright green color while others didn?t glow at all. And in the right hands all of them tasted great in stew. Oh how the brave little girl looked forward to her grandmas stew. She skipped through them all. Happy thoughts of warm pasty stew paraded in her head. Not once did it occur to her anything was out of place. If she decided to take a break she may have noticed what was wrong. For the Fungi-men, who tended the forest, were all gone. Multiple slime trails led away from their hovels.

Her trip through the crystal tunnels went fast. Because when she saw the torchlight bounce of the large crystals, she went into a quick run. The hamlet grandma lived in was on the other side. She was almost there!
She emerged from the tunnel and behold?the hamlet was under siege.

The cavernous hamlet was being invaded by the Forces of Darkness. Herds of tasty giant roaches were dead, mushroom and dung farms burned. The enemy marched within the hamlets walls. But the town wasn?t fully destroyed. The sound of weapons clashed off in the distance. The invaders haven?t fully entered the town. There was still hope. ?Grandma, I?m coming for you.? Non-deterred with the carnage before her, the little girl went right into the enemy?s? camp.

The first soldiers she came across were the Automatons. The bizarre clockwork humanoids were the size of her father. She couldn?t put her finger on it but they reminded her of some type of insect. For those who didn?t know these things possess immense strength, knew no fear, an utterly loyal to whoever created them. Now they couldn?t see nor hear like you or I. They relied on vibrations in the air and ground to inform them about the natural world. Also, the Automatons lacked creativity; the gears and rubies in their head only allowed so much information to be processed. The only weapon she had was the crystal sword which dragged behind her. The blade left small groves in the dirt.
?Small being. Made of flesh. No armor detected. Piece of long glass behind it. No reagents detected. Conclusion: A small human drags its weapon in shame. Threat status none.? They said in an oiled metallic clicks.

And so she passed them.

She stopped briefly at the main archway that led into the hamlet. She marveled at the ruined stone gates. Her tiny fairy-light fell upon what used to be the thick massive stone doors. Now they lay shattered at her tiny feet. The biggest piece was about the size of Mr. Tarlo. Then a noise startled her. Silent dark clothed beings stepped into her view.

No, they pranced into her sight for they were The Dancers-in-the-Dark. Dangerous scouts who moved like water. Up and Down they flowed over the broken stones. Occasionally, they paused which reminded her of a ballerina toy she owned. It would wind up then spin, twirl, move to and fro before winding down. Sometimes the ballerina would stop in mid-stride, like they just did, with one porcelain leg in the air. Their pause wasn?t due to the lack of a wound up spring. They paused to sniff the dank air. They heard quite well but their nose was far superior to any bloodhound. ?We smell you tiny one. Travel far you did,? they sniffed again, she repressed the urge to giggle. They did look comical to her, ?You met the mechanical man-ants.?

She misunderstood their statement for a question. ?Yes I did.? Slowly their heads turned at unnatural angles towards her. ?We hunger. We thirst.? They glided up-and-down-all-around towards her.
?Oh, I have something for you.? Mesmerized she couldn?t turn her head away from them. She reached into her skirts pocket. She felt cold.
?We know you do,? clicked their teeth. They almost enveloped her. They would have too. At this moment her fingers found the lid to the nectar. She popped the lid off then tossed the vial into the distance. The sweet smell of FireLotus Honey Nectar filled the air. ?Oooo, ours!? They trilled.

And so she passed them.

She almost missed the underground olive tree. The tree itself was dead. All the light provided by the glow moss above showed it was spilt in half by a single blow. The tiny glow worms surrounding it were fading into its roots. This tree meant she was close to her grandma?s. She walked quickly passed it.

Now this is when she came across her final obstacle.

She came across the Sinister Ones. They were true evil through and through. Known far and wide to lurk under little girl?s beds or inside boy?s closets. They were highly intelligent and ?blessed? with supernatural ability to see in total darkness. But they were arrogant and full of Pride. She raised Mr.Tarlo to block their baleful gaze but there really was no need for it. They never bothered to glance down.

And so she passed them.

At last she arrived at her Grandma?s house.

