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<blockquote data-quote="Ghostknight" data-source="post: 3423775" data-attributes="member: 15338"><p><strong>Chapter 18</strong></p><p></p><p>The funeral procession wound through the streets of Fort Livian. The king led it, on foot, followed by the funeral cart pulled by D'Fir and other members of the royal family. The cart groaned beneath the load of the eight stone caskets, each of those who had died in service to the prince, accorded the same honour as the prince for whom they died. The route to the mausoleum was lined by thousands of dwarves, all dressed in the traditional red and yellows of mourning, the colour of the fire that creates and destroys; the tool of the holy Forge Father. Each held a lit torch, the fire a reflection of the Forge Father's holy flame, the soul of fire embedded in all. </p><p></p><p>Following behind the procession was a range of dignitaries, Sister Egrit and Eria amongst them. The onlookers fell into place behind the procession, a massive column of people bearing lit torches to give honour to the dead. The procession wound through the city, the last mile lined by soldiers, their mail gleaming and axes held to attention in front of them. The gates of the mausoleum loomed up ahead; massive, made of lead with scenes from the writings of the Forge Father embedded upon them in obsidian and marble. Kier stood and awaited the arrival of the procession at the entrance, mail of silver-steel shining, reflecting the light of the burning torches.</p><p></p><p><em>The dwarf shows off that coat of pretty mail as a bauble dangled in front of the masses to impress. Showmanship! That can be the only meaning of such display. The secret of its making would be welcomed by my Master, but the dwarves guard the secret of it too closely! </em> Eria looked at the High Priest of the Forge Father, watching the mail coat reflecting the light as no ordinary steel could. The soldiers lining the streets were similarly attired, making him question his assumption that it was worn to impress. More likely, it looked as if the priests of the Forge Father wore the silver-steel so as not to appear beneath the status of the soldiers!</p><p></p><p>The king arrived at the gate, his head bowed, his feet bruised on the soles from leading the way through the city barefooted. As the King arrived at the Mausoleum, Kier stepped forward and emptied a small cup of ash over his head, allowing it to fall upon his face, his beard, to dirty his clothes. Slowly each of the closest to the dead came forward in turn, to have the ashes of the Forge Father poured upon them. When done, they moved forward to the funeral cart where many of them struggled to remove the bodies from within their caskets. They refused all help, the final task to tend to their dead an honour they willingly accepted.</p><p></p><p>The crowd watched as they entered the mausoleum; ash covered, bare feet leaving a trail of dust and ash as they disappeared from view. The mourners stood in silence, watching the mausoleum; for when those who did honour to the dead would emerge, their torches burning and illuminating the massive open area before the burial place of the Royal Family.</p><p></p><p>"Why do we await the enemy? Why do we not go to war?" The words came to each ear, a whisper carried on the wind, an intimate communication to every living soul present. "The fiends of Jelial take from us our young, our future. They come within our city, strike at us from within. It should be no more!"</p><p></p><p>Those standing in the mass shifted restlessly and looked at their neighbours. Each wondered from where the intimate communication had originated, what the source of the whispers on the wind was. It sounded too soft, too low for it to have come from a distance. Clothes rustled as necks craned and heads turned, everyone searching for the source of the whisper. They did not need to wait for long, for the source had no intention of remaining anonymous. He wanted to ensure that people looked at him and paid attention to what was said. From within the group of dignitaries that had followed behind the wagon the figure of Eria was rising, slowly floating into the air, clear to everyone no matter where in the crowd they stood. </p><p></p><p>The rising figure seemed to swallow the light, the flames following him, highlighting his figure. As they watched, the illusion which cloaked his figure dissolved and dissipated into nothingness. A collective gasp could be felt from the crowd; they could do nothing but stare at the massive figure revealed to them. Eria was at least sixteen feet tall, massive bat like wings jutted from his back, four horns arranged on his head, seated well above his compound eyes which were the only feature on an otherwise blank face. He wore nothing but a loincloth of black material, from which hung twin scimitars of iron and gold, and bracers of gold with silver and gems forming runes upon their surface. In his near naked state his torso reflected the light, gleaming in the torch light, looking like it was on fire, his muscles dancing upon him making it seem that flames danced upon him. Each arm and leg was massive, a tree trunk in girth, the muscles corded and well defined.