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The Ambergate Chronicles - Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin
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<blockquote data-quote="eris404" data-source="post: 2632926" data-attributes="member: 5338"><p>“Little green men?” Serai asks. “That’s the second time we’ve heard that. And Othic’s” she pauses here to swallow,”…horses said they were blue. What do you think that means?”</p><p></p><p>Dante shakes his head. “I’m not familiar with either, though possibly it could be fey of some sort.”</p><p></p><p>“We should start moving,” Jade interjects. He looks at the sky, then the mountain and the rock at its base. “You’re not expert climbers and it might take us a while to find an entrance.”</p><p></p><p>After a half-day of climbing over jagged rocks and thorny scrub, the band finds a shaft sealed with copper sheets, much stained and tarnished green from weather. One corner has been curled back by heating and bending the metal with crude tools. A thick, new rope is dangling from the otherwise old and rusted winch underneath. Judging from the roar of water below, the shaft must be a hundred feet or so straight down.</p><p></p><p>Unable to contain his excitement, George volunteers to go first. He’s an athletic lad who enjoyed climbing and swimming as a small boy and the shaft reminds him of the caves in the cliffs of his native Mavarre. Besides, he is anxious to show off for Serai. He checks and loads his trusty old pistol, lights a lantern and descends. As he climbs, he notices a platform of wood about halfway down and shouts this intelligence to his friends above. The wood seems stout, so he feels safe to stand and look about.</p><p></p><p>The water comes from another shaft and falls into a stream another fifty or sixty feet below the platform. The shaft is limestone supported by creaking wooden beams, all of which is covered with a sheen of water and slime. Large, dark beetles scurrying from the light of George’s lamp as he peers about and discovers a passage leading into a cave or chamber.</p><p></p><p>“It’s alright,” George calls over the rush of the falls. He braces the rope and his friends come down one by one.</p><p></p><p>Following the beetles through the passage, the band finds a large, square chamber filled with decaying mining equipment smelling strongly of mildew: wheelbarrows, pick axes, shovels. The room in the dim light feels expansive, larger than it actually is. The water dripping from the ceiling makes soft echoes against the stone floor and the support beams groan alarmingly loud.</p><p></p><p>“Someone’s been here,” Serai notes, pointing to a path made through the piles of junk. She catches a glint in the firelight and rescues a small copper statue of a dragon from the filth. “Clean off the tarnish and this could be worth something.”</p><p></p><p>In a single-file line, the band follows the path into a mined area filled with small loose stones. George playful chases the beetles and notes that the walls are covered in bluish slime. In spite of his curiosity, he decides it would be prudent not to touch it. Then he notices an elaborate archway, somewhat out of place in this rough environment; its capstone is carved with the head of a dragon. He stops to examine it closely with his lantern, then sees something beyond that makes him gasp.</p><p></p><p>“Dante!” he calls and though he intended his voice to be soft, it echoes uncomfortably loud against the rock. Dante scowls, but looks where George points.</p><p></p><p>Beyond the archway, the passage continues on and another intersects it. At the crossroads, three severed heads have been stacked in a pyramid. Beetles scurry in empty eye sockets and open mouths, but scatter when the band approaches the arch.</p><p></p><p>“What are they?” George whispers.</p><p></p><p>“The top one is female, an elf I think,” Dante lectures. “But George, surely you know those two at the bottom are goblins. Green-skinned goblins,” he adds meaningfully.</p><p></p><p>George’s eyes widen with understanding. Dante realizes what George means to do and reaches out to grab his shirt, but is too late to stop him from crossing the threshold. The heads in unison scream in unholy, gurgling voices.</p><p></p><p>“Shut up!” George screams back.</p><p></p><p>Jade rushes forward and strikes one with his scimitar, cutting it in twain, while Serai hits another. Both go silent. In a panic, George kicks the last head down the passage and it wails as it sails through the air. Dante calmly loads his crossbow and hits it in the forehead. The screams cease, leaving a silence ringing in their ears.</p><p></p><p>For a moment, they wait, panting and listening. The only noise for some time is the whisper of wind that flows up from the deeper parts of the mine.</p><p></p><p>Jade turns sharply to Dante. He points to George and snaps, “Keep him on a leash!” As a feeble apology, George shrugs.</p><p></p><p>Dante ignores them both for the moment. The dead are his specialty and the severed heads fascinate him. He lifts the female head and examines it.</p><p></p><p>“Didn’t the Mayor say that one of the searchers looking for the children was an elf?” he asks. Jade nods and his face is grim at the sight of his kinswoman’s mutilated remains. Dante continues, “And these goblins have been dead less than a week as well.” He hesitates, then asks Jade, “How do your people deal with your dead?”</p><p></p><p>The elf replies, “By avenging them, for a start.”</p><p></p><p>Dante nods and gently places the remains on the mine floor.</p><p></p><p>George, still in the lead of our little band, enters the next chamber on quiet and nimble feet. It is a large and finished area and he notes the wooden frame and its rotted door leaning against the wall. The brittle remains of mattresses are heaped at one end of the room, against a mural in three panels. George holds up his lantern to get a better look. The paint is flaking from the stone, but he can still make out clearly a massive dragon looking wise and benevolent as tiny men dig with pickaxes and shovels and cart away stone in wheelbarrows. Other men present the dragon with gifts of copper bells and other art objects. George turns at a noise behind him, but it is just Dante poking at the bedding with his staff.</p><p></p><p>“Stop it, Dante. That smells really bad,” George says, backing away.