The fine cottage did not look the same. The marble walls were cracked. Parts of the clay roof sunk into the home. The rare wood slates on the windows were gone. Startle by the condition of the place she ran to the front door. She ignored the soot covered path that was litter with some type of chicken bones. She turned the handle on the door and pushed. It only opened a smidge or in her case just the right amount. ?Grandma,? she squeaked all thoughts of mushroom stew flew from her head. A figure shuffled into the fairy-light. ?Grandma!?

Grandma was a mess. Her pale white skin was covered in soot and grim. Her immaculate dress was no longer clean but dirty and full holes. Her fuzzy slippers were gone. She was barefoot on a cold stone floor. She appeared to have been crying. Dark streaks ran down her round checks. ?My little fire angel. Why are you here? You shouldn?t be here...,? Grandma?s voice rasped. The little girl ran to her. Arms wide she hugged grandma?s legs. ?Don?t worry Grandma. I?m here now.?

A thunderous bellow occurred outside. Dust fell from the ceiling as the whole cottage shook. The Sinister Ones called forth a great Thorn Worm. The hamlets last defenders refused to surrender to them. They choose to hide behind a wall made of every possible scavenged item. So they summoned forth the coiled horror.
The Evil Ones cackled in delight as the worm went on a rampage.

?I love you Grandma.? Said the brave girl as grandma stoked her hair.
?I love you too.?
The roof collapsed. The walls fell in and were grounded to dust.

And they died.


So did the powerful worm. Thick as it scales may be they were no match for the crystal sword. A spiked scale the size of a tower shield rubbed over the blade. The edge of the weapon sliced through straight to its bone. It threw its head back eyes wide with shock. For it has never felt pain. Ever. Then its massive body began to fall upon the invaders. Every spasm crushed a war machine. Wagon stalactites flatted the Automatons. Vaporous purple blood spewed from its great body. It flowed into the area. The Dancers-in-the-Dark drunk on nectar went straight into the poisonous clouds. They perished in a horrible fashion. Sky born a torn Mr.Tarlo landed at the clawed feet of a Sinister One. Something about the item caused it to balk in mid-stride. In the distance cheers rose up from the last defenders who hide behind the makeshift barricades. The invaders went into full retreat. Whatever powerful magic slew the beast put fear into their tiny dark hearts.

Not all endings are happy.

For VenomHide--- Welcome to the Underworld, where little girls and grandmothers walk in fields of Crystal Dreams.

 

This is a continuation of my previously posted chapter 1. For those of you concerned, this is the LAST chapter of my submission -- I'm not going on for N chapters.

Link to chapter 1: https://www.shroudoftheavatar.com/?topic=tales-of-the-underworld-sticky-dev&amp;paged=2#post-18137 or on blogger: http://fictionalstuffs.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-familiar-darkness-chapter-1-weary.html (the blogger site has 3-4 minor fixes vs. the forum post.)

Link to chapter 2 on blogger: http://fictionalstuffs.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-familiar-darkness-chapter-2-rose.html



The Familiar Darkness ? Chapter 2: Rose Haven

The pools of thick, red blood grew steadily larger around the dead would-be assassins. Micke knew he was the target like all the other attempts since his departure from the underworld. Had he not come here tonight, they would still be alive and no danger would have befallen Dal. Cursing under his breath, Micke reached for an overturned chair, but Dal grabbed his arm and stared at him intently, ?Leave it. I shall deal with this mess and riffraff later. It?s obvious there is a certain seriousness to this business of thine.?

Dal gave a quick nod to the ever present bard and motioned Micke to follow him. The musician nodded back and began another intricately conceived variation of the song he?d been playing all along. Following Dal, Micke crossed a threshold between the tavern and the adjacent inn. A dusty wooden placard of some age hung at eye level in the crossing with the engraved name ?Rose Haven?. The d?cor of the inn was vastly improved over that of the tavern; where the tavern presented a scene for merriment and drink, ?Rose Haven? called for peace and restoration.

They strode past several doors before Dal stopped at one, quietly turned a key and slowly slid the door open just enough to step inside while holding his guest at bay. Quiet words were exchange inside the room, but Micke hesitated to eavesdrop. After a moment, Dal opened the door wide to allow Micke in, stating in a respectful but low voice, ?Lady Katrina Marie di Monteleon.? Micke walked in and found the lady sitting in a comfortable chair with a small, ragged book lying beneath her folded hands. The door clicked quietly closed behind Micke, signaling Dal?s departure.