</p><p></p><p>"I am the Ambassador Eria. I drop illusion for truth, diplomacy for plain speech. The time is now. Let us strike at Jelial, together. Let our combined might be as one to give our enemy pause." He stopped, peering down at the crowd, at Sister Egrit. "I call on all to join me in this, to make this alliance real."</p><p></p><p>The crowd roared as a single beast, not a roar of horror, but a roar of defiance, of approbation. Sensing the mood of the crowd Sister Egrit smiled, raising her arms above her head, floating into the air until she was at the same height as Eria. She, too, discarded illusion, her head changing to that of a hawk, her height at least fifteen feet, her body covered in mail of some light, white metal that none could identify, save perhaps the priests of the Forge Father. From her back sprung wings adorned with silver feathers, blue tips shining in the light of the torches. Unlike the form of Eria, which seemed to drink the light, steal it, hers shone like a beacon, its warmth and softness bathing the crowd, bringing tears of joy and happiness to all it touched. She opened her mouth, loosing the screech of a hunting eagle, the noise echoing from the walls, seemingly going on forever.</p><p></p><p>"To war! The celestial spheres have longed for this moment to come, but the gates to our spheres are closed and our power is weak. The time is at hand, we shall wait no longer! TO WAR!"</p><p></p><p>The crowd heard the cry, slowly the noise swelled, a chant rising, crashing against the cavern roof, beating against the celestial and the fiend that floated before them. "TO WAR"</p><p></p><p>The chant continued a wave of noise that battered the gates. From within the mausoleum, the king emerged, followed by the others who had carried their loved ones within. No longer clad in his ash-covered clothes, he wore shining armour, the symbol of Fort Livian embossed upon it, his helm covering his face, his eyes and beard hidden in its depths. Those who come forth with him were similarly attired, commoner and noble alike. He stepped forward, axe in hand, punching his arm in unison with the crowd, his voice inaudible as the chant reached a crescendo at his appearance, slowly fading as he descended into the crowd, followed by his fellow mourners, a path opening up to let him through. </p><p></p><p>In the centre of the mass he stopped, silence reigned once again, the two beings, angel and devil alike, once more shrunken into anonymity. His voice was low, but amplified by the magic of Kier, the priest of the Forge Father, his brother, standing at his side.</p><p></p><p>"War it is! For thirty days we shall mourn, but then we go forth to hunt the forces of Jelial!"</p><p></p><p>If the chant of the crowd had been loud before, the level it reached now made the noise level before seem a mere whisper. Midst the ear splitting noise of the crowd around them, the king left, the procession of the mourners, nobles and dignitaries following close behind, only dispersing once the monarch disappeared behind the doors of his keep.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>In the darkness beyond the gap Gyv, Mekior and Jeria moved towards the bridge. Once near, they could see its superb workmanship. Scenes from the celestial spheres were engraved into the floor, angels dancing to hidden music, their forms providing purchase to tired feet, sluicing any water that fell upon the bridge into the darkness below. The balustrade wall was decorated with carvings of trees and flowers, magnificent colours flowing off it when the light of Gyv's torch touched them. </p><p></p><p>Awed, the three began crossing the gap, the sound of roaring water below, the occasional splash of water from below striking them and bringing with it the taste of cool, fresh mountain springs. The journey across the bridge was comfortable, the stone beneath with its carvings holding them steady, the balustrade guiding them, providing purchase whenever they felt the stone below too slick. It took them a long while to cross, the day waning outside, according to the devices they carried with them to tell day from night beneath the surface of the world.</p><p></p><p>The far end of the bridge was much like the side from which they had entered, but the source of the glow they had seen obvious. A door opening stood in the wall before them, the light of it blinding, far too bright for them to look into and see beyond. They had to shield their eyes and stumble forward. They could only hope that beyond the doorway they would not be beset by hidden enemies and struck down while they were bereft of vision.