by Pirateaba
At least he could see well. Maybe it was his ring, but the corridors seemed as bright as day. Pisces and Olesm walked down hallways, peering into rooms and trying to comb the place systematically. They were watchful for undead of course, although Pisces insisted he didn’t sense anything. His Bone Horror kept prowling down corridors around them; it had scared the life out of Olesm twice now.
“I think we’re nearly done with this area. There’s only the treasure room where Skinner emerged from, and it was looted by something.”
“Indeed. Shall we pass through it just to be certain?”
“Yeah.”
The huge stone doors still stood wide open. Olesm breathed in at the sight; he could recall the two Silver-rank teams agreeing to stand watch while the Horns of Hammerad searched the rest of the crypt. They’d known something might be lurking behind the door. They just didn’t know that Skinner could open the door himself.
The room was emptied of all goods just like before. Olesm frowned around it; Pisces picked up a stone amulet and tossed it down in disgust.
“I take it the city still does not know who made off with the treasures inside?”
“No. And I’m not sure if there were any.”
“Come now. The guardian of the crypts must have guarded something of worth.”
“Yeah. But in that case, where is it?”
Pisces could only shrug. Olesm looked around helplessly and frowned.
“Nothing. Let’s go. We only have to check out that last room and we’re done.”
“What room?”
“That one, of course. You walked right past it.”
The Drake walked back out of the treasure room. Pisces followed, frowning. Olesm pointed to the doorway ahead of him, just opposite the double doors. Pisces stared at the doorway, and then at Olesm.
“I don’t see anything.”
“What? Don’t yank my tail. It’s right h—”
Olesm stepped forwards towards the doorway. Someone yanked him back. He stumbled and turned to Pisces angrily.
“Hey! What’s the big id—”
“Illusion.”
The [Mage]’s face was suddenly concentrated. He nodded at Olesm’s ring as one hand fell back to the rapier at his side. Olesm froze, and then realized what he meant.
“You think the Ring of Sight that Niers Astoragon gave me—?”
“What better gift for a [Tactician] than a true view of the battlefield? I see only a wall. And I cannot detect any illusion here. Not that I am gifted in such things, you understand, but it means this illusion is a good one.”
“It just looks like an open doorway to me.”
“Hm.”
Carefully, Pisces approached the open doorway, and slid his hand across what looked like empty air to Olesm. The Drake held his breath.
“It’s solid? I mean, it feels solid even when you push?”
“Yes. A powerful illusion. Here, grab my hand.”
Pisces reached out and Olesm gingerly took his hand. The Drake walked forwards and Pisces walked behind him through the doorway. Pisces shuddered as he passed through the stone opening.
“You okay?”
“I felt as though I was walking through stone. No, I am not. But the sensation is done with. Now, what do we have here?”
The stone doorway led a few feet ahead into a small, circular room with a strange, hexagonal symbol drawn onto the floor. It was a small room; large enough to fit a few people inside perhaps. Olesm stepped forwards curiously and Pisces grabbed him again.
“Gah! Stop doing that!”
“Stop stepping into uncertain situations, then. You don’t know what that pattern on the floor does.”
“Neither do you.”
“True, but I do not intend to touch it myself. Observe. This is appropriate caution.”
Pisces reached for his belt and fumbled with a pouch. Olesm nearly jumped out his scales as the mage lifted out a tiny Shield Spider. The [Necromancer] casually flicked it towards the opening and the spider began crawling into the alcove.
“What the—do you just carry Shield Spiders around?”
“It’s undead. Obviously.”
The [Necromancer] flicked his fingers and the spider scurried towards the hexagonal space on the floor. Olesm was about to point out that carrying around undead Shield Spiders didn’t make more sense than living ones when the spider crossed onto the hexagonal floor and the ground vanished.
“Whoa!”
Olesm recoiled as the Shield Spider dropped out of view. Pisces held up a hand and Olesm heard the faintest of sounds from the opening.
“It seems there is a rather long drop below. Fortunately, my Shield Spider was not harmed by the fall. It appears to have dropped into a large room. Full of bones.”
“Really? What else is down there?”
“Give me a second. I will look through the eyes of my creation.”
Pisces broke off and Olesm shifted from foot to foot as he eyed the opening. He was just opening his mouth when the hexagonal hole suddenly filled again, and the floor was stone once more. Pisces smirked and gestured to the floor with one hand.
“See there? If we were incautious adventurers foolish enough to explore the opening, we would have fallen into the trap and been caught down there ourselves. What a simplistic trick.”
“Right. That would have been really stupid.”
Pisces chuckled and Olesm laughed along weakly. He’d been about to suggest they investigate the opening in person. Pisces tapped at his lips as he studied the room below through his undead construct’s eyes.
“Yes, there are many bones around me, Olesm. Many, many bones. However, you may be interested to know that all of these bones are, apparently, organized and have been so for a long time.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that the owners of said remains died years, possibly centuries before any adventurers came here.”
Olesm’s breath caught in his chest. He had a thought.
“And there are no Minotaur skulls in the room?”
“None.”
