by Edwin McRae
“Thanks. The weirder the creature, the harder it’s going to be for me to see what’s inside it, but at least this Horripede made basic anatomical sense.”
Mark grinned. “You’re like an MRI of Doom, Vari.”
“I have no idea what an MRI is, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” She beckoned him closer. “Now let me fix that handsome face of yours. You look like a fright.”
Mark touched his fingers to his cheek and winced as he felt the blisters. Vari placed her cool hand against his jaw and murmured, “Mend Flesh”. The heat faded from his face.
“All better,” she said and patted his cheek.
He smiled his thanks and crossed to the creature’s carcass to pull Volcanic Bastard out of its head. Then he checked the perimeter of the chamber to make sure there weren’t any more nasty surprises lurking about. The place was clear and there was just one other way out, through an ornate archway that sported the same scrollwork as the orb in the room’s center. Once again, they were the same as the decorations he’d first touched to light up the tunnels beneath Citadel. It looked like this building and Citadel had been constructed by the same people. Even the architecture and stonework looked familiar now that he had a proper chance to inspect it. He walked over to the small orb at the heart of the chamber, knelt down beside it and touched his fingertips to the engravings. Liquid silver spread through the scrollwork, a glowing filigree that filled every groove and eventually framed the orb so that it gleamed like a freshly minted coin.
You have discovered a Waypoint!
Your XP reward per party member = 15 XP
Waypoints were used by the former denizens of these lands to travel with speed and ease about their empire. This network has not been used for many hundreds of years. Each Waypoint must be awoken independently.
You have access to one other Waypoint situated in The Citadel.
Would you like to travel to The Citadel?
Y/N
Mark stood in the centre of the Waypoint and held out his hands. Both Vari and Braemar shot him quizzical looks but Mark simply smiled.
“Come on you two. Let’s hold hands and do a victory dance.”
A wary Braemar glanced at the glowing circle. “On that thing?”
Vari elbowed him in the ribs, making the druid flinch. “How about a little trust, Braemar?”
She crossed the space and clasped Mark’s hand. The warlock beckoned to the druid. Braemar shook his head, sighed, and took Mark’s hand. Mark held his friends’ hands tight as he mentally clicked “Y”.
5
[Braemar]
Braemar likened the waypoint experience to a bag of beans. In particular, the bag of beans he had when he was a kid. His counting beans that he took to school each day. First he was shaken to see if he would make a satisfying rattle. Then he was emptied out and divided into types. Painted Pony beans for meat. Yellow-eyes for organs. Red Kidney beans for blood. White Kidney beans for bones and Black Turtles for brains. Then he was counted and arranged into an orderly pattern. He just hoped that the kid doing the ordering was going to get it right.
He let out a sigh of relief, one that was echoed back to him by Vari and Mark. Vari’s olive face was bright with delight while Mark’s was a squeamish grey. He was surprised to find that he felt fine. Just a little anxious still. Perhaps his contribution to Vari’s ‘vomit fund’ had been a blessing in disguise.
Mark stepped down off the waypoint and took a deep breath to steady himself. “It’s times like these I wish I hadn’t watched the transporter accident scene in Star Trek: The Motion Picture.” The warlock put on a strange, nasal voice. “Enterprise. What we got back didn’t live long, fortunately.”
Braemar had no idea about the rest of it, but the last part rang true enough. He too was happy to be in one piece. He tried to dispel the dregs of his anxiety by concentrating on their new surroundings. They were in a circular chamber with a high ceiling. Every stone was covered in curling runes that glowed faintly, giving off enough light for him to see the bronze door that seemed to be the only exit. It was tarnished green with age and there was no handle or opening mechanism in evidence.
Mark approached the door and gave it an experimental shove. It was shut tight, most likely barred from the other side.
“Sid?” he called out.
“Mark?” Sid’s voice rang through the chamber, his pitch raised a little with surprise. “Where are you?”