?Lady Katrina,? Micke bowed his head with deference.

?Come, sit my friend. Thou needst not bow thy head before me. I?m but a simple inn keeper, and a sick one at that. Tell me, didst thou uncover the artifact?? There was ample eagerness in her voice.

Micke sat in the chair directly next to her's and spoke simply, ?Yes.? He paused a moment, ?But I must know why thou asked me to retrieve it.? He looked away, not speaking for a moment, yet clearly not finished, ?That place? I shall never forget it, and the nightmares of the demons and beasts I encountered shall never cease for all mine days. Thou toldest me there?d be danger. Thou toldest me to be well prepared, and had I not taken the entirety of mine reagent store, I would not have been able to mask mine presence long enough to escape. I?ve heard stories of great demonic beasts, but the number, size, and strength of what I encountered was staggering.?

Beads of sweat appeared on his brow as if he were back in the horror filled underworld. ?Lady Katrina,? he said, with a mix of fear and genuine concern evident in his voice, ?they appear to be organized and not simple minded, dumb creatures! I?m no great tactician, but it seemed they were mobilizing for something?? He paused again before continuing hauntingly, ?What was that place??

In a calming, mother-like voice she asked, ?Dost thou know of the Avatar, Micke??

?The Avatar? Every child is told those fairy tales.? He was taken aback and slightly irritated by her avoidance of the question, ?What hast that to do with this??

His cynicism would anger most people, but not her. She continued in the same calm manner, ?The Avatar is not myth; legend yes, but not myth. Two moons ere you came I was visited in mine garden by a familiar stranger. I was at first joyous for his return. I canst barely remember the last time I stared upon his face and felt the calming presence which always precedes him. Just when I was at the peak of mine jubilation at our reunion, he delivered unto me a warning of a new threat to our lands.? She sighed heavily, ?Then he told me that he couldst not stay and protect us this time.?

Confused, Micke asked, ?If he?s not a myth, then why can?t he help us? According to the legends, he?s always helped us before without question.?

Lady Katrina smiled weakly and shook her head slowly, ?Not this time Micke. He canst not.? She opened the book in her lap to a page she?d already marked previously, turned it, and handed it to him. Tapping her finger twice on the right hand page, ?This is his diary. See his entry here? When he defeated our last great enemy, he took into his own soul the entirety of its evil essence. Ever since, he has fought to suppress the evil inside, holding it captive within. This evil struggles ceaselessly to break free, and in our world it has much greater power and would easily overcome the Avatar in a few short days. So for the sake of our world, he must from hence forth be dead to us. He must be dead to us all so that we may find a new champion to take up the mantle of Avatar and protect us once more from a new evil which threatens the land.?

Micke sat there, filtering what she said through his mind, overcoming the reality of the existence of the Avatar and great evils, and adding to this what he saw deep in the underworld. He shook his head, still not quite certain what to believe or how to fit the pieces together. Certainly Lady Katrina had never before given him reason to doubt her. Calmly he asked the one question he felt might tie things together, ?How does the hell I barely escaped from play into all of this??

Katrina smiled once more, though this was not a smile of happiness, ?The Avatar told me an ancient place of great power was finding its way back to our world. It was an ancient place that held older and far more powerful demons than any man would want to imagine.? She reached over; turning the diary to another marked location and pointed to an entry entitled ?Hythloth?. She continued in a somber voice, ?it?s a place I wish I?d never seen, and I?m so sorry that thou hadst to experience it. But what thou sayest confirms to me the accuracy and the seriousness of its return.?

Mickke ran his fingers over the word Hythloth in the book. ?Hythloth,? he said in a near whisper, and then more audibly, ?The assassin in the tavern muttered that as he died.?

It was Katrina?s turn to be shocked. ?Assassins? It?s worse than he thought.? She paused, a look of deep thought crossing her face momentarily before she continued, ?Thou must move quickly then. There is no time to lose. If there are humans already doing the bidding of this new evil power, then it must be much farther along than the Avatar had foreseen. Thou must take the artifact immediately to Lord British himself. He must see it, and we must pray to the eight that he comprehends the fullest implication of what it means.?

