The Hidden Court
Thousands of years before humans in Luminar invented trains, gave them faces and names, and/or made gratingly saccharine little stories about their troubles narrated by former rock stars, the Yormùn system in Kobalheim was in place. The Yormùn were gigantic blue arthropods built for the sole purpose of rapid transit. They even came with chitin-plate engine houses on their heads for engineers to take manual control of their brains.
After Titania lost her war with Luminar, the Yormùn went extinct. But their trenches, and all their crossroads, bridges and stations remained—and were the closest thing to a highway that the Doomwagon could find in the dead world of Kobalheim. Since the Steve's-subpar-piloting-skills incident, the heroes agreed that the Doomwagon would only fly when absolutely necessary. The journey was slow, but Titania knew the way.
And for the first time in 5,200 years, songs once again filled the stale air of Kobalheim:
“Chicken rises from the vat of acid and it lives forever
Everyone will burn before the great Battery Acid Phoenix
Consuming humanity alive, its vengeful blood endeavor
Only secret herb and spice is hate, Battery Acid Phoenix...”
“I thought you said this was a stealth mission,” said Branwen, trying to shout over Era's music on the Doomwagon's loudspeaker. It was Łöbøtömÿ Ŵård's EP from the early days, back before they became sellouts, and it never failed to get Era pumped for a great battle. “So, what's with the voggin' music?”
Era sat back on the recliner, adding another layer of orichalcum to his schiavona. He motioned to Steve to turn the music down, which Steve did.
“That wolf rider guy knew where to find us,” said Era. “The GU's onto us. I don't know how onto us they are, but outta ten, it's definitely over five. Not much good sneaking's gonna do now, so we'll have to figure something else out.”
Liv chimed in from the couch, waking up from her nap. “Plus, lots of guys in the GU are into Łöbøtömÿ Ŵård. If anything, they'll mistake us for one of them.”
Era's eyelids shot open. “Hold up, the GU likes the Ŵård?” A five syllable band name was asking too much for his level of fatigue.)
“Totally. I was at Ŵårdfest last year, and a bunch of guys from some anti-elf hate groups were in the mosh pit. So, I broke their arms and kicked a guy's teeth in. Best day ever.”
Era dropped his sword, leaned further back onto the recliner, and groaned. “My taste in music has been aiding the enemy,” he half-whined. “My whole life is a lie. A brutal, edgy lie.”
Suddenly, Mischa jumped onto Era, pinning him against the recliner.
[Mischa — Slap]
[2 DMG to Era]
“Knock it off, Little Dork!” said the elder Gualtieri. “You're a fencer, not a quitter. Are you gonna let Monty take yer stupid heavy metal or are you gonna take it back?!”
“I know, I'm being facetious, you complete goof.”
Mischa grimaced. “Ah. Sorry, kid. Undo!”
[Mischa — Undo Slap]
[2 DMG to Era]
Era winced. “I mean, that was just the same slap in reverse, but I appreciate the thought behind it.”
Mischa grumbled, hopped off Era, and stomped away to the bathroom.
“Would this be a bad time to mention that the Ŵård is actually melodic blackened death metal and not heavy metal?” asked Liv.
Era shrugged. “Eh, some people just hate the truth.” Still, this is troubling. Dad’s been really on edge lately—even for Dad. All it took was joking about music and he went into aggressive-pep-talk mode.
Now that I think about it, the stress of the upcoming final battle is starting to get to all of us. Let's see here...
Noah's been on his phone the whole time, and nagging dad to get the reception working with the long-distance router. He almost missed a few of his daily prayers. I haven't even seen him hug anyone. Did he have a falling out with Pamina or something? Maybe he's just homesick.
Branwen spent the last two thirds of the ride just laying on top of the bus, flipping back and forth every now and then to release energy. No screaming, no pirate crap, no murder.
Ofelia's just been praying, nonstop. I haven't heard a non-prayer out of her for days.