“Inside you, somewhere. We seem to be locked in.” The warlock stamped his foot against the stones. “Can you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“I stamped my boot on the floor.”
“Try it again?”
Mark did so. “Anything?”
“Nothing. I can’t feel that part of the fortress at all. It’s numb. Jump up and down a bit, see if you can wake it up.”
Braemar tugged at his beard again. It helped him to think, and this time it paid off. “I think I can do a bit bloody better than that.”
Vari and Mark looked on with curiosity as Braemar knelt and placed his hands against the glowing stones. “Tremor”, he ordered, mentally tethering the spell to Tier 1 so it wouldn’t bring the roof down. The ground shivered like something alive beneath his fingertips. There was a soft rumble, like distant thunder, and a few trails of dust trickled down from the stones above.
Citadel’s delighted voice cut over the dying murmurs of the little quake. “My, my, now that was stimulating!”
“Uh oh, Braemar,” warned Mark with a wink. “I think you’ve started something.”
Braemar felt his face grow hot and he tugged at his beard again while he tried to think of a response. He was grateful to be saved by a dull scrape at the door. A clang followed as a bar was pulled back. The door swung wide with a spine-shuddering creak and two sets of antennae poked into the room.
“Hi, girls,” greeted Vari with a wave. The cockroaches seemed to understand her and wiggled their antennae.
“How do you know they’re girls?” asked Braemar.
“See the pair of short antennae-looking things at the far back of the abdomen?”
“Ah, yeah.”
“They’re called cerci. Male cerci have around eighteen segments to them. Females have around thirteen.”
“Shit, Vari. That’s pretty insightful. Did you pick that up using Physik Perception?”
Vari nodded. “We’d all be Horripede food without it.”
Braemar shuddered as he remembered the pain of those spines stabbing into his flesh, the fear as his muscles contracted of their own accord, paralysing him. “You’re not bloody wrong there.”
They followed the cockroaches into a dust-laden tunnel that wound its way beneath Citadel. The tunnel eventually popped out through a secret door in Vari’s alchemy lab. Vari eyed the construction of tarnished bronze and stone that made up the door’s veneer and shook her head in disbelief.
“I’ve spent hours in here and not once did I notice anything strange about that wall.” Vari looked up, as was her habit when addressing Citadel. “Did you know about this, Sid?”
“Alas, no,” was Sid’s answer. “My guess is that the passageway and chamber haven’t been utilized since well before my time.”
Mark raised an eyebrow at that. “Could mean that this fortress was built around the same time as the city in the Barrens, and by the same people too.”
“I reckon you’re right there,” agreed Braemar. “The masonry techniques are the same. The architecture is pretty similar. You see it in the archways most of all. And judging by the signs of aging, the stones here were laid a bit later than those in the Barrens, but only by a century or so.”
Mark nodded, clearly impressed. “Wow, mate. You really know your stonework.”
Braemar felt rather chuffed at the compliment but did his best to shrug it off and hide his pride behind his beard. Too much attention made him uncomfortable. In many ways he preferred spending time among rocks. They were calmer, less demanding. He enjoyed hi
s time with Mark and Vari, there was no doubt about that. And he felt like he was doing something important, something that would help his people in the long run. But sometimes he just wished he was back in the limestone hills he grew up with, exploring caves, finding fossils and raising the occasional golem. A quiet life, stress free and painless. Maybe when all this Chasms of Corruption stuff was done, he’d head back there.
“The waypoint may not have been used since that civilization fell over,” suggested Mark.
“Waypoint?” asked Sid. “I’m not familiar with that term.”
“It’s a type of portal that I seem able to activate as a warlock.” He pointed back down the secret tunnel. “Although, judging by the fact that the door was barred from the fortress side, others must be able to use it as well. Best keep an eye on the place in future, in case we get unwanted visitors.”
“I now have an uncomfortable case of pins and needles all the way from here to the portal,” Sid complained.