?And if he doesn?t??

?Then thou must do everything in thy power to convince him to raise the call of the Avatar once more. To reach into the hearts and minds of every would be virtuous traveler and savior, and beg of them to search deep in their soul for the communion of the eight and rise up to counter the evil brewing below us. Thou must make him believe that the Avatar canst not return to us.?

?How am I to do that? How am I to convince him that what thou doth tell me about the Avatar is true?? Micke was more than taken aback, he was in sensory overload. His mind was confused by all that he?d witnessed, seen, and heard. Now Lady Katrina was ordering him to force Lord British?s hand?

Lady Katrina bent forward and opened a small, wooden box next to her feet. From it she withdrew a cloth pouch. ?Thou willst give him this also. Please, be gentle with it.?

Taking it from her, he asked, ?What is it??

Now it was her turn to hesitate, ?Within that pouch is a simple cloth of the greatest importance. It shall be crucial in calling forth the next champion. It is the death mask of the Avatar. The Shroud of the Avatar.?

Micke stared at her. Silent. Disbelieving. The childhood legend was both brought to life and killed all in the same hour. His confusion and doubt was clear on his face. Katrina continued with more emphasis, ?The Avatar is dead to us, Micke. If the people of this land are to survive, then Lord British must not waste time calling him. He must instead focus immediately on the search for a new champion of the virtues.?

Her voice began to grow more urgent and bordered on impatient, ?Go Mickke. Go now and take the shroud and the artifact from Hythloth. Don?t leave Lord British until he believes. This is more important than any quest thou hast ever been on. Go!?

She practically screamed the last word and he grabbed the cloth pouch and, with her permission, the diary. He stowed them under his cloak and fled from the room. His quest was supposed to end here; but as quite often happens, the end of one quest is but the start of another.

To be continued? (After the ?contest?)



Again, thank you to the SotA crew for putting out the call for stories of the underwold.

Here ends my two-part submission for the story contest. The two parts together are right at 3259 words (of story content ? not including my post scripts). I am definitely interested in continuing this ? including building upon the visit from the Avatar (which was the basis of my un-filmed script for the video contest), the actual travels in the underworld, and possibly with the quest to Lord British. Though the more I sit on this, and the more I ponder it ? this feels very much like a good ending to a ?book 1? leading into a ?book 2? -- meaning I'm most likely to flesh out the "pre-story" to this two-parter. Who knows where this will lead ? it could lead nowhere.. Time is the only one who knows, at this point.

 

"Beware the hissing hooves!"

Those were her last words, escaping blood-cracked lips on a battered face. She was comely, in her way, but had a build more warrior than wench. Illuminated by the glow of fungi, her wounds told the kind of tale that scares one into foolhardy curiosity. At least it did me.

I was scavenging shards of glowrock to use as lute frets. At the time I considered myself more familiar with danger than I was. Idiot. This woman could have mopped the floor with me, and here she lay dead, bled out on the cold dark stones of the Underworld. Trampled. Repeatedly. Bloody hoof marks were everywhere...cloven hooves, but not like a goat, more like the two-toed feet of those desert beasts. Her shield laid shattered in pieces, some splinters betraying indentations of a small sphere with spikes. As I bent down to close her eyes, I saw a discolored puncture wound on the side of her neck; cradling her head, I found a matching would beneath the opposite ear. The mail on her right thigh had a large puncture through it, circular and two knuckles wide. Her left leg had been gruesomely ripped off at the knee, with the foot and calf nowhere to be found. Her sword was some distance away, un-bloodied on the ground. As her clutched fist relaxed, it revealed a single reddish scale about the size of a gold piece. It was iridescent, revealing blues and greens in the dim glow of the fungi. I put it in my pouch for safe-keeping.

Both sage and fool agree that these signs were enough to warrant an expeditious retreat, but somehow I was neither...perhaps I was both. As I said, foolhardy curiosity. I followed the trail out of the glow and into the darkness, lighting a torch to bolster my deluded audacity.