“You’re sure? How big is the room? I mean—”
Pisces turned a reproving eye towards Olesm.
“I know what Minotaur bones look like. There are none similar to it, although there are quite a number of unusual bones. Very odd. They appear similar to a Gnoll’s in structure, but thicker. The skulls have a smaller cranial capacity and the jaws are enlarged…”
“Raskghar. They have to be.”
“What?”
Olesm quickly explained about the Gnoll’s primitive subterranean cousins. Pisces nodded.
“Ah. That would explain much. Yes, the majority of the bones in the room do appear to be these…Raskghar. One moment. I am coming to a conclusion.”
“Are you? I’ve got one too.”
“Hm. Enlighten me, then.”
“This was probably meant to be a disposal place of some kind. I doubt it was meant as transportation; otherwise there would be a way back up. And why would it be hidden? I bet the undead were supposed to dump their victims down there.”
“I concur. And?”
“…That’s all I’ve got. You’re the one who can see down there.”
“True. Ah, I suppose it is time for my analysis.”
Pisces cleared his throat and stood straighter, adopting a lecturing tone that still irked Olesm a bit. But the Drake listened, mainly because he didn’t have any other choice.
“It looks like this was indeed meant to be used as a disposal chute—perhaps for invaders or the ah, remains after Skinner had disposed of his foes. Yes, it would be an ideal spot for such parts to reanimate. However, this room has been repurposed. It appears to be a burial chamber now.”
“How do you—”
Pisces raised three fingers as he spoke, frowning at Olesm as he spoke over the Drake.
“I base my conclusions on three pieces of evidence. First, the bones within are systematically piled up with the skull at the apex of ea
ch pile, clearly denoting some sort of ritualistic and continual disposal process. Second, the bones have been separated from the body and I can spot evidence that some tool was used to scrape the bones clean of flesh. Thirdly, none of the skeletons have been damaged by scavengers which implies the room is regularly swept and maintained. Except in a few notable cases…”
He paused for a second and coughed. Olesm silently offered him a water flask and Pisces took a drink before continuing.
“There is a disturbance where my Shield Spider landed, which threw me off at first. However, it appears that this was an anomaly. The nearest pile to the opening has been knocked into pieces. The bones are scattered, as if from a large impact overhead. They have disturbed a few other piles, but there are several overturned piles, as if something large ran into them. The path leads straight to the sole exit in the room. Your thoughts?”
Olesm’s mind raced. He spoke slowly.
“It seems obvious. Something—or rather, someone found this opening and walked into the trap. They landed on the pile and ran towards the door.”
Pisces nodded approvingly. His gaze unfocused again.
“And here, at the door—”
He drew in his breath sharply. Olesm stared at him.
“What?”
“A skeleton. Another Raskghar. However, this one was not ritually buried. The corpse is mostly decomposed and in one piece. And there is a weapon buried in its chest. A battleaxe. The haft is broken off.”
A battleaxe. Olesm’s tail lashed the ground. He started for the hole and Pisces grabbed him.
“Don’t be a fool! If you go down there we might not be able to return!”
“But a battleaxe—”
“I know. But allow my spider to proceed. There is but one exit. Next is a long corridor. There are several uneven tiles and—”
Pisces broke off with a cry. He winced as Olesm stared at him and shook his head.
“A trap. I could not identify it through the spider’s eyes. Whatever it was destroyed my creation. Thoroughly.”
“Do you have another spider? Or can you send something else? Can you animate the bones below?”
“I do not carry multiple spiders around as a rule. And the stone is preventing me from reaching the bones below. I do not sense them with my magic. Clearly we are not meant to know this passage exists.”
“But someone found it. Someone found it and fell. And they fought a Raskghar, killed it, but lost their battleaxe. And only one adventurer in our group carried one…”
Olesm stared at the hole. He turned to Pisces.
“Do you think it’s possible?”
The [Necromancer] shrugged. He was looking around warily, Olesm noticed, and as the Drake turned, he saw the Bone Horror had returned.
“It is possible. More than likely, perhaps. What of it? The Minotaur might have survived all of this, but he was wounded as he fled, was he not?”
“He lost his arm. The undead swarmed him. But—”
“Do you think he could have survived the rest of the dungeon in his condition?”
“I don’t know, but if he’s alive, we have to search for him!”
Olesm flared up. Pisces grabbed Olesm and slapped him across the face. The Drake gaped at him. Pisces was breathing faster.
“Get ahold of yourself! Think rationally, you fool. We have to leave this place now. I assumed we were safe because this area had been cleared. But if there are passageways below, into the actual dungeon—”
There might be more monsters who’d climbed up. Or other things. Watching them. Olesm’s blood ran cold. He nodded silently and he and Pisces made a rapid retreat back towards the top floor. Only when they were outside of the crypt and in the cold daylight did they feel safe enough to talk again.
“I can’t believe it. There was a passageway down there all along. And Calruz—”
“It is too early to assume he was the one who fell down there. I agree the evidence fits, but to assume his survival is going beyond the limits of speculation—”
“And why not? You know how people survive in those kinds of situations! They level under pressure! Haven’t you heard of adventurers surviving after being swallowed by monsters? Or—or going into dungeons and coming out months later and gaining ten, sometimes twenty levels!”
