Index:
Episode 1 - The League of Iron assembles
Episode 3 - Legacy of the Veil Breakers
Episode 7 - Home is where the hearth is
Episode 8 - Last of the Old Ones
Episode 12 - Mistress of Flesh
Episode 15 - March of the parasites
Episode 16 - Shadows in the Fog
Mold.
Indifferent to the suffering of animal or man, this oft fluorescent growth happily crept across stone, wood, and... flesh. Part of the Life's eternal circle, one of many who made sure that the earth was not covered from sea shore to forest's end with endless bodies, Mold was relentless. Many critters joined it in its never ending struggle, their simple existence revolving around disposing of the flesh of others and their own, when they too, expired.
Deep underground, where it was still warm and the stench of sticky rot danced upon Decay's bony lips, there the Four trod. Columns made from sturdy stone and ceilings of stolen brick conquered their view as far as even their Ranger's eyes could see. Wide these tunnels dug by corpse-walker hands were, and also tall, yet orderly, they most certainly were not.
At first they thought that it was mud that their boot heels sunk deep into, but no, it was a thick layer of dilapidated clothing, and shaved hair. This, being the tunnel's entry point, slaves were “processed” here, before their arduous trek into the dark. Whipped, their bodily fluids thickened this vile carpet of putrefaction, naked feet and rusty shackles leaving a bloody trail beside wagon carts heavy with loot, and the boots of their Thulm captors.
Gazing into the gloomy dark of the tunnels ahead, the Four picked up distant echoes.
The ring of weaponry and clank of armor announced the presence of enemies, alert, and lurking somewhere along their path. There was that omnipresent screech of wood over wood in the way of loud, sudden creaks, and the squeaking of rope. Last, but by any stretch of the imagination, not least, their ears were scratched by a choir of whisperings and sorrowful wails.
“So,” - began the Dwarf, sneezed in his hand, and looked at Dalnor - “it would be broken Weistarr where the doom of our lives shall be decided?”
“Indeed.” - said the Knight and pushed something with his boot.
'Twas a moldy, smeared in feces, mud, and piss child's doll, and he carefully cleaned it, before tying it to his belt.
“By now,” - he turned to face their Elven clergyman - “every cleric of Vayila will have alerted everyone of the Reconsecration. All nearby troops would already be force marching here.”
“A true victory, and a most wholesome feat, if I may say so myself! Even a token force could hold this chokepoint and against the entire Thulm host, if need be. Our people shall inflict great casualties upon the invader, and could retreat at their leisure.” - Ainhart grinned in their faces, despite the overwhelming stench that grappled their noses.
“Now I understand why the heavy infantrymen and reindeer cavalry were stationed at your fort, Gelduin.” - Mumbled the Sorceress, tying a scented piece of cloth around her nose and mouth.
Eirunn finished dousing another three improvised masks, and offered them to her companions before they moved any deeper.
“Just in case our Four scouted a weakness in Weistarr's garrison which they could exploit, nothing more. Otherwise, the reindeer riders would be harassing Thulm supply, and our sturdy Elven footmen, help hold the fort.” - explained the Dwarf, and tied his cloth mask.
“These can't actually stop the mold, can they?”
“They offer but partial protection only. If not for our clergyman's blessings, we'd be having trouble breathing down here, and even more so, than up on the surface.” - Eirunn waved her hand to chase away the stench - “It is to shield us from the fetor...”
“Mold, poisonous spores, and who knows what muck would be entering our bodies straight through our eyes, if not for Vayila.”
The companions shared looks full of concern since Ainhart's words made them think of all sightless warriors they knew.
“I have a bundle of torches, should we ever need mundane illumination.” - Dalnor patted his travel pack when Eirunn winced, and pointed at something.
Yet, no matter how much she looked at it, this was nothing but an elongated shadow, dancing in the distant, gloomy dark.
The Sorceress nodded with a half grin, and produced a stack of small, but thick candles cast of yellow wax from her own backpack. She assembled a well-traveled hooded lantern, placing one of the candles inside, just in case. The apparatus was fitted with a nifty metallic clamp, which she used to secure it on her belt.
“Best save every little drop of my energy for when we really need it.” - said she and her companions nodded in agreement when Eirunn pointed at the mold - “Plus, that stinky fluorescent mold has leftover magickal embers and should be enough to light our way... most of the time.”
They proceeded down the gentle slope and found themselves into a mostly leveled tunnel. The floor, if one could even call it such, was a combination of repurposed roof tiles, gravel, and tombstones. Although still smeared with the ubiquitous carpeting of trash and rotting debris, oft their boots disturbed enough sludge so Dalnor could read these.
Dearest departed mother, father, son, or daughter... Faces, beautifully carved by the hands of ancient sculptors had their noses, eyes, ears, and mouths shattered. Timeless wisdom in the form of three verse poems, hopeful prayers, and their last words uttered before the end; nigh all of these were deleted by way of hammer and chisel.
The honorless corpse-walkers wiped out the memories of their ancestors.
