Session 23 (Part Two)
Greetings Gang,
I must be getting senile...I completely forgot to mention the Junior Tribune, Optio Bato and Drusilla in the last installment. They are still with the party...since the Junior Tribune
wisely decided that rescuing strange children is far more important than accomplishing his mission
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Without further ado...
Death’s House
They bumped along the underground waterway for many hours, propelled by the lazy current, resting fitfully and peering into the endless gloom. Rowan, crouched in the prow of the lead vessel, “heard” a change in the darkness. He grunted and called back in a soft voice, “I hear water echoing ahead…something may be nigh.”
The ranger’s eyes picked up a bit of light ahead and he slowly strung his bow. The others roused themselves, adjusting weapons and gear.
Severus, hooded and tethered, flapped his wings nervously. A large cavern, eerily illuminated from several bore holes in the twenty-pace high ceiling, hove into view. A jumble of canoes and flat-bottomed boats bumped and jostled along two stone quays that flanked the stream. A blank wall of worked stone block further progress, but the water frothed and eddied before it. He maneuvered the canoe he shared with Cragen to the left quay and hopped out.
Cragen looked around and scowled as he clambered onto the landing. “Dern river must flow back ta da earth here.”
Sextus nodded and nimbly jumped ashore, followed by Quintus and his familiar. The trailing canoe disgorged a grumpy Junior Tribune and taciturn Optio. Bato rolled his eyes as the whiney youngster complained about his aching back for the thousandth time. White teeth appeared behind Cragen’s bushy beard as grinned at the legionnaire’s discomfort.
“Shhh…!”
A stern hiss echoed from the steps leading upward from the landing. Rowan stood at the top and waved them all into silence. After a few grains, he waved them forward again. “Don’t hear anything,” he whispered, gesturing to a trap door two paces above the top of the stairs.
Quintus foot slipped on the second step from the apex. “What the...?”
Sextus spoke softly and subdued light flared on a denarius in his hand. The magical glow revealed a thin stream of congealed, blackish liquid next to his brother’s foot. “By the light.”
The bard raised his hand, illuminating the wall and revealing a much wider and thicker stain slowly seeping from a joint in the trap door. Rowan traced his gloved finger through the wash and sniffed.
“Drying blood,” the ranger’s voice trailed off as he slung he bow and drew his Emorian sword. “Be ready.”
He braced himself and pushed up against the trap door and shoved. The wooden portal raised a finger’s breadth and then settled back as the surprised ranger relaxed. “Damn, something’s blocking it.”
Quintus mouth was a taut line, “Someone, more likely.”
Bato and Cragen moved forward to assist Rowan. With a timed “heave”, they dislodged the object blocking their egress. A wet, sickening “plop” preceded the intrusion of a pasty arm, crusted with drying blood, into their niche. Rowan cursed and flattened against the wall and the others skipped back a step or two. The ranger looked at Sextus and jerked his head toward the opening. The bard nodded and sent the silver coin spinning into the room.
Rowan waited ten grains and cautiously poked his head out of the hole. He came face-to-face with the torn visage of Premio, a stout lad of twenty winters known to him from the militia. Permio’s head was cocked at an odd angle and his battered face was staring into nothingness; a look of profound terror frozen upon it. The others blanched slightly as the stench of blood, urine, feces and fear wafted down the stairs.
Rowan carefully emerged from the floor; teeth clenched, and scanned the room. It measured twenty paces by twenty paces, with a ceiling ten paces above. Betwixt the floor and ceiling crouched a balcony that ringed the perimeter. Only one passage lead from the room and the wane light from Sextus’s coin glinted from the sturdy bars of a lowered portcullis. Broken crates and shattered casks littered the room, but the ranger’s gaze was drawn to the score of broken and shattered bodies. Jutting crossbow bolts, magic burn marks and bloody claw furrows marked the militia of Glyden where they stood their last watch.
Tears welled in Rowan’s eyes as he looked from the massacre to his companions and back again. Then he threw back his head and screamed.
“DAMN YOU!”
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 23 (Part Three) – Old Friends Become New Enemies
Enjoy!
~ Old One
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