jmclarke
patreon
IABD 68: Exploring Down
🕑 Added 2025-05-19 20:49:59 +0000 UTC“It feels like we’ve fought a thousand battles on these stairs.” Matthias ran his hand along a stone wall darkened by long-dried ghoul blood. “Now we finally get to see where they lead.”
Bregindoure loomed over him, his Runes’ crimson light shining on the backs of his hands and back. Matthias’ older brother had grown even broader in the past year; he in some ways looked more like a walking oak tree than simply a giant-blooded young man.
Though massive, he was also graceful; Beggahasta’s grueling training in the winter snow had forced him to adapt his movements from clumsy and hesitant, to agile and sure.
Honed from countless battles against the ghouls, he’d grown into a confident warrior.
Dagma came up beside him, flashing him a grin. She was noticeably taller since she’d turned eleven, standing a half a head taller than she had been the summer before. Her face was changing, it was leaner and more angular, displaying hints of adolescence. Her form was wiry and strong, defined muscle flexing as she moved.
As her strength had increased, so had her mastery of the Gift; under Beggahasta’s guidance, she had begun ‘training’ her equipment.
The practise was often taken up by Gift Wielding-warriors; each day, she dedicated time to commanding her weapons and armour, using her abilities to slowly hone the properties of strength and sharpness in those items. Through repeated and focused practise, the Gift wielder would lay their magic into objects they possessed and ‘train’ them to hold the magic for longer and longer periods.
An object as basic as candlewax could slowly be ‘trained’ to become as hard as wood or iron; steel could be commanded to slowly become as flexible as a willow branch, while still retaining its strength, and even armour could ‘learn’ to flex and keep itself from weighing down the wearer’s body.
Over time, weapons and armour belonging to a Gift Wielder would adapt to what the Wielder wanted, becoming harder and unbreakable, sharper, more flexible and more easily commanded until they reached the point where they became legendary items in their own right…providing they remained in the possession of the Gift Wielder.
A ‘trained’ item that passed out of the original Gift Wielder’s ownership would often return to its original form.
Dagma’s equipment was still new to that training, but her sword was already holding its edge much longer than it used to.
Time and hard training were enhancing the young warrior’s natural abilities, and she was growing into a fine warrior, Life Enforcement Practitioner, and Gift Wielder.
As for Matthias, he too was growing.
His body was filled with power, growing more so from an ever-increasing foundation; his skin was tougher, his muscles stronger, and his senses sharper. His shadow-tendril had healed, now sturdier as he took in Divine Breath and the energies from the ley lines kept empowering his soul.
In his hands, his sword and hammer felt as light as feathers.
He nodded to his siblings. “Look at us, look how far we’ve come.”
“And we’re only just beginning,” Bregindoure grinned.
“We used to be afraid of The Wolfwood, now I think anything there would be terrified of us!” Dagma drew her sword, holding it above her head, proudly watching it gleam in the light of the springtime sun shining through the abbey’s windows.
“And it should, as time passes, it very well should,” Beggahasta agreed, watching her children with pride.
Mistress Polla floated beside her, her expression a mystery; Ellian too was near, recording something in a small notebook with a large quill.
He too had grown, hitting a growth spurt around his eleventh birthday earlier that year. His frame remained slight, though, and he looked like he wouldn’t weigh much more than a soaking wet fox.
He did seem more confident now; he spent most of his time with his nose buried in the books from the abbot’s office, exploring the old languages, and learning everything recorded on their pages. The way he dressed had also changed, he’d shed the soft, fine robes and slippers he used to wear when he first arrived in the northlands at his mentor’s side, for more practical travelling clothes, like those one would wear on a journey through the deep woods.
Ellian was growing to be a brave scholar, heavy emphasis on the scholar.
The young mage's attention went to the three warriors with interest. “Best of luck! If you find any scrolls or artefacts, make sure you don’t damage them in your battles!”
“We will,” Matthias assured him, drawing his sword and raising his hammer. “Shall we?” he said to his siblings.
They raised their weapons, moving to either side of him.
“Let’s begin, then.”
“Remember, the moment you feel that the miasma’s becoming too thick, we turn back,” Beggahasta cautioned.
“Oh, what’s a little ‘turning into ghouls’ between family?” Bregindoure laughed.
His mother shook her head, and Matthias elbowed him in the side, hiding his laughter. “Come on.”
Inhaling deeply, the young greatfolk took his first steps down the stairs.
All at once, the air turned fouler.