Braemar felt a pang of guilt. Maybe he’d overdone it by using Tremor. “Shit. Sorry about that, Sid,”
“Oh, not to worry, Braemar,“ Sid assured him. “Better to feel something rather than nothing, and once it settles down, I should be able to sense if someone uses the waypoint and traverses that corridor.”
“Come on,” said Mark. “We’ve got some loot to haul.” He headed back down the secret passage, waving for Braemar and Vari to follow him.
The teleportation back to the Barrens was less discombobulating the second time around, although Mark still looked a bit on the pale side.
“Don’t worry, Mark,” Braemar reassured the warlock. “You’ll get used to it.”
“Bloody well hope so.”
They returned to the beetle nest, treading carefully in case other beetles had come home. The place was mercifully empty. They gathered up the jewelry and ornaments, whipped them back to Citadel via the waypoint, and were soon back in the ruins, standing before a darkened archway, the only other exit out of the Horripede’s former den.
Mark led the way again, Volcanic Bastard drawn so that it cast a dull red glow over the passageway ahead. They were well clear of the terraced houses now, wending their way through a much larger structure. The place smelled of acrid dust and a faint hint of something foul.
“What is that smell?” asked Vari, wrinkling her nose.
“Sulphur,” Braemar replied.
“Reminds me of Rotorua,” said Mark. “It’s a town back home that was built on an active thermal area. Steam rises up through the town from thermal vents and there is a permanent rotten egg flavor to the air. Whenever I visit the place, I get a headache for the first twenty minutes until I get used to it again.”
“No offense to your people, Mark,” ventured Braemar, “but who in their right bloody mind would build a town on a volcano’s caldera?”
Mark laughed. “Yup, that’s a really good point.”
The large building had a religious tone to it. Braemar figured they were inside some sort of temple complex. Small chambers sprouted off the central corridor, each one empty except for some broken pottery and oxidized bronze utensils. The other contents had decayed into dust long ago. In the temple’s heyday, it must’ve been where the monks or priests ate and slept.
There were numerous stone carvings and engravings along the passageways and inside the chambers. Most were indecipherable, but one stood out among the faded iconography. It was a naked, winged woman rising up from a bed of flames. He pointed it out to Vari and Mark.
“That image mean anything to you two?”
Mark shook his head and Vari furrowed her brow as she took a closer look.
“Actually, yes,” she said. “I’ve seen similar statues in Credence, the reiver capital.”
“Part of a reiver religion?”
“No, in the catacombs beneath the city. Credence was built on the bones of something else.”
“Then the people who built this place may have built Citadel and the ancient town underneath Credence. How far away is Credence from here?”
“About a week’s ride. But I’ve seen similar things in Karajan too.”
“How far away is that?”
“A couple of month’s journey at least.”
“Braemar, have you seen buildings like this in other parts of Garland?” asked Mark.
The druid twisted the tip of his beard between his fingertips, creating a copper spike. “Other than Citadel, no.”
“Still, quite the empire these people had then. Getting up near Roman Empire size.”
Braemar enjoyed hearing about Mark’s world, and for a brief moment wondered if he would ever get to see it. “What’s a Roman?”
“Sandals, swords and a severe case of superiority complex.”
Braemar offered Vari a wry smile. “They don’t sound all that different from reivers.”
Vari smiled back. “Sandals would actually be a great idea. You should smell it when a bunch of reiver soldiers take their boots off.”
Braemar shook his head. That was one experience he’d rather do without.
They rounded a corner and were greeted by some welcome sunlight. The passageway opened out into a cobbled courtyard, the centerpiece of which was a towering fountain. It’d been a long time since the spouts had run with anything but dust. The basin was filled with stagnant rain water and algae.
“These Romans,” wondered Braemar. “Do they still inhabit your world?”
“Yes,” answered Mark, “but these days they concern themselves with coffee and fashion rather than conquest and fascism.”