Hell, even me! I'm not sleeping. When's the last time I've gone without so much as a power nap for more than twelve hours? Sad part is, I know the reason—the Bug Man's been on overdrive with the dreams and the ‘let me ins.’ I thought I'd get used to it, but every time I go to sleep, the nightmares get worse. I have to pop a melatonin pill to work up the courage to sleep anymore, and I'm starting to run out. I really should tell someone about this. I don't wanna make my friends worry, but it's getting to the point where I might be in some kind of legit, supernatural danger.
I'll worry about it later.
And last, but definitely not lea—
Hold on.
He glanced at Liv. She was still in her pajamas, and reading a thick paperback of some sort. The title read, “The Things Uncle Vladislav Did to Us in the Tool Shed,” accompanied by a picture of an emaciated ox with a small human arm dangling from its bloodied nostril—a rare instance of judging a book by its cover being completely justified. But Liv always did have transgressive tastes, and though he couldn't understand why, it was one of the many things that enchanted Era abou—
[Era — Suppress]
Bad! Get Down.
Point being, during the trip, Liv was the most relaxed out of all of them. Despite being given every available chance, she hadn't once threatened to drink Branwen's blood out of her hollowed-out shin bone, detailed exactly what she'd do with Lord Monty with a butter knife and several toothpicks, punched any walls, or lit anything on fire.
I can't tell if she's completely avoided the stress, or if she caught the worst of it.
The bus screeched to a halt on a granite pathway, and the door opened.
“All out for the Black Pyramid!” cackled Mischa.
[lumipedia.co.ari/Black_Pyramid]
404 — Page Not Found
>/run page_decrypt.exe
[lumipedia.co.ari/redirect/youdonegoofed.html]
Soul Neutering
Soul Neutering is a method of chemically-induced lobotomy, used as a non-lethal punitive measure for people who attempt to access a Koschei exclusive Level 6 restricted page on Lumipedia, you complete bastard.
>Decryption Key: **************
...access granted.
[lumipedia.co.ari/Black_Pyramid]
The Black Pyramid [HK — restricted]
The Black Pyramid is a large vault in Kobalheim, located on the southern edge of the Lost City of Ur-Kobalis. It is composed of Obsidial Sempiternitite, the same mineral substance found in the frame of the Obsidian Gate, and it is indestructible.
The vault is said to contain a source of immeasurable magical power, an ancient demon god, Sarastro's treasury, nothing, everything, a cache of weapons, an archive of knowledge, and/or something stupid. The exact nature of its contents are unknown, as only Dark Lord Sarastro is capable of unlocking the sealed door.
An attempt to temporarily open the Casket of Eternal Agony to sever Sarastro's hand and use it as an unlocking mechanism has been proposed by Koschei Thaumatronics director Dr. Norris Koschei, and is currently under consideration.
The Pyrite Palace shone in the eastern glow of Kobalheim's red-orange sun. The facets of its crystals and windows burned in its light.
Seeing Ur-Kobalis for the first time could only be called a religious experience. Era, who had once responded to the appearance of a god with the one-fingered salute, felt considerably tinier and more insignificant to the expanse before him.
Titania saw how wide Era's jaw had opened from the sight, and chuckled. “Lovely, isn't it?” she asked. “This entire city was carved over a thousand years from a single mountain by my great-great-great grandfather, Kardòk VII. He did it to win the hand in marriage of a tribal princess in the east.”
; “Did she say yes?” asked Noah.
“Actually, she spat in his face, called him a pig, and stormed off.”
Moisture already began to form on the corners of Noah's eyes. “Poor fella, he must have felt terrible.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Era. “He got his own city out of it. Always have a backup plan.”
As for the space directly in front of them, which was far more relevant:
When Era first heard of the Black Pyramid, he had pictured something more massive and imposing. And in truth, it was —but only twenty feet of the gigantic structure stood above ground, with only a small silver bulkhead indicating there was any way in.
Titania approached the door, with the five heroes behind her. Mischa had elected to stay in the Doomwagon, to find a better parking spot.
“So, what’s in this pyramid?” asked Noah. “If it’s an ancient tomb, I’m afraid I’ve had my fill of those by now...”