After months of going into the abbey, he’d become more accustomed to the foulness—and shockingly, he’d even started to find it comforting in an odd way—his siblings scrunched up their faces, noses wrinkling.
They crept down the stairs for about a minute, listening for ghouls hiding in the dark ahead of them. Matthias heard none, and after checking with Bregindoure and Dagma, learned they hadn’t either.
“You know, I’m surprised they haven’t appeared yet,” Bregindoure whispered, peering through the darkness.
“Well, they’ve been getting more skittish for weeks now,” Dagma whispered. She had sheathed her sword, replacing it with a two-handed spear, holding the weapon close to her. “It’s like I’ve been saying, I believe they’ve learned to be afraid of us.”
“I more think they’re luring us downstairs,” Matthias said. “After our first clash with them on the stairs, we haven’t even seen anymore ghoul knights. They’ve remained hidden in the dark…I wouldn’t doubt that they’re trying to lure us down there with the miasma, where they’d have more of an advantage.”
“And here we are, heading downstairs, foolish enough to take them up on their invitation,” Bregindoure gave a low laugh.
“Maybe they’re the foolish ones, dumb enough to invite us into their home.” Dagma playfully thrust her spear at the dark below them. “I guess we’ll find out who’s dumber soon enough.”
Matthias considered her words as they crept downstairs. Their boots crunched on bones and other debris—some ancient and some new—as they went lower, daylight fading as they travelled further from it.
“We’re going to need some light soon,” Dagma said.
“Right.” Matthias’ shadow-tendril reached down, retrieving a torch hanging from his belt loop.
It held the torch toward his sister, she was happy to oblige, “Fire, burn long and burn bright.”
A spark flared.
A whoosh of flame.
And the torch came to life; blazing orange light grew brighter until it matched the colour of a roaring bonfire; flickering light illuminating the staircase.
Matthias’ eyes caught the dancing firelight.
Light and shadow dancing together.
Again, his thoughts went to that fight with the ghoul knight; though the pain of his shadow tendril being bent and twisted had long faded, the image remained burnt into his mind.
Each time he remembered what had happened, he felt he was coming close to a realisation…though it remained elusive.
But he couldn’t dwell on that at the moment, this wasn’t the time to become lost in thought.
“Look over there, is that a gateway?” Matthias asked.
Up ahead, a ramp led down to a gateway wide enough for a large wagon to pass through it. The gate had been heavily damaged, and beyond it was a long tunnel.
“Where?” Bregindoure asked, pointing ahead with his new axe.
As the giant had trained with Beggahasta, he’d exchanged his mace for something with an edge: something that could effortlessly remove ghoul heads from ghoul shoulders. “I don’t see anything,” he whispered.
Matthias wasn’t all that surprised; not only were his senses sharper than his brother’s, but as he continued to build his foundation, he noticed that he could see and hear farther and much clearer in all but the deepest of darkness.
He described what he was seeing to his siblings as they advanced, soon it was clear to Dagma and Bregindoure as well.
“Maybe it’s a gate that leads to the Old Abbey Roads,” Matthias said, considering the ramp. The odd way it sloped had caught his attention, and he knew that, Adgar, his stone masonry master, would have pointed that out to him.
He looked around, eyes falling on the wall to their right. “The stone on that side looks newer than the rest: I’d wager that there used to be a passageway there that’s been sealed up. You see how the floor slopes downward? I wonder if that’s where they brought wagons and the like onto the Old Abbey Roads? The stairs must have been used for the monks on foot.”
Bregindoure squinted at the rock. “You’d know better than I.”
Stepping over the damaged gate, they entered a tunnel.
It was large, taller than three men standing on each other’s shoulders and as wide as two over-packed wagons. The walls were rough, though the floor looked smooth, like it had been worn down to a flat surface. Above them, an old lantern was suspended from the ceiling, slightly swaying on a rusty chain, exact copies dangled throughout the tunnel, receding into the distance.
Miasma was heavy in the air, thick, rank and damp.
The siblings said nothing, simply moving forward, going deeper.
As they went, Matthias noticed carvings on the walls. Some looked to be long faded murals, while others appeared to be graffiti carved into the stone by a carver with crude skills.
There was a host of rough carvings decorating the walls: images of monsters and warriors grappling with each other, towns, cities and villages engulfed in flames.
But there was a repeating symbol that was found in every piece of that imagery.
“Those eyes look like the ones the ghoul knights have carved into their foreheads, right?” Dagma pointed to an eye symbol.