Of course, I knew the legend. What bard worth his weight in song doesn't? The point is, or was, that it was a *legend*. Now I grant you that most legends have some seed of truth that germinates through the re-telling, but these signs suggested that the legend was built from far more than a "seed." How could I resist? What a tale it would make if I survived. No more taverns for me (no more tavern *gigs*, that is). I'd be invited by scholars, lords, explorers, etc., for expensive private tellings of the tale. If I survived. If.

The tapestry of destiny is not for mortal eyes. That is the legend in a nutshell. Alternate plebian surveys categorize it in the "Mind-Your-Own-Business" class of legends. I'll give the quick version, just to make sure we're all on the same page. Eridux Isuf was a mage of significant power, yet he wanted more. Power, riches, love, respect...it's always something. For Isuf, it was seeing others' futures. He had to strike many dark bargains to gain the sight, delving deeper into forbidden magics, amassing a debt of infernal proportions, and binding his soul to a powerful malevolence that shall remain nameless. This spirit compelled Isuf to cross the boundaries of space and time to view the Tome of Threads, in which destiny's fabric may be viewed plainly. With demonic help, Isuf penetrated the warding magic and viewed the Tome. It cost him his mind and his vision. Mortal eyes and intellects cannot possibly comprehend even a single page of the tome; the spirit possessing Isuf, on the other hand, could. It-that-shall-not-be-named learned the destinies of many would-be champions of good, and immediately set Isuf to the task of eliminating them. Naturally, his body had become as corrupted as his soul. The hooves came first, then the snake head that sees all, then the scales, and then the stinger that replaced his left hand. He lived the rest of his days in primal agony, delivering pain and suffering to all who would someday challenge his master. That's the short version, anyway.

For me, the dark of the Underworld was a stifling mass, compressing the torch light so that the flames hunched with effort. The slick cavern floor was strangely reassuring, letting me know that at least the rock could resist the darkness. I'm no tracker, but the woman's blood had a glow of its own. The blood bade me to follow. There are rumors that mortals on a god's quest gain glowing blood, but I've never learned if that was the case here.

I stuck to the trail with a moderate pace, dodging oozes and jellies, squeezing through gaps in stalagmites and natural columns, and scrambling over vertical obstacles which were undoubtedly less a challenge for my hoofed quarry. I had traveled a few hours when I noticed that the tunnel was opening into a much larger cavern. My torchlight illuminated a large natural tube that extended left and right into the darkness. The walls were smooth with serpentine lateral grooves, as if this huge tube had been formed from something flowing, or eating, its way through the stone. The bottom of the tube was "floored" with a reddish semi-translucent rock, almost a glass, being very smooth with some lone shards holding a sharp edge. I took a few for lute frets, thinking they might make a better story than the glowrock. The blood formed a very chaotic pattern here. Had there been dancing? Was there some ritual with the leg? I didn't know. A lone trail stretched to the right, out of the chaos into the darkness, and I followed.

The silence was oppressive. There were occasional drops that echoed from distant pools, but for the most part, if I stopped moving and breathing then all I heard was the torch's spitting and the faint heartbeat pulsing in my ears. Eventually, the trail turned left into a side tunnel from which I heard distant breathing. I discarded my now dying torch, lit another, and proceeded. The blood lead me to a chamber that housed a forest, or farm, of giant man-sized mushrooms of all shapes and colors; the breathing was loudest here and I noticed that the mushrooms were subtly swelling and shrinking, exuding a gas with each contraction. My vision became blurry and I felt myself grow instantly sleepy. I would not last long. Thankfully, this was not my first foray into the deeps, and I had a few tricks for survival I had learned over the years. If you venture into the Underworld, always, always, bring nose leeches. I quickly grabbed the metal tube from my pouch, dumped the two leeches into my palm, and rammed them tail first up each nostril. The filtering process began almost immediately after they latched on, the leeches sucking in the noxious gas and expelling clean air through the glands in their tails. I just had to remember to keep my mouth closed.