“This temple protects the Apocalypse Tree,” said Titania. “When the last of its fruit falls, the world will end. But that's not what we're trying to find here.”
“Which is?”
She sighed and placed her hand on the bulkhead.
“This could be a fool's errand,” said the old queen. “But this pyramid is indestructible, so Mystic Ilya’s corruption couldn't have broken in. If there's even the chance that some of my people were spared from that bastard's curse, and that some Kobals remain...if any are still alive, I would love to see them again.”
“Ancient Kobal soldiers?” said Liv. “I like this plan already.”
“This is holy ground, Mystic Liv. If anyone is alive, they will be nonviolent.”
Liv scoffed. “Then what the hell are we doing here? We gotta stop Monty.”
“Knock it off,” said Era. “Titania brought us here, so we should do something for her too, right?”
“Yeah, good point. Sorry, Your Majesty.”
“Quite all right.” The queen placed her palms together. “Pòro, Kalash, Lutrakh, Nrael...”
[Titania — Open, Says-a Me]
The door fell off the hinges and shattered.
“Of course,” grumbled the queen. “There hasn't been a janitor here in five millennia. Everyone, wait here, I'll go ahead to check if it's safe.”
She stepped in, but added: “Oh, and one more thing. Without my crown, my arcane strength is very limited, so I'll let you know if I need help.”
[One Hour Later...]
“It's indestructible,” said Liv for the fifteenth time.
At the top of the pyramid, Branwen mumbled something to the effect of, “but I've almost got a chunk broken off, for real this time,” as she gnawed at the tip.
Era and the others leaned against the side of the pyramid—a 60 degree slope off the ground in 60 degree weather. The scent of dry leaves filled the air. The only hint of the GU's activities was the echoing sound of some EDM blasting from the palace.
“Must be some kinda grand opening party for Montropolis,” said Era.
Liv snickered. “Who honestly throws a party at 11 in the morning anymore?”
Noah slowly raised his hand.
“Other than tea parties.”
He lowered it, relieved.
“Do you think they've seen us?” asked Ofelia.
Era shrugged. “If they have, they would've found us by now. Besides, if that party's started in full, they'll be liquored up before long. Which means if we play our cards right, then tomorrow, we could tiptoe in and yoink the crown off Monty's head as he's sleepin' off a hangover!”
“And if they wake up, Signor Era?”
Era held an invisible dagger in his fist and made a stabbing gesture. “Then we put 'em back to sleep before they start screaming. Also, could you knock it off with the 'Signor' stuff?”
“Right, force of habit...sorry, brother.”
Noah gasped, his eyes twinkling.
Liv laughed. “Oh my vog, you're related?” she asked. “That's wild. Man, why do I gotta be the last one to find out these—”
But Noah interrupted as he pounced on Era with a hug. “You've found her!” He wept with joy. “Gods be praised, Gena's all right! And she's a princess, and—”
The awkwardness that followed could be felt in the air, cut away with a knife, fried, and served as little gelatinous appetizers with ranch dip.
Noah let go of Era. His cheeks were crimson.
“Yeah, Gena's ten years older than me,” said Era, “and Ofelia's a year younger.”
The friar's lips stammered in every direction, trying to find an appropriately dramatic apology, and/or how much of a priest he needed.
They both needed something to break the silence. Thankfully, their friend was in mortal danger.
[Titania — Throw Voice]
“They're eating me, by the Gods, they're EATING me!”
“That wasn't a lie,” said Noah, turning pale.
“Time to go.” Era drew his sword and dove for the pyramid door. The heroes clambered down a spiral stairway leading to the inner bowels of the pyramid, through tunnels of glowing green torch-flowers...and the first thing to greet Era's vision was Titania, already half-drunk, with a golden chalice of blackish-purple something or other in her hand. She threw an arm around Era's shoulder and indicated the hall.
“By the Gods,” she said, “they're eating me out of house and home! Bloody moochers, all of 'em.”
A wave of loud, screeching laughter and cheering shot from every corner of the gigantic chamber in front of her.