“You need to tell us more about your world, Mark.” Braemar noticed an edge to Vari’s tone. It wasn’t just a suggestion, but Mark didn’t seem to notice.
“To be honest, Vari, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
There was frustration in Vari’s eyes as she placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s alright. There’s plenty in my past I’d rather not dwell on either. Just tell me the good bits of yours one day.”
Mark’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Lemon cheesecake. Baked. With berry coulis.”
“Sounds bloody good,” commented Braemar. “What’s the recipe?”
“Cream cheese, crumbed malt biscuits, sugar, some lemon juice and vanilla. That’s pretty much it.”
“Got all of that back at Citadel. I’ll bake one for us when we get back, eh?”
Mark’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Mate, you’re a baker?”
“My father is. I helped him out in the mornings, before my druiding lessons.” It felt embarrassed to admit this, but it was true. “I bake a lot better than I...”
He trailed off as he noticed something odd about the cobblestones. He pointed at one near his right boot. “These stones are showing stress fractures.”
Mark and Vari peered at the cobblestone but clearly didn’t see what he was seeing.
“Means there was a tremor nearby,” explained Braemar. “Quite recently too.”
“Like what you did back at Citadel?” asked Mark.
Braemar nodded. “A bit bigger. Could be natural.”
“But might not be?” wondered Mark.
He sniffed the air. The stink of sulphur had grown stronger. “Could mean a chasm’s opened up nearby.”
Update for the Chasm of Corruption Quest.
You have unlocked the Cracks in Reality Subquest.
A small chasm has opened up in the vicinity and is leaking corruption into the area. Seal it before the chasm grows any larger.
Special Requirement: Druidic Elementalist specializing in Earth Magic.
“Huh, well look at that, Braemar,” commented Mark. “You got a special mention.”
“Meant for any bloody druid in the area,” excused Braemar. “Just right time, right place, I guess.”
He staved off further embarrassment by pointing across the courtyard, in the direction of the mountains. Their snowy peaks were just visible over the top of the ruins. Braemar found them reassuring
, a reminder of the natural world in this graveyard of ancient humanity. “We head that way long enough, we’ll fall right into the thing.”
“Lead the way, mate,” agreed Mark. “Try not to drop us into a plummeting, screaming death, eh? I’ll recover. You guys won’t.”
Braemar shuddered, reminded of the close call he’d had with the Horripede. He feigned a tone of confidence, hoping it would rub off on how he actually felt. “The stones will give us fair warning. They’re good like that. They hate bloody surprises about as much as I do.”
He walked across the courtyard, quietly wishing he was back in those limestone hills right now. Denniston had told him that he had potential far beyond his humble aspirations, that he should join the warlock’s quest to see what he was truly made of. Perhaps granite instead of soft, comforting sandstone. The druid’s anxiety was a lump in his throat he just couldn’t swallow. He really didn’t want to end up like Denniston.
6
[Arix]
You have slain seven Level 3 Tomb Tyrants.
XP reward per party member = 105 XP
Arix winced as he tugged up his leather armor. There was a bloody gash just above his hip and blood ran in a steady stream down his leg.
Warning! You are suffering from bleed damage!
Bleed rate = 1 HP per second.
HP: 41/75
“Justice Prevails,” he murmured at the wound. The gash sparkled with a faint blue light and closed up like a zip. He watched with satisfaction as the HP countdown stopped and then reversed, counting upwards until it reached the current maximum of 75.
Arix went about retrieving his crossbow bolts, plucking them from the skewered tyrants with a twist and a squelch. He gave each bolt a flick to remove the worst of the gore and wiped the rest away on the tuft of coarse hair that sprouted from each tyrant’s head. He tucked the bolts away in their case, gave his axe a quick wipe on the closest tyrant and then had a proper snoop around the chamber to see if there was any loot worth procuring. There were plenty of trinkets, forged from silver and gold, but they weren’t much good to him at the moment. The reivers would relieve him of anything valuable as soon as he got back to camp.