</p><p></p><p>“There’s something dead in here, but it’s just a husk,” he murmurs. “The stink is much worse than the decay would suggest.” He looks up at George. “Troglodytes?”</p><p></p><p>George shudders. “I hope not.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="eris404, post: 2632926, member: 5338"] “Little green men?” Serai asks. “That’s the second time we’ve heard that. And Othic’s” she pauses here to swallow,”…horses said they were blue. What do you think that means?” Dante shakes his head. “I’m not familiar with either, though possibly it could be fey of some sort.” “We should start moving,” Jade interjects. He looks at the sky, then the mountain and the rock at its base. “You’re not expert climbers and it might take us a while to find an entrance.” After a half-day of climbing over jagged rocks and thorny scrub, the band finds a shaft sealed with copper sheets, much stained and tarnished green from weather. One corner has been curled back by heating and bending the metal with crude tools. A thick, new rope is dangling from the otherwise old and rusted winch underneath. Judging from the roar of water below, the shaft must be a hundred feet or so straight down. Unable to contain his excitement, George volunteers to go first. He’s an athletic lad who enjoyed climbing and swimming as a small boy and the shaft reminds him of the caves in the cliffs of his native Mavarre. Besides, he is anxious to show off for Serai. He checks and loads his trusty old pistol, lights a lantern and descends. As he climbs, he notices a platform of wood about halfway down and shouts this intelligence to his friends above. The wood seems stout, so he feels safe to stand and look about. The water comes from another shaft and falls into a stream another fifty or sixty feet below the platform. The shaft is limestone supported by creaking wooden beams, all of which is covered with a sheen of water and slime. Large, dark beetles scurrying from the light of George’s lamp as he peers about and discovers a passage leading into a cave or chamber. “It’s alright,” George calls over the rush of the falls. He braces the rope and his friends come down one by one. Following the beetles through the passage, the band finds a large, square chamber filled with decaying mining equipment smelling strongly of mildew: wheelbarrows, pick axes, shovels. The room in the dim light feels expansive, larger than it actually is. The water dripping from the ceiling makes soft echoes against the stone floor and the support beams groan alarmingly loud. “Someone’s been here,” Serai notes, pointing to a path made through the piles of junk. She catches a glint in the firelight and rescues a small copper statue of a dragon from the filth. “Clean off the tarnish and this could be worth something.” In a single-file line, the band follows the path into a mined area filled with small loose stones. George playful chases the beetles and notes that the walls are covered in bluish slime. In spite of his curiosity, he decides it would be prudent not to touch it. Then he notices an elaborate archway, somewhat out of place in this rough environment; its capstone is carved with the head of a dragon. He stops to examine it closely with his lantern, then sees something beyond that makes him gasp. “Dante!” he calls and though he intended his voice to be soft, it echoes uncomfortably loud against the rock. Dante scowls, but looks where George points. Beyond the archway, the passage continues on and another intersects it. At the crossroads, three severed heads have been stacked in a pyramid. Beetles scurry in empty eye sockets and open mouths, but scatter when the band approaches the arch. “What are they?” George whispers. “The top one is female, an elf I think,” Dante lectures. “But George, surely you know those two at the bottom are goblins. Green-skinned goblins,” he adds meaningfully. George’s eyes widen with understanding. Dante realizes what George means to do and reaches out to grab his shirt, but is too late to stop him from crossing the threshold. The heads in unison scream in unholy, gurgling voices. “Shut up!” George screams back. Jade rushes forward and strikes one with his scimitar, cutting it in twain, while Serai hits another. Both go silent. In a panic, George kicks the last head down the passage and it wails as it sails through the air. Dante calmly loads his crossbow and hits it in the forehead. The screams cease, leaving a silence ringing in their ears. For a moment, they wait, panting and listening. The only noise for some time is the whisper of wind that flows up from the deeper parts of the mine. Jade turns sharply to Dante. He points to George and snaps, “Keep him on a leash!” As a feeble apology, George shrugs. Dante ignores them both for the moment. The dead are his specialty and the severed heads fascinate him. He lifts the female head and examines it. “Didn’t the Mayor say that one of the searchers looking for the children was an elf?” he asks. Jade nods and his face is grim at the sight of his kinswoman’s mutilated remains. Dante continues, “And these goblins have been dead less than a week as well.” He hesitates, then asks Jade, “How do your people deal with your dead?” The elf replies, “By avenging them, for a start.” Dante nods and gently places the remains on the mine floor. George, still in the lead of our little band, enters the next chamber on quiet and nimble feet. It is a large and finished area and he notes the wooden frame and its rotted door leaning against the wall. The brittle remains of mattresses are heaped at one end of the room, against a mural in three panels. George holds up his lantern to get a better look. The paint is flaking from the stone, but he can still make out clearly a massive dragon looking wise and benevolent as tiny men dig with pickaxes and shovels and cart away stone in wheelbarrows. Other men present the dragon with gifts of copper bells and other art objects. George turns at a noise behind him, but it is just Dante poking at the bedding with his staff. “Stop it, Dante. That smells really bad,” George says, backing away. “There’s something dead in here, but it’s just a husk,” he murmurs. “The stink is much worse than the decay would suggest.” He looks up at George. “Troglodytes?” George shudders. “I hope not.” [/QUOTE]
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The Ambergate Chronicles - Galahorn or the Curious Adventure of the Glass Coffin
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