</p><p></p><p>A vain hope, they knew. All three were experienced enough to know that this was an ideal way to see those who approached and render them ineffective, while those on guard could plan ahead and react appropriately. Thus it came as a surprise to them all when they went through the doorway, and into a much larger room only to find it empty, though at some point in time it must have served the purpose they had surmised for it. Mirrors on the walls focussed the light into the doorway, making the entrance into the room a blinding one, but leaving the room comfortable for those within.</p><p></p><p>The three looked around the room. Plain, stark, walls of pure white marble to better reflect the light, with the massive mirrors all around set into the roof, floors and walls, set to focus the light from hundreds of floating balls of light into the single entrance. They wandered through the room, finding many little indications that once this room had been heavily used. Discarded detritus such as that left behind by guards who sat for long hours. A cube for a game of chance, scratch marks against a wall where once weapons had lain in wait, placed by guards weary of carrying their load. All they found was ancient, the weight of years reducing much of it to rust and chips, leaving nothing of value to be found. Whenever this room had last seen use, it must have been an age ago which led to the question of how the room had remained so clean and dust free despite its apparent desolation.</p><p></p><p>"Why? This room is the perfect entrance, the perfect defensive pattern. Why is it so abandoned?" Mekior's voice came from behind a mirror, a hidden window that must have allowed the guards to watch the approaches to the room. Similar recesses dotted the room, one leading to an ingeniously designed water closet and another to a closed door, which they had yet to investigate.</p><p></p><p>""Maybe it was no longer needed?" Jeria's voice carried a questioning tone, his look and tone thoughtful. "Think on it like this. They used this room while their outer defences were being prepared. Once that wall on the outside was up, no enemy could get in. They cut themselves off and retreated beyond this room, relying on their runes to protect them."</p><p></p><p>"And an earthquake has destroyed some the runes and left them vulnerable without them knowing." Gyv's voice carried a sense of wonder, her eyes opening in appreciation of what these people had wrought. "There were rumours in the past of cities that had disappeared totally; cities that faced no attack, cities that remained free of fiendish molestation, but cities that disapeared, as if they had never existed. I wonder if those runes are as much a protection against magical spying as they are destructive to those they touch, and our being here a testament to their failure."</p><p></p><p>Gyv's eyes widened in shock, her voice taking on a new desperation and the depression she had started to express in the last few days. "If we have found them, and they were so unprepared for our coming, who else may have found this city? What has become of its people? We must go forward, warn them of the danger they face!"</p><p></p><p>Mekior stepped forward, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips in an attempt to calm her.</p><p></p><p>"We will go forward, but slowly, carefully. Who knows how long it has been since last they saw anyone from the outside. Let us not rush into danger. The enemy of my enemy may be my enemy as well."</p><p></p><p>The three regrouped, Jeria going forward to the unlocked door. His hand crept forward, moving to lift the latch and open the way to whatever lay beyond. He did not know what stopped him, it was as if some unseen force seemed to grip his hand and prevent it from touching that plain copper piece of metal. Jeria pulled his hand back, bewildered. He reached for it again, but found it impossible to move his hand close enough to open it. </p><p></p><p>Gyve looked at him and then pushed him back with her elbow. Carefully she extended her bow scraping the wood of its tip against the door until she reached the latch. Slowly she pushed the lath up, and they were all startled when with a "click" a small needle shot through, embedding itself within the wood of the bow. Some thick black sludge coated it, giving off a foul odour. Gyv looked at Jeria smugly and then smiled.</p><p></p><p>"I don't know what stopped you, but whatever it was, just saved your life. Want to take odds that this stuff on the needle is poison?" With her hand wrapped in a spare shirt, Gyv carefully plied the needle from her bow, making sure that all the residue of whatever the black substance was, got cleared off.