by Wolfe Locke
John timed it perfectly, the adrenaline of battle coursing through him.
He jumped into the air, right between those horribly sharp horns, and brought his axe down onto the minotaur’s skull with every ounce of strength his body possessed.
There was a sickening crack and a squelch of pain from the monster as the blessed axe. hit home. The body of the minotaur fell to the floor and moved no more.
John sheathed his weapons and made a sign with his hands, and sent a silent prayer to the god Her’ne.
Around him, all was silent. He had the key. He had slain the minotaurs. John was fully alone. He expected something to more to happen, for those who had tossed him into the dungeon to say something, or send a message. But no voice issued forward any message..
Before he went to the locked wooded door, John took another trip to the fountain room, to ease the fatigue that had entered his body after the adrenaline had been purged. Finally, he stood in front of the door, inserted the key, and turned it.
There was a satisfying click, and the door swung outward. John locked down. Before him was a staircase that led downward into the unknown darkness.
John didn’t know if this was the end of the plans those who dwell below had for him, but he highly doubted it. Whatever was thrown at him next, John pledged to overcome. Just like he had overcome this.
He did not know if the god of lost warriors would be able to help him further, but his blessed axes still glowed with pale white light, so he was at least better prepared than he had been before.
Steeling himself for what may lay ahead, John Younger took one step downward and then another. He descended to whatever challenges may lay ahead, ready to face them head-on.
Complete. You have survived the challenge of Castle Labyrinth. With your life and wits mostly intact. Let us see how this experience has changed or scarred you.
Hmm.... you seem to have gained some of the minotaurs strength and endurance. Your wit and agility remain the same however. Ah. He'rne has given you his blessing. That will help you.
STR = 3 - > 6
WIT = 1 > 1
END = 4 >7
AGI = 2 > 2
Abilities
*Smite - Upon killing an unclean one, the spirit of what is holy will be stored within your body. Use this power to amplify the holy effect of any attack you should unleash on the unclean.
Ailments
*Fear of the Dark
*Bruised Ribs
Equipment
*Blessed Axes, Simple Leather Armor, Sovereign Medallion *
Items
Book: The Book of Keys
Torn Page
Moldy Bread
Minotaur's Essence x3
Chapter 8: The Hall of the Gluttonous King
Ah, this place. It has been some time since an adventurer was pushed to this floor. You're entering the 3rd Floor. The Hall of the Gluttonous King. Long may he reign. You will find this place... unsightly.
How bad can it be after those minotaurs? John Younger crept down the stairs, the hair on his arms standing up as he processed the information. I don't like the sound of that. The door shut behind him. The only option remaining was to descend further down the stairs, deeper into the bowels of the dungeon.
This time, he could at least see his surroundings as he stepped down the stairs. He was lucky that the white glow of his [Blessed Axes] gave a bit of illumination, just enough for him to see. Though there wasn't anything worth noting. The staircase was encased all around in grey stone.
As he descended, John tested the walls, looking for a hollow point. Maybe I'll be able to find some sort of secret passage that lets me get out of here. But the stone remained solid against his touch. The only way out was down.
John's leathery boots echoed heavily on the stairwell, the only sound besides his breathing on the otherwise silent enclosure. His heart beat faster and faster with loud thudding noises as he went, feeling as if he was heading into an even darker underworld. An underworld that would take him straight into the heart of darkness.
Maybe you are. There are many mad things that lay within and madder still below. Come, come. I am waiting.
John ignored the voice. He didn't recognize it. The stairs continued for a long time in an almost endless stretch. After a while, John came across something he had not been expecting in the slightest. A sensation that had become absolutely foreign to him.
It was the smell of food, but not just any food. Hot food, succulent meat, cooked over a fire.
Instantly his stomach began to grumble. Reminding him once again that he had not eaten since his drugged meal back at the tavern. But I have food, though don't I? He realized as he held out his hand and imagined the place the bread he had found before was stored.
"Bread," he said, giving the command. The hardened wheat loaf appeared in his hand, and though it wasn't the food he was smelling, he bit into it hungrily knowing he would need his strength.
Maybe when I find the source of that wonderful smell, I'll meet up with others like me. Others trapped by whatever cruel gods reside here.
Still, John was cautious, and while eager to meet up with others, he was not a fool. With his blessed axes at the ready, he finished his descent as silently as he could.
At the bottom of the staircase, there was a small landing where a wooden door lay open. There's nowhere else to go but through. Every door that he had come through thus far had locked behind him, urging him to delve deeper and deeper into the dungeon.
He approached the door, cautiously, and looked in with an unobstructed view of the scene that awaited him.