Caught up by their long denied doom, these defilers now lay where Vayila's hallowed glory found them. Their mummified flesh turned to dust, their black bones crushed, and their curst arms – shattered. Quite fitting it was indeed, that in their second and final death, many of them lie upon the gravestones which they've desecrated.
The Four would've had quite the hard time evading these ever-vigilant dead, but they believed in their eventual success. Though their Ranger never doubted his, and his companions' skill, he was most satisfied that they need not skulk in the shadows, specters of deadly ambush lurking behind every corner.
Carrying a recurve bow and a dozen arrows, the Knight looked at these olden items with little confidence. No sooner had they forged deeper into the main tunnel and the ambient light more abundant, he nocked an arrow. They could plainly see a couple of side tunnels ahead; narrow, and darker than undisturbed tomb.
“Gelduin,” - whispered the Knight and tested the bowstring - “I do not trust this bow.”
“In a pinch, Tholdain says, something is always better than nothing.” - replied the Dwarf, and cut a moldy piece of cloth on one of Dalnor's arrowheads - “See Master Dalnor?, they are still sharp.”
Ainhart patted the improvised belt tied around his left leg.
“We now have more spare daggers, my brother.”
Following the brutal ordeal, they jerry-rigged it from olden ropes, leather, and sheathed what looted daggers they found there for their Knight to use in battle.
“I rather have these than try my luck with this ill-fated bow.” - sighed Dalnor, and yet, he capitulated after another look at grinning Gelduin:
“Even though archery is not my strong suit, I would agree with wise Master Tholdain.”
The Ranger gave them a sign to wait and went a bit further ahead, making sure to stealthily check the side tunnels. When he came back, the Dwarf was canting his head, a look of annoyance plastered all over his masked, bearded face.
“Every single one ends with a small chamber – all empty. Some show signs of being used as storage, camp sites, and... slave pens.”
“Veil Breakers?” - The clergyman kept looking aback, his loaded windlass crossbow ready to fire.
Gelduin made a no sign and without uttering a word assumed his place in the formation.
“Though I do not sense any of them ahead, you are right to worry.” - the Sorceress placed hand on Ainhart's shoulder - “Their mages would go to any lengths to evade the Eye of Creation.”
The Four continued their trek in silence.
Their Ranger led them skulking past alarm traps and empty guard posts. They did not halt to loot the disheveled, burnt corpse-walkers, for this underground trek of theirs was a race against time. Eventually, they would face other Veil Breakers, those who ventured beyond Weistarr's boundaries. Them, and Thulm raiding parties coming to wage bloody war upon their kin.
Since they traveled underground, there was the advantage of not having to traverse difficult terrain. The companions need not climb hills, travel through deadened forest, or swampy grounds. However, the same benefit empowered their foe. Thulm warriors, riding on six-legged horseback, would travel even swifter than them. Strong as they were, these mutated by the Flesh Witches' vile magicks beasts of war needed raw meat and blood, instead of fodder and water.
Two days spent in the gloomy dark, gnarled shadow and fluorescent Mold their only companions on the road. Though on the end of their second day, the Four noticed a Thulm patrol, Dalnor employed his masterful skill. Hid under the husk of one broken wagon train, the companions outwitted these light on their feet archers, and proceeded further deep into the tunnel network.
Thulm had not had a word from their obedient underlings in Weistarr, and this forced these raiders to rush forward. Of course, not one hour behind them, there was a small troop of cavalry, yet their mounts did not appear to be in the best of shapes.
“They look... tired.” - Whispered Dalnor, as soon as their enemy vanished into the dark.
“Yes, and I think I know why.” - Gelduin grinned under his cloth mask, pointing something which his companions failed to notice - “I ask thee, friends, did you by any chance see their supply train?”
“No, but... it might be lagging behi...” - mumbled the Sorceress, and yet her eyes widened with the realization of what had happened.
They just came up on an abandoned, fully laden supply wagon, surrounded by small piles of shattered bone and ash. Where the carts and wagons of Alkiorn were pulled by oxen, reindeer, or normal horse, Thulm ones needed the untiring legs of the corpse-walkers. One could not even try to put a yoke upon their vicious six-legged war beasts. These malevolent, blood-craving creatures barely allowed a saddle, reigns, and stirrups.
“They can't enter Weistarr even if they wanted to, not unless there is a Veil Breaker mage shielding their rotten gobs!” - snickered Ainhart, and pointed at another shadow looming ahead - “They must've lost a bunch of these along the way.”
“Wait, but we should've long since trekked past the borders of Weistarr!” - quietly pointed out Gelduin - “What smote their obedient underlings so, that their masters' horses suffered such hunger?”
“The answer, my friends, lays under our very feet.” - and their clergyman patted Dalnor's hand - “Master Dalnor, what was written on that tombstone, the one you first read when we've just entered these tunnels?”
“Your shield is your life.
Win or return home on it -
Honorable Death.”
The ancient Neldaeiri verse reverberated through the Knight's visor, its words cutting the Mold-infested air like arrows and spears hungry for their very blood.