“Looks like it to me,” Bregindoure offered. “Do either of you think…that whatever is below can see through them?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Matthias kept his distance from the symbols, giving them a wide berth.
They moved forward, without being ambushed, even as they traveled deeper into the passageway.
No ghouls confronted them.
No screeching or scrambling noises reached them from near or far.
The only sounds Matthias could hear was their steady breathing, the crunching of footfalls as their boots mashed filth and bones carpeting the tunnel, and the crackle of their blazing torch.
It was too quiet, suspiciously quiet, unease gnawed at him, concern about a trap ran through his mind.
After what seemed like hours, but was likely only minutes, they merged into a massive crossroads.
“Well would you look at that!” Bregindoure cried.
The crossroads were wide enough for dozens of wagons to fit through without touching each other; this place must have been a major travel hub centuries ago, Matthias realised.
In the centre of the crossroads were what looked to be the collapsed remnants of a wooden waystation, possibly for guiding wagons to destinations across what was now Evalmera…or even further.
The weblike network of roads beneath the earth spanned the Realm and beyond, but thankfully, the curse kept the ghouls from straying far from Windstone.
A dozen tunnels branched out from the crossroads, and beside each one stood a towering, desecrated statue; who the figures were, Matthias had no way of knowing. Ghoul claws and hurled stones had long decimated the faces and details of the once distinguished statues.
“Which way should we go?” Bregindoure asked.
“I wish that monk had left his map in the abbot’s office, or at least made a copy,” Matthias whispered. “But maybe…”
He closed his eyes, focusing on his senses.
“Ugh, this miasma,” Dagma muttered. “It’s turning my stomach.”
“Mine too,” Bregindoure admitted.
“Shhh,” Matthias whispered. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
He began to feel an intense sensation pulling him to the left: a sensation similar to the one he’d felt outside the abbot’s office those many months ago.
“There,” he opened his eyes. “I think we should go that way. It feels like when I heard the weeping in the abbey.”
“Strange you haven’t heard it since,” Bregindoure headed toward the passage. “Are you sure we should go this way?”
“Not sure, but I bet someone could get lost down here for years, if they wandered around aimlessly.” Matthias stepped into the tunnel. “Any direction is better than none.”
Deeper into the dark they went, the miasma slowly thickening.
As the crossroads disappeared behind them, he felt a growing sense of dread. They were not welcome down here; every step convinced him that those strange eyes carved into the walls were allowing something to observe their every action.
Something timeless.
Something that had plagued the monk and the adventurers he’d brought down here all those centuries ago.
Matthias was about to say that, when he heard a noise that wasn’t coming from him or his companions. A skittering sound in the distance…though not coming from down the tunnel.
“To the left,” he whispered. “I heard something down there.”
“Maybe a distant tunnel in the distance.” Bregindoure paused. “That was a terrible sentence: I swear to you, I’ve read a lot of books, and I understand words.”
“I believe you,” Dagma said gently, patting him on the side.
“Wait, it’s louder on the other side.” Matthias kept his voice low, turning in place. “It’s above us now. Were there any passages up there?”
“I hear it too!” Dagma cried.
Bregindoure tensed. “What’s going on?”
Matthias’ mind raced; the noise was like the sound of masses of scurrying creatures crawling all around them, unless…
“By the Ascended!” he swore. “They’re in the walls! They’re in the damned walls!”
As his words echoed down the tunnel, prismatic light flashed, stone walls ruptured. Half a dozen hidden tunnels were exposed, they were swarming with ghouls, including gigantic undead trolls and ogres.
Among their number no fewer than three ghoul knights pointed their weapons at them.
“Damn it all!” Bregindoure cried. “We have to—”
“Hold your weapons,” one of the knights hissed, holding a thick limbed bow. “You are intruders here and have roused the One below’s interest in you. You entered the barred place above, a place where we could not go...where the sounds of weeping come from. Tell us how you did this.”
Its voice dropped to the lowest of growls.
“Or die.”
###
Author's Note
They're growing up so fast! wipes away tears And so we learn a little more about the ghouls and the state of Windstone, and next chapter I'm quite excited about.
Also Doom is great, holy shit haha.
Cya Wednesday!
P.S. There will be an announcement tomorrow fro the Light Novels for Mark of the Fool coming out! Just warning you for when you get that email, haha.
Comments
mant06
'Training' adds depht quite nicely to the gift. What else could it be used on besides weapons and armor? If aplied during crafting are the effects more permanent? Edit: Could a botched command create something like an elemental themed after the command?
Lola
They can hear the weeping too?