</p><p></p><p>Jeria grinned at her. "I don't know either, but I am glad for it!" </p><p></p><p>Having learnt caution from his near close encounter with the needle, he used his axe to lever the door open and exposed a ramp leading down into darkness; even his fiendish vision showing him only that it soon took a right turn, and that platforms on which archers could have stood overlooked the ramp. With a nod to the others, he began his descent, followed carefully by Gyv and Mekior. Behind him, Gyv carried the sole torch to light her, and Mekior's, way.</p><p></p><p>They followed the ramp down, frequent corners and curves making it easy to defend. As with the room above, it was deserted. Unlike the room, it was filled with dust, which provoked coughing fits in Gyv.</p><p></p><p>"How do you breathe this stuff without it choking you?" Gyv had just finished coughing, again, and tried to filter the air through a handkerchief tied across her mouth and face. Her question was directed to Mekior, her mind just writing Jeria's immunity off to his fiendish blood.</p><p></p><p>"It's not that different to dust we used to find in many caverns around Weald Hall. Guess I learnt to endure it there." <em>Plus there is the fact that I am able to breathe through this as easily as any fiend! </em> His thoughts remained unspoken, but the words he pronounced enough to cure the suspicion of Gyv. Mekior looked at her and worried that perhaps she had begun to show too much suspicion and the long trips and time together were giving enough clues that she had realise his secret eventually.</p><p></p><p>He watched her as she moved ahead behind Jeria. They finally reached level ground, and found a small guardroom, devoid of all decoration, but for an old decayed table. The three moved forward, heading towards the metal door that lay encrusted with rust and festooned with chains held in place with old, rusted locks. Jeria rattled them with his axe, and when confident that they concealed no traps, reached out and grabbed hold of a chain. The iron flaked off in massive swathes, a pile of rusty dust rising where he gripped and leaving the link so brittle that with a simple flick of his wrist it snapped. In a similar manner, he dealt with the rest of the chains, and the door stood before them unchained and ready to be opened.</p><p></p><p>"Anyone wonder how they got out of this room?" Jeria looked at the door, at the chains and locks they had removed. "If it was chained from this side, and it is the only entrance, how did whomever chained this door, get inside? I don't trust it, this door is for fools!"</p><p></p><p>Gyv and Mekior exchanged a glance, the truth of Jeria's statement obvious once they thought about it. Silently they started searching the room, eventually finding another entrance; this one blocked by a massive slab of stone that had been dropped from above.</p><p>"No ways we can lift this." Mekior slapped the massive stone, "See how it goes through that gap into the ceiling. No bet that they filled in the gap beyond that so it cannot be lifted from this side! Question is, how do we get beyond it?"</p><p></p><p>"We don't." Gyv's voice was soft, her gaze locked on the stone. "We break it." Quietly she went up to the stone, tracing her fingers across it, along the floor.</p><p></p><p>"The earthquake affected this room. Look, the floor is cracked and the stone has shifted and crumbled in places. A few strikes with the axe should suffice. We should be able to bring it down and open the way forward."</p><p></p><p>Jeria looked sceptically at where she pointed, but moved forward, swinging the blunt side of his axe head against the rock. A massive chunk broke off, much to his surprise and exposed a hole in the wall beyond. Two more strikes and much of the middle of the stone was gone.</p><p></p><p>"If I do more the whole top part is going to come down, and such a rock fall may well kill us all! We're going to have to squeeze our way through." Jeria removed his axe and pack before stepping through, careful not to touch the now crumbling sides. Once through the others handed him their packs and paraphernalia before they, too, stepped through into the passage that led off. </p><p></p><p>The passage started heading upwards, and as they progressed, they could see light filtering from before them, along with the noise of a large market place. The passage made one last turn, and they found themselves on the edge of a massive amphitheatre, the area filled with the cloth coverings over the stalls of merchants, a seething, endless crowd moving between the rows, haggling and shouting, while guards in purple and white tabards wandered between them, keeping the peace. The appearance of the three went unnoticed at first, but slowly those below took note of their presence and all eyes turned towards them, particularly to Jeria. The noise slowly dwindled as the gazes from below focussed on them; and those below wondered where the rest of the fiendish invasion might be.