Olesm grabbed Pisces by the robes. The mage shrugged him off, looking troubled.
“Such cases do exist, I admit. But what would you do? Mount a rescue expedition? Into an area that is clearly inhabited by monsters and trapped? By who? The city would never agree, and the only other group with a vested interest in Calruz’s life is—”
“Yours.”
The Horns of Hammerad. Olesm stared at Pisces. The mage didn’t meet his eyes.
“You know what Ceria would do if she thought Calruz was alive. Yvlon, too.”
“I am well aware. But that would most likely be suicide.”
“Even so! If you could convince another group to help you, the Halfseekers for instance—”
“I think they have had enough of volunteering themselves for others, especially after what happened at Miss Solstice’s inn. Don’t you?”
The Human and Drake stood together in the snow, staring at each other. Olesm’s tail drooped. He couldn’t argue with that. He turned to look back towards the crypt’s opening.
“But if he is alive…”
“If. There is too much to risk for an uncertainty. Too much to lose for an outcome that most likely does not exist.”
That too was true. And yet, Olesm couldn’t push the thought out of his head. He stared challengingly at Pisces.
“If there’s even a chance, Ceria should know about it. She deserves to know.”
“Does she? Or would it bring her needless worry and heartbreak?”
Another fair point. The Drake didn’t know. He felt strongly, but Pisces was speaking sense as well. He didn’t know what to do. Olesm stared at Pisces.
“Do you really think it would be best to keep it secret? Really? Just not tell anyone, like that?”
At last, the mage hesitated. He looked at Olesm, and then turned away. When he spoke, it was slowly, haltingly.
“Sometimes…sometimes it is best to keep secrets, painful though it may be. Because the truth, however liberating, can be too much to bear. Freedom demands a terrible price, Olesm.”
The truth of that was reflected in Pisces’ stance, the pain in his face and voice. Olesm looked at him, and nodded slowly.
“You may be right.”
Pisces turned back to him. Olesm hesitated. He withdrew the file he’d received from the Adventurer’s Guild and then slowly handed it to Pisces. The mage blinked at it. Olesm took a breath.
“You know Ceria better than I do. You know the secret. If you think it’s worth telling her, telling the others, do it. If not…you can give that back to Maviss.”
Pisces stared at him. Olesm looked into his eyes and slowly nodded.
“It’s your choice. You know Ceria best.”
Then he turned and slowly began walking back to Liscor.
—-
Some things were predictable. True, chance and the natural intermingling of cause and effect created a world in which unforeseen variables could lead to completely different outcomes, but it was still possible to predict what would happen to a relative degree of certainty. For instance, people were easy. Simple, even.
True, it was impossible to know each individual’s darkest secrets or the entire history that had culminated in the person who walked about today, but that didn’t matter. People were, in Pisces’ opinion, largely unimportant. He could predict the way the vast majority reacted to a given set of stimuli. They were predictable. Sadly predictable.
He had seen it all the same, replayed ten thousand, a hundred thousand times across as many lives. People were the same. It was only their environment, culture, events, and species which acted as variables upon their templates. The masses were not sheep; rather, they were dough from which the s
ame kinds of bread arose, occasionally different, but all alike in origin and purpose.
Only a few individuals stood out from the crowds, a few people who could not be predicted, who were worthy of note. Niers Astoragon was one of them. Erin Solstice another. And Olesm…Pisces had found someone else worthy of respect, of attention, today.
Because he had not predicted this. The [Mage] slowly walked back towards Erin’s inn, paging through the file in his hand. It had been written by Drakes, in their species’ script rather than the universal written language adopted across the world. No doubt another one of their security measures. But Pisces had taught himself their written language and so he could read it.
It said exactly what Olesm had told him. The possessions of adventurers recovered, a rough count of bodies separated by species, and nothing remotely resembling a Minotaur’s corpse.
“It could be possible. But alive?”
That was not likely, Pisces knew. He had met Calruz briefly, and he had assessed the Minotaur as stubborn, arrogant, overly inclined towards violence and obsessed with the idea of honor—typical of his species, in short. The odds of someone like that surviving any amount of time in a dungeon designed to eat such individuals was remote.
And yet, if he didn’t tell Springwalker, then what? Pisces wandered into the Wandering Inn and realized it was occupied.
Sparsely occupied, but nevertheless inhabited by bodies. The Goblins were nowhere to be seen so they were probably in the basement. Instead, the two remaining adventuring groups were in the common room of the inn, right where Pisces had left them.
Ah, yes. He’d foreseen this as well. It appeared his teammates were still recovering from their expedition to the cave of roaches. Why they hadn’t been ready to run when the wall of insects had swarmed them was beyond Pisces. He cautiously stepped into the room and heard Yvlon’s voice. She was croaking; she’d thrown up numerous times after and during their mission.
“And then—and then they just came at us. All at once. They were in my armor, my hair, my mouth—I swallowed some of them.”
“Oh my god.”