Making my way through the mushrooms, I came upon a moderately sloped cliff face. The blood showed brief spatters up the slope, thus up I went. Arriving at the top I could see that I had risen above the dangerous haze. Finally opening my mouth to breathe, I held the leech tube to each nostril and the nose-leeches flowed back into the tube's inviting swamp oil. This new tunnel opened into a maze of passages, like I was in some giant ant nest. If it were not for the blood, I would have been lost after my first few turns. I could only hope that the blood would still be there for my way back, assuming I'd be coming back. I should mention that I did have an escape plan for emergencies, but I was reluctant to rely on it because it involved magic with a high price. As insurance, I used chalk for the first hundred or so turns, but then I ran out. When I had almost reached my limits with the dizzying changes in direction, I saw a dim purple light in the distance, accompanied by a low-pitched hum.

I entered a narrow tunnel, a little more than one-man wide and covered on each side by some type of glowing, humming lichen. As I approached a portion, the lichen would change from purple to yellow and its hum would increase in both volume and pitch. The lichen near my torch would turn a bright red and shriek at a goblet-shattering frequency. So much for surprise. The narrow passage opened into a large chamber filled with a yellowish bubbling pool that smelled of rotten eggs. Small geysers erupted from various portions of the pool, with no discernible pattern. I gazed over the pool, my ears adjusting from the lichen's onslaught. A stone bridge extended over the pool to a platform made from deep black obsidian. On the platform, wringing blood from a detached human leg into a golden chalice, was Eridux Isuf. His snake head stared at me, while his sightless humanoid head smiled; his right hand gestured and I was dazed, unable to think or act. Another gesture, and stalactites grew horizontally across the entrance from the lichen cavern. With each motion, torchlight glittered off his scales, sending multi-colored reflections to the walls of the cavern.

The snake head locked eyes with mine, and his voice thundered in my mind, though his mouth never moved, "YOU, WORM, HAVE DISTURBED ME." It was an observation, an explanation, a threat, and a promise, all wrapped into a single phrase. "I CURSE YOUR EYES. THEY SHALL NOT SEE UNLESS YOU WEAR A NECKLACE STITCHED OF SCALES TAKEN FROM MY DEAD BODY." And I was blind. I heard the approach of his hooves, and the hissing of his head. Suddenly my right thigh exploded with pain and I could not move my body. His tongue flickered on my face and neck as he circled me, and I felt his spiked weapon teasing my body of an impending impact. So many thoughts raced through my head: terror, regret, my own idiocy. I felt the fangs pierce my neck, and lost consciousness.

I awoke to the ear-piercing shrieking of the lichen. I was on the ground. Alive. I still couldn't move but could feel the heat of numerous torches placed around me. I couldn't see, but I could still hear. I was compelled every second to cover my ears, but my body would not respond. Evidently, I didn't deserve a clean death. Perhaps I was too lowly for a death from the hands of one so great. Regardless, I was left to lose my mind and starve in the darkness, blind and soon to be deaf. There was no chance of finding my way out. I'm not one to give up, however, and I had hope. Recall that I had a magic-based escape plan that I had been reluctant to use. Impending death can change one's priorities, despite magic being extremely dangerous for non-mages. In addition to the nose leeches, I had tuned a teleportation charm to the cave I used to enter the Underworld. I had purchased the charm years ago and had never used it. It was my one-time one-way trip out. The "rub", so to speak, was that I had to polish the charm with my hands in order to enact the spell. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to move my limbs again, but I had to keep faith. To maintain my sanity against the shrieking, I mentally sang every song I knew, afterwards trying to sing the words in reverse order. By the time I was halfway through my vast repertoire, backwards, I began to feel those prickling needles that occur in limbs waking from a long sleep. Soon I used the charm and escaped. The magic cost me my right hand, which withered to the stump it is today.

Well, that is the tale. You asked about the pretty iridescent scale hanging around my neck, and now you know. Of course it doesn't work, but I keep it there to remind me. You also know how I lost my sight and my hand. You were polite not to ask, but I'm sure you wondered. Everyone does. I sense?a greatness in you...a destiny that will change worlds. Trust me, I can tell. Would you take a quest from an old man? Would you kill Eridux Isuf and stitch me a necklace from his scales? I have naught to offer, but some nose-leeches, good songs, good stories, and a few pieces of gold. I'm sure you will please the Fates with your actions, however. That may be reward enough for one such as you. Whatever you do, I offer you this, free of charge. Beware the hissing hooves!