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Ghostknight, post: 3423775, member: 15338"] [b]Chapter 18[/b] The funeral procession wound through the streets of Fort Livian. The king led it, on foot, followed by the funeral cart pulled by D'Fir and other members of the royal family. The cart groaned beneath the load of the eight stone caskets, each of those who had died in service to the prince, accorded the same honour as the prince for whom they died. The route to the mausoleum was lined by thousands of dwarves, all dressed in the traditional red and yellows of mourning, the colour of the fire that creates and destroys; the tool of the holy Forge Father. Each held a lit torch, the fire a reflection of the Forge Father's holy flame, the soul of fire embedded in all. Following behind the procession was a range of dignitaries, Sister Egrit and Eria amongst them. The onlookers fell into place behind the procession, a massive column of people bearing lit torches to give honour to the dead. The procession wound through the city, the last mile lined by soldiers, their mail gleaming and axes held to attention in front of them. The gates of the mausoleum loomed up ahead; massive, made of lead with scenes from the writings of the Forge Father embedded upon them in obsidian and marble. Kier stood and awaited the arrival of the procession at the entrance, mail of silver-steel shining, reflecting the light of the burning torches. [I]The dwarf shows off that coat of pretty mail as a bauble dangled in front of the masses to impress. Showmanship! That can be the only meaning of such display. The secret of its making would be welcomed by my Master, but the dwarves guard the secret of it too closely! [/I] Eria looked at the High Priest of the Forge Father, watching the mail coat reflecting the light as no ordinary steel could. The soldiers lining the streets were similarly attired, making him question his assumption that it was worn to impress. More likely, it looked as if the priests of the Forge Father wore the silver-steel so as not to appear beneath the status of the soldiers! The king arrived at the gate, his head bowed, his feet bruised on the soles from leading the way through the city barefooted. As the King arrived at the Mausoleum, Kier stepped forward and emptied a small cup of ash over his head, allowing it to fall upon his face, his beard, to dirty his clothes. Slowly each of the closest to the dead came forward in turn, to have the ashes of the Forge Father poured upon them. When done, they moved forward to the funeral cart where many of them struggled to remove the bodies from within their caskets. They refused all help, the final task to tend to their dead an honour they willingly accepted. The crowd watched as they entered the mausoleum; ash covered, bare feet leaving a trail of dust and ash as they disappeared from view. The mourners stood in silence, watching the mausoleum; for when those who did honour to the dead would emerge, their torches burning and illuminating the massive open area before the burial place of the Royal Family. "Why do we await the enemy? Why do we not go to war?" The words came to each ear, a whisper carried on the wind, an intimate communication to every living soul present. "The fiends of Jelial take from us our young, our future. They come within our city, strike at us from within. It should be no more!" Those standing in the mass shifted restlessly and looked at their neighbours. Each wondered from where the intimate communication had originated, what the source of the whispers on the wind was. It sounded too soft, too low for it to have come from a distance. Clothes rustled as necks craned and heads turned, everyone searching for the source of the whisper. They did not need to wait for long, for the source had no intention of remaining anonymous. He wanted to ensure that people looked at him and paid attention to what was said. From within the group of dignitaries that had followed behind the wagon the figure of Eria was rising, slowly floating into the air, clear to everyone no matter where in the crowd they stood. The rising figure seemed to swallow the light, the flames following him, highlighting his figure. As they watched, the illusion which cloaked his figure dissolved and dissipated into nothingness. A collective gasp could be felt from the crowd; they could do nothing but stare at the massive figure revealed to them. Eria was at least sixteen feet tall, massive bat like wings jutted from his back, four horns arranged on his head, seated well above his compound eyes which were the only