The door opened up into a large and spacious kitchen. In the center, there sat a huge copper pot over a roaring fire. The pot boiling with an unknown substance. John had smelled whatever it was that was cooking before, but he couldn’t place it now.
Milling around the pot were several people. Actual people. They looked dirty and were draped in rags, but they were people, nonetheless. Some of them were stirring the pot with large spoons, while others periodically dumped in chunks of bloody meat. While others carved what looked like turnips and potatoes into the pot.
They did all of this in near silence. In fact, it looked as if they were going through as much effort as possible to be as quiet as possible. Have they lost their tongues? What possible reason do they have to be so quiet? Regardless. I need to take note and do the same.
John took a few small steps forward in an effort to see them better. The only source of light in the kitchen seemed to be coming from the fire under the boiling pot. While further in the distance, a couple of scattered torches cast their flames. He held up one of his axes to try and see a bit better in the dimness as the door started to shut behind him.
As John stepped through the door, his boot scuffed the stone underfoot. In the terrible quiet of the kitchen, it sounded like a clap of thunder and echoed.
The head of the nearest human snapped toward John, and in the next instant, it was right in front of his own, illuminated by his blessed axes.
It took all of John’s hours of training and practice to not make a sound. To not scream. He held his breath, lest it betray him.
What stood in front of him was not human. Or at least not anymore. That’s not a man at all, that’s a monster.
Gray, unseeing eyes bore into him from sunken sockets, desperately trying to see even though they had stopped doing so long ago. It was bald except for a few strands of wispy gray hair that poked out from under its ragged hood. The monster looked ancient, its drooping skin sagging over a body that was mostly bones. No muscle or fat in sight. That skin was marred with scars, both old and new.
John waited as the monster in the human form began to look for him, long fingers outstretched looking for him. John knew if those fingers were to touch him, w
ere to find him, it would be his doom. Even if I fight off this one, I can’t fight off all of them. He waited, still as a statue, his lungs crying for air. I can’t hold it anymore.
His rescue came in the form of a rat.
John didn’t know how the little creature had gotten in, but it scurried across the floor, its sharp claws grating against the stone.
The monsters were on it in an instant. They fell upon it like vultures. Those pale outstretched fingers ripping its flesh between them. They fought over the corpse, striking out at others of their kind with long yellowed nails that extended out of the fingers like blades. Those that won a morsel of meat slurped it down vigorously. They fought over the food like they had not eaten in months, and from the looks of their bodies, they hadn’t.
That could have been me. John thought as he stepped away from the entryway and headed further into the darkness away from the monsters.
All of them wore the same dirty rags, but though they were nothing but skin and bones, John knew they possessed monstrous strength. And a weakness, as far as I can tell, they’re also all blind. If they can’t hear me. I should be ok.
In the commotion, John was able to catch his breath. But as the sounds died down, John dared not move from his new spot. There were at least a dozen of the sunken humans around the kitchen. He might have been able to fight off a third of them, but they would eventually overwhelm him with sheer numbers.
No, it was better to stay still for now and weigh my options.
A new sound disturbed his thoughts, though none of the monsters seemed to react to it.
Whimpering. Human whimpering.
John cast his gaze around, searching for the source. Being careful not to draw any attention to himself by making noise. The source didn't seem to be any of the inhuman monsters. Not even those that had taken damage from the others in the skirmish for the rat remained silent.
No, this sound was coming from along the far wall of the kitchen. That area was bathed deepest in darkness. John tried to adjust his axes and aimed the dim light as best as he could. John thought he could see bars.
Those look like cells. Cages. Like the one the skeleton was in. Only this time, the occupant was alive.
Then, a voice boomed from all around. A new voice he had not yet heard.
These are the unworthy. Those who were tasked with bringing my name back into the world of men. They failed, and this shall be their eternal punishment.
At the sound of the voice, the unworthy all fell to the ground. Their long spoons and meat abandoned. They curled into the fetal position, while others crawled against the ground. Their hands clasped over their ears, trembling.
They toil and cook food for their gluttonous king. One who does nothing but sit and eat, while they are forced to live off of the dregs that this dungeon provides. They will not die, and they will never truly live again.
The kitchen once again faded to silence. Gradually, the unworthy began to rise. They picked up their spoons and their meat and began working once more.
The voice that had guided him so far spoke to John.
You have drawn his attention too...
I grant to you a quest. Free that which is hidden here and escape to the next floor. Find the key and move on, or meet the same fate as those that have come before you. Some of which still remain. But not for long.
Another whimper sounded from the cells on the back wall. One of the unworthy stuck at the bars with its long spoon. It brought a finger to its lips in a shushing gesture, and the whimpering stopped.