“The blessings of Mother Vayila, once bestowed upon these gravestones, they have been restored!” - Eirunn said and clasped her hands around the spear and, joined by her companions, uttered a short prayer.
“This entire road is laden with tombstones.” - Said the Ranger, and led his friends forward - “The Thulm have to either spare a number of their foot soldiers to pull the wagons, or...”
“Slaves, they will be forced to put slaves in the tunnels.” - Said with a somber tone Brother Dalnor, and gestured towards the dark - “However, that means their entire host shall be like a lame horse, and for quite the long time!”
“What about normal horses?” - Eirunn followed her companions in their careful jog from tunnel entrance to its exit, as soon as Gelduin scouted the latter clean.
“Yes, though they have to capture them first! Not to mention that their wagon trains were built for the corpse-walkers and lack the proper 'tongue,' yokes, and other things a normal wagon of ours has.” - Said Ainhart, running beside her with his crossbow.
“Moreover, horses need fodder, water, and they do tire! Look at these Thulm supply wagons, just look at them, my friends!” - Exclaimed their Knight, when they trod past a couple of abandoned carriages.
Indeed, these were built tall, wide, and their wheels heavy, fitted with iron reinforced tires. For the Four, a wagon that heavy would need at the very least four, at best six strong horses. The helpful critters required lots of water, fodder, and regular rest or they wouldn't be able to pull the wagon, let alone sustain an arduous underground trek such as this.
“Even if the Thulm finds enough horses, how could they survive this moldy air?!”
Master Dalnor stopped dead in his tracks and pointed out, regret oozing from his voice:
“The first law of provisioning says they'll do whatever it is in their power, and as soon as possible. Meaning, we should be concerned not how horses would breathe down here, but slaves instead...”
“Hush!” - quieted them Master Gelduin - “There is trouble ahead.”
The Four skulked following in their Ranger's steps, until they reached the end of yet another side tunnel. Before them they witnessed the source of all wood screeches; a small number of Thulm footmen fought to secure the cargo of many an overturned wagon. No more than two dozen, wearing only their pants the sweaty men toiled, cursing as they did. A few of them were piled nearby, their bodies crushed by bales and crates.
This was a big, hall-like space, its tall ceiling held by iron-reinforced stone columns. A number of side tunnels ended and started here, as well as the main road. Fourteen big supply wagons were stuck there, unable to be moved without their corpse-walker “beasts of burden.” Many lay on their side with broken wheels; cargo crates, barrels, and bales full with whatnot, rolling all over the uneven floor.
Gelduin gestured at a handful of resting Thulm, the token few who were battle ready.
“We drag the bodies in that tunnel over there.” - The Dwarf explained his stealthy plan of action with whispers and hand signs.
“Set fire to this wagon, 'tis full of lamp oil!” - whispered Dalnor, his armored fingers pointing out a wagon near the hall's center, laden with large barrels - “If the smoke doesn't kill them, the flames will eat all air.”
“A bolt from my windlass can reach it even from this far. Then we run!”
Gelduin agreed and produced a small metal cylinder from his archery kit. He unscrewed the cap and stuffed it with a dry rag, but not before Eirunn poured one small phial of lamp oil all over it. The cylinder had special powder under its cap, which caught fire by air friction. Thus, one of Ainhart's long-range crossbow bolts was transformed into a fire starter.
“Even if we burn that wagon alone, the Thulm sentries won't have their hooded lanterns and rely only on torches. Ranger work will be made easy!” - whispered Dalnor, before they skulked inside the hall.
The Four, led by their Ranger, reached an overturned wagon – the perfect spot for a point blank shot. Carefully, Dwarf, Elf, and Knight aimed their missiles, letting them loose together when the Thulm soldiers dropped a crate. The tired sentries were hit almost at the same time. Without armor to protect them, they rolled dead, projectiles sticking out of their hearts. Only Dalnor was forced to loose another arrow since his first did not end the Thulm.
Quickly, the companions crawled under another wagon and dragged the bodies while Ainhart aimed the fire starter bolt. He would shoot and then run after his friends, only stopping for a few breaths just to be sure that wagon caught fire. Shot from a weapon designed to pierce armor, his shrouded in fire bolt pierced one of the soaked with lamp oil wooden barrels with ease.
Indeed, he expected to see raging flames, but not the explosion which nearly blinded his accustomed to the dark eyes. The Elf ran as quickly as his armored legs could carry him, raging fire illuminating the hall behind. For the next few minutes all they heard was the terrified cries of Thulm; then came the angry crackle and withering hiss of burning wood.
Whatever supplies their enemies had in these wagons – they were all lost...
***
Dear reader, if you liked this story, you might enjoy my published work.
A tabletop dungeon crawl in story form. Well done, sir knight.
I liked that detail of the powder ignited by air friction - that was a good bit of worldbuilding, and a smart plan to ignite the wagon by our four heroes.
This is very exciting and I love the story about Mold. It is one of my worst enemies. Great job