feature on an otherwise blank face. He wore nothing but a loincloth of black material, from which hung twin scimitars of iron and gold, and bracers of gold with silver and gems forming runes upon their surface. In his near naked state his torso reflected the light, gleaming in the torch light, looking like it was on fire, his muscles dancing upon him making it seem that flames danced upon him. Each arm and leg was massive, a tree trunk in girth, the muscles corded and well defined. "I am the Ambassador Eria. I drop illusion for truth, diplomacy for plain speech. The time is now. Let us strike at Jelial, together. Let our combined might be as one to give our enemy pause." He stopped, peering down at the crowd, at Sister Egrit. "I call on all to join me in this, to make this alliance real." The crowd roared as a single beast, not a roar of horror, but a roar of defiance, of approbation. Sensing the mood of the crowd Sister Egrit smiled, raising her arms above her head, floating into the air until she was at the same height as Eria. She, too, discarded illusion, her head changing to that of a hawk, her height at least fifteen feet, her body covered in mail of some light, white metal that none could identify, save perhaps the priests of the Forge Father. From her back sprung wings adorned with silver feathers, blue tips shining in the light of the torches. Unlike the form of Eria, which seemed to drink the light, steal it, hers shone like a beacon, its warmth and softness bathing the crowd, bringing tears of joy and happiness to all it touched. She opened her mouth, loosing the screech of a hunting eagle, the noise echoing from the walls, seemingly going on forever. "To war! The celestial spheres have longed for this moment to come, but the gates to our spheres are closed and our power is weak. The time is at hand, we shall wait no longer! TO WAR!" The crowd heard the cry, slowly the noise swelled, a chant rising, crashing against the cavern roof, beating against the celestial and the fiend that floated before them. "TO WAR" The chant continued a wave of noise that battered the gates. From within the mausoleum, the king emerged, followed by the others who had carried their loved ones within. No longer clad in his ash-covered clothes, he wore shining armour, the symbol of Fort Livian embossed upon it, his helm covering his face, his eyes and beard hidden in its depths. Those who come forth with him were similarly attired, commoner and noble alike. He stepped forward, axe in hand, punching his arm in unison with the crowd, his voice inaudible as the chant reached a crescendo at his appearance, slowly fading as he descended into the crowd, followed by his fellow mourners, a path opening up to let him through. In the centre of the mass he stopped, silence reigned once again, the two beings, angel and devil alike, once more shrunken into anonymity. His voice was low, but amplified by the magic of Kier, the priest of the Forge Father, his brother, standing at his side. "War it is! For thirty days we shall mourn, but then we go forth to hunt the forces of Jelial!" If the chant of the crowd had been loud before, the level it reached now made the noise level before seem a mere whisper. Midst the ear splitting noise of the crowd around them, the king left, the procession of the mourners, nobles and dignitaries following close behind, only dispersing once the monarch disappeared behind the doors of his keep. *** In the darkness beyond the gap Gyv, Mekior and Jeria moved towards the bridge. Once near, they could see its superb workmanship. Scenes from the celestial spheres were engraved into the floor, angels dancing to hidden music, their forms providing purchase to tired feet, sluicing any water that fell upon the bridge into the darkness below. The balustrade wall was decorated with carvings of trees and flowers, magnificent colours flowing off it when the light of Gyv's torch touched them. Awed, the three began crossing the gap, the sound of roaring water below, the occasional splash of water from below striking them and bringing with it the taste of cool, fresh mountain springs. The journey across the bridge was comfortable, the stone beneath with its carvings holding them steady, the balustrade guiding them, providing purchase whenever they felt the stone below too slick. It took them a long while to cross, the day waning outside, according to the devices they carried with them to tell day from night beneath the surface of the world. The far end of the bridge was much like the side from which they had entered, but the source of the glow they had seen obvious. A door opening stood in the wall before them, the light of it blinding, far too bright for them to look into and see beyond. They had to shield their eyes and stumble forward. They could only hope that beyond the doorway