John obviously could not stay rooted in place forever. The god had told him that there was another key to be found if he wanted to move on from this place.
He was growing increasingly angry and wary of this place. If he got the chance to meet any of these old gods and their whispering voices face to face, he would make sure that one of his blessed axes would be embedded into its face.
With the utmost caution, John began to move. He took deep, shallow breaths, and calculated each step before he took it. The dim light of the kitchen as well as that of his axes played to his advantage. He was able to place his footing carefully, and skirt around any obstacles that would have otherwise given his position away.
Many of the obstacles were gruesome. Consisting mostly of yellowed bones. Some were the size of the rat skeleton that now lay just to John's right as he proceeded. The unworthy had picked the bones clean and split them open after to get at the marrow.
Other bones were bigger. Too big to be anything but human.
In that instant, John remembered the smell that he had encountered when he first reached the bottom of the staircase. The smell that made his stomach rumble with hunger.
A smell he had thought he would never forget in all of his days.
The smell of cooking human flesh.
Chapter 9: The Knight and The Maiden
* * *
People. The meat cooking in that pot is human flesh. John had been unfortunate enough to come across the scent of cooked flesh before. One of the more unsavory moments of his time as an adventurer during a deep expedition into the great forest. He had hoped to never come across it again. But here, in the bowels of the dungeon, the past revisited him.
John’s stomach churned with nausea. Slowly, methodically, John crept towards the cage. Though the going was slow, he was able to reach the bars without issue.
The glow from his blessed axes revealed that inside the cage, huddled in opposite corners, were people. Actual people.
They lay cowered, wrapped up in themselves as quiet sobs wracked their bodies. They must have heard that terrible voice speaking too. Unlike the unworthy, these people looked mostly healthy, albeit miserable. They couldn’t have been here long.
They wore high quality clothes instead of rags. The man appeared to be well-muscled, at least from what John could see, and the woman seemed to be lithe, but not thin. Between them on the cage floor, there was a smear of bright red blood in a trail that led towards the cell door. Similar, older stains adorned the cage, but this one was fresh. That explained the meat that I had seen before.
These people must have been the ones that the voice had spoken of. People like him who had not made it through this floor of the dungeon. I’d be in that cage if one of those unworthy had captured me. Now, they awaited their fate.
Neither of the occupants of the cage stirred when he came near. John imagined that they were hesitant to move at all. Any sound that they made would draw the attention of the unworthy, and though John knew the pair were in danger, they were not in immediate danger from the unworthy.
The cage was not locked. That spoke volumes as to the situation they were in. If these two had not tried to escape, then they must honestly think that it was not possible. The hinges of the door to the cage were rusty. If it were opened, the unworthy would know and be on them. John was reminded of something an old mentor of his used to say, “A cage without a lock, is a distraction from the real cage.”
But John knew couldn’t simply leave these people here to die. He had to try and help them. He had to let them know that there was hope, even though he wasn’t certain that he would be able to deliver on it. Besides, getting out of here is dependent on saving them, I’m sure of it.
Carefully, John held up one of his blessed axes and began to wave it in from the cage, careful not to hit it against the metal bars. That would mean a swift and terrible retribution by the unworthy, and John knew he would be killed on the spot or tossed into the cage along with them.
At first, the prisoners didn’t react at all. But, as they realized that this new light was not something that they were used to, they slowly started to unfurl themselves from their defensive positions on the ground.
The woman saw John first. Her eyes went wide, and she almost cried out,
but John hastily put a finger to his lips, and she restrained herself. That could have been the end of me right there.
The man was a bit slower, but when his gaze finally settled on John, his look was solemn. This man looked like he had seen too much in his life. Looking at him now, John could tell that he was a bit older. Seasoned. One brown eye staring at him while the other was a milky white with a scar across his brow. The man had a look of a Paladin about him. Whereas the woman was younger, closer to John’s age.
They both stared at him and the light of his axes like they were a beacon in the darkness. John supposed that they actually were. He didn’t risk trying to talk to them. That would draw the attention of the unworthy which is exactly what they did not want to do.
John had to resort to using his hands to communicate, carefully sheathing his blessed axes back at his sides. With a gesture, he pointed to the door of the cage, them he brought his hands flat together, side by side, and opened them apart.
Should I try opening the door? John mouthed and motioned.
The woman hastily shook her head no, pointing to the rusted hinges. It was as John feared. The sound of the cage opening would make noise, and noise was deadly.
John mimed throwing something to the far end of the kitchen. Maybe he could lure the unworthy away with a distraction and use the commotion to cover the sound of the cage opening.
The two occupants looked at each other. Then the man held out a hand and rotated his wrist, so it shook from side to side. Maybe.