Titania chuckled. “I couldn't resist, Sir Era. Now, join us for a while. The members of my hidden court would like to get to know you better.”
“Though goblins have little culture of their own, translation attempts of the goblin language and observation of encampment activity hint of an oral tradition of storytelling. One particular tale persists of a place that literally translates to 'black triangle temple.'
“In this enchanted place, legend has it that the most faithful of Sarastro's courtiers and servants gathered here at the end of the Goblin War, prepared a luxurious feast, and turned themselves—and the feast—to stone. The only thing that can break this petrification would be the return of Sarastro himself, for whom the feast had been prepared.
“If this is true, then it would mean that goblins invented suspended animation before us, and I'm not sure how to feel about that.”
— Helena Cairnpillar, “Pillage, Plunder, and Poop: An Uncensored History of Luminar's Goblins,” Endymion University Press
The room was cubic, and a hundred meters to each side. A chandelier of glowing golden mushrooms hung from their stem on the ceiling. In high naves along the wall, laughing centaurs strummed spiraling, geometrically impossible harps, blared horns and pipes cut from huge gemstones, and slapped their hooves against drums and gongs.
Two-foot-tall imps in beaded tunics pranced along serpentine tables all across the floor, bearing leaky silver jugs and pouring bizzare kobal drinks into the cups, bowls, and mouths of whoever so much as glanced their way. At the tables were mainly other imps, interspersed with the occasional nymph, satyr, and orc, singing their kobal songs completely out of tune and sharing unintelligible stories, while gorging themselves on whatever edible meaty, fruity ridiculousness was laid on the platters in front of them.
When they finished their meals, they'd toss the bits they didn't want to eat behind them. Four-legged, yellowish cow things the size of a border collie skulked across the floor, sucking up the remains with their extendable lamprey mouths. Plates of drinks and appetizers lay on their backs for seconds.
Only a handful of honest to Gods goblins were among the revelers,and they were surrounded by giggling nymphs and succubi, placating their curse-imposed violent urges with wine and desserts.
There are seven possible reactions to dropping in on the first of the Kobal Queen's demented, senses assaulting parties in over 5,000 years—and as always, six of our favorite adventurers were there to have the
m:
• Era, introverted to a fault, wanted to go back to the bus, but still had a couple chicken strip like thingamawhatzits so that the Kobal Queen wouldn't feel bad. Halfway in his mouth, the appetizer looked back up at Era and giggled. This was but one of many times that Era considered death by starvation as a lifestyle.
• Noah, ever the Luxiacon-beating altar boy with a deadly penchant for curiosity, didn't know whether to laugh or scream. To an ancient human coming into the Pyrite Palace for the first time, these could only have been demons tempting him to join them in the depths of Hell. But glancing over their faces, Noah didn't see anyone who wasn't having a good time, or anyone who had been dragged there in chains, so this joy didn't seem dependent on anyone's misery. Even the custodial lamprey cows had a twinkle of giddiness in their multiple sets of eyes.
Also, an imp handed Noah a cup of some lime green, cloudy liquid called flùpya. Noah asked if it was alcoholic. The imp, not knowing a lick of the humans' tongue, said flùpya again. Noah took the steel tankard to see for himself. He sniffed it for alcohol, whatever that smelled like. Since he could only pick up the scent of strawberry kiwi sports drinks, he figured that this was the Kobal equivalent of a shiny little pouch of Tropi-Sauce—ergo, K thru 8 lunchbox material, and took a gulp.
There were worse ideas that day, but I can't think of any.
• Ofelia wanted nothing to do with this godless debauchery and sat in the corner with her orthodox hymnal.
• Branwen, who would have loved to be there, was, sadly, still trying to bite off the top of the pyramid to no avail. Dwarves are nothing if not persistent.
• Steve, who avoided parties on principle on account of his indisputable tininess and ease upon which to trample, fled to the Doomwagon and hid under his Comfort Bucket™, where he would remain for the duration of this Kobalheim affair.
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 35