they would not be beset by hidden enemies and struck down while they were bereft of vision. A vain hope, they knew. All three were experienced enough to know that this was an ideal way to see those who approached and render them ineffective, while those on guard could plan ahead and react appropriately. Thus it came as a surprise to them all when they went through the doorway, and into a much larger room only to find it empty, though at some point in time it must have served the purpose they had surmised for it. Mirrors on the walls focussed the light into the doorway, making the entrance into the room a blinding one, but leaving the room comfortable for those within. The three looked around the room. Plain, stark, walls of pure white marble to better reflect the light, with the massive mirrors all around set into the roof, floors and walls, set to focus the light from hundreds of floating balls of light into the single entrance. They wandered through the room, finding many little indications that once this room had been heavily used. Discarded detritus such as that left behind by guards who sat for long hours. A cube for a game of chance, scratch marks against a wall where once weapons had lain in wait, placed by guards weary of carrying their load. All they found was ancient, the weight of years reducing much of it to rust and chips, leaving nothing of value to be found. Whenever this room had last seen use, it must have been an age ago which led to the question of how the room had remained so clean and dust free despite its apparent desolation. "Why? This room is the perfect entrance, the perfect defensive pattern. Why is it so abandoned?" Mekior's voice came from behind a mirror, a hidden window that must have allowed the guards to watch the approaches to the room. Similar recesses dotted the room, one leading to an ingeniously designed water closet and another to a closed door, which they had yet to investigate. ""Maybe it was no longer needed?" Jeria's voice carried a questioning tone, his look and tone thoughtful. "Think on it like this. They used this room while their outer defences were being prepared. Once that wall on the outside was up, no enemy could get in. They cut themselves off and retreated beyond this room, relying on their runes to protect them." "And an earthquake has destroyed some the runes and left them vulnerable without them knowing." Gyv's voice carried a sense of wonder, her eyes opening in appreciation of what these people had wrought. "There were rumours in the past of cities that had disappeared totally; cities that faced no attack, cities that remained free of fiendish molestation, but cities that disapeared, as if they had never existed. I wonder if those runes are as much a protection against magical spying as they are destructive to those they touch, and our being here a testament to their failure." Gyv's eyes widened in shock, her voice taking on a new desperation and the depression she had started to express in the last few days. "If we have found them, and they were so unprepared for our coming, who else may have found this city? What has become of its people? We must go forward, warn them of the danger they face!" Mekior stepped forward, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips in an attempt to calm her. "We will go forward, but slowly, carefully. Who knows how long it has been since last they saw anyone from the outside. Let us not rush into danger. The enemy of my enemy may be my enemy as well." The three regrouped, Jeria going forward to the unlocked door. His hand crept forward, moving to lift the latch and open the way to whatever lay beyond. He did not know what stopped him, it was as if some unseen force seemed to grip his hand and prevent it from touching that plain copper piece of metal. Jeria pulled his hand back, bewildered. He reached for it again, but found it impossible to move his hand close enough to open it. Gyve looked at him and then pushed him back with her elbow. Carefully she extended her bow scraping the wood of its tip against the door until she reached the latch. Slowly she pushed the lath up, and they were all startled when with a "click" a small needle shot through, embedding itself within the wood of the bow. Some thick black sludge coated it, giving off a foul odour. Gyv looked at Jeria smugly and then smiled. "I don't know what stopped you, but whatever it was, just saved your life. Want to take odds that this stuff on the needle is poison?" With her hand wrapped in a spare shirt, Gyv carefully plied the needle from her bow, making sure that all the residue of whatever the black substance was, got cleared off. Jeria grinned at her. "I don't know either, but I am glad for it!" Having learnt caution from his near close encounter with the needle, he used his axe to lever the door open and exposed a ramp leading down into darkness; even his fiendish vision showing him only that it soon took a right turn, and that platforms on which archers could have stood overlooked the ramp. With a nod to the others, he began his descent, followed carefully by Gyv and Mekior. Behind him, Gyv carried the sole torch to light her, and Mekior's, way. They followed the ramp down, frequent corners and curves making it easy to defend. As with the room above, it was deserted. Unlike the room, it was filled with dust, which provoked coughing fits in Gyv. "How do you breathe this stuff without it choking you?" Gyv had just finished coughing, again, and tried to filter the air through a handkerchief tied across her mouth and face. Her question was directed to Mekior, her mind just writing Jeria's immunity off to his fiendish blood. "It's not that different to dust we used to find in many caverns around Weald Hall. Guess I learnt to endure it there." [I]Plus there is the fact that I am able to breathe through this as easily as any fiend! [/I] His thoughts remained unspoken, but the words he pronounced enough to cure the suspicion of Gyv. Mekior looked at her and worried that perhaps she had begun to show too much suspicion and the long trips and time together were giving enough clues that she had realise his secret eventually. He watched her as she moved ahead behind Jeria. They finally reached level ground, and found a small guardroom, devoid of all decoration, but for an old decayed table. The three moved forward, heading towards the metal door that lay encrusted with rust and festooned with chains held in place with old, rusted locks. Jeria rattled them with his axe, and when confident that they concealed no traps, reached out and grabbed hold of a chain. The iron flaked off in massive swathes, a pile of rusty dust rising where he gripped and leaving the link so brittle that with a simple flick of his wrist it snapped. In a similar manner, he dealt with the rest of the chains, and the door stood before them unchained and ready to be opened. "Anyone wonder how they got out of this room?" Jeria looked at the door, at the chains and locks they had removed. "If it was chained from this side, and it is the only entrance, how did whomever chained this door, get inside? I don't trust it, this door is for fools!" Gyv and Mekior exchanged a glance, the truth of Jeria's statement obvious once they thought about it. Silently they started searching the room, eventually finding another entrance; this one blocked by a massive slab of stone that had been dropped from above. "No ways we can lift this." Mekior slapped the massive stone, "See how it goes through that gap into the ceiling. No bet that they filled in the gap beyond that so it cannot be lifted from this side! Question is, how do we get beyond it?" "We don't." Gyv's voice was soft, her gaze locked on the stone. "We break it." Quietly she went up to the stone, tracing her fingers across it, along the floor. "The earthquake affected this room. Look, the floor is cracked and the stone has shifted and crumbled in places. A few strikes with the axe should suffice. We should be able to bring it down and open the way forward." Jeria looked sceptically at where she pointed, but moved forward, swinging the blunt side of his axe head against the rock. A massive chunk broke off, much to his surprise and exposed a hole in the wall beyond. Two more strikes and much of the middle of the stone was gone. "If I do more the whole top part is going to come down, and such a rock fall may well kill us all! We're going to have to squeeze our way through." Jeria removed his axe and pack before stepping through, careful not to touch the now crumbling sides. Once through the others handed him their packs and paraphernalia before they, too, stepped through into the passage that led off. The passage started heading upwards, and as they progressed, they could see light filtering from before them, along with the noise of a large market place. The passage made one last turn, and they found themselves on the edge of a massive amphitheatre, the area filled with the cloth coverings over the stalls of merchants, a seething, endless crowd moving between the rows, haggling and shouting, while guards in purple and white tabards wandered between them, keeping the peace. The appearance of the three went unnoticed at first, but slowly those below took note of their presence and all eyes turned towards them, particularly to Jeria. The noise slowly dwindled as the gazes from below focussed on them; and those below wondered where the rest of the fiendish invasion might be. [/QUOTE]
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Rule of Darkness -Book II Chapter 3 Last Update 19 June 2008- Book I Completed
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