by Wolfe Locke
John was used to getting those kinds of looks. He had hoped that this far into the kingdom, any establishment he came across would house more reputable folk than the sort he had become accustomed to. But as he gazed around the dining area, John knew he’d have to keep hoping at the next stop. More curious looks turned in his direction.
There were many men and a few women present that had the air of someone wanting to be left alone. There were some who stared back at him as if sizing him up, wicked grins spread across their faces as they noticed John’s injuries. Always looking for the an easy mark, he mused. While still others ignored him entirely and sat back at the far reaches of the dining hall, shadowed in what darkness they could find.
As he made his way to the bar, John made it a point to brush aside his traveling cloak to reveal the gleaming sharp edges of the hand axes holstered at his side and the many notches on the handles that marked his kills. John hoped that it would be enough of a deterrent and that anyone thinking to try coming after him would think twice. His injuries coupled with his bedraggled appearance; John wasn’t sure if it worked.
As he approached the bar, he was greeted by a rather large man with a greyish complexion and the tips of tusks extending out of his mouth.
A half-orc. If the creature’s appearance hadn't given it away, the smell would have.
More and more of their kind had been popping up as the orc clans pillaged their way through villages throughout the kingdom. There had been many a child born from those conquests. The product of a marauding orc, drunk on blood, violence, and whatever peasant girl who had been unfortunate enough to get in their way.
Half-orcs were a defensive bunch, simultaneously trying to distance themselves from their barbaric sires and quick to embrace their primal sides in a fight. Even more so when the assumptions about their race invariably drew scorn and often outright hostility. John knew how to navigate half-orcs. So long as you respected them, they respected you.
John greeted the barkeep with a nod as he took a seat on one of the empty stools.
“What’ll it be? You’ve got the coin? You’ve got the look of a bard about you. Promises and fancy words aren’t accepted here as legal tender,” said the half-orc in a deep bass voice.
“Aye. I’ve got the coin, no bard here, I’m mercenary actually, though I do a little adventuring on the side. Just took up the Regent’s Quest. Give me a mug of ale and whatever hot food is left over from dinner, and a second mug to wash that down."
“That’ll be two silver, three bronze.” the barman said, unconvinced.
That was near twice the rate of most taverns, but John was hurt and tired. In a pinch was not the best of times to try to negotiate a fairer deal. He fished the coins from his pouch and slid them across the bar.
A few minutes later, John was presented with a mug of ale and a plate consisting of a couple of slices of grey looking meat, some potatoes, and some carrots. It was actually more than he had been hoping for. I just have to hope the meat is venison.
“The cost also covers one of the spare rooms upstairs.” the half-orc said. “You really look like you could use it. I won’t have you dying on my floor or out in the road in front of my tavern, it’s bad for business.”
After finishing his meal, John gave his thanks and made his way up to the spare room, taking the half-orc up on the offer. He normally kept one of his axes under his pillow within easy reach, but John had the feeling that tonight he should sleep with it on his chest and at the ready. The patrons that had been sizing him up when he entered the tavern were nowhere to be seen. Better safe than sorry.
Chapter 2: Into the Unknown
* * *
Upstairs the room consisted of a plain wooden table, a lantern, and a wooden bed frame with a straw mattress. John had stayed in better accommodations, but he wasn’t going to complain. He’d also had far worse in his travels. At the moment, he was just thankful he’d at least found a dry, mostly warm place to sleep. Sleeping on the hard ground would have meant a terrible night of sleep and a very sore morning thanks to being covered in cuts and minor wounds sustained at the hands of the goblin horde . The bed didn't even look like it had a bug problem. Count my blessings on that one.
John took a moment to arrange what few belongings he had on his person in such a way that he could make a hasty exit if needed. He settled down in bed with his hand on his ax; and fell almost instantly asleep. His respite didn’t last long.
He was awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of movement and footsteps creaking across the floorboards. John instantly tried to bring his ax to bear, but his arms didn’t respond, almost as if he was under the effect of some manner of spell or potion. The weapon slid uselessly from his grasp and crashed to the floor with a loud thud. The room was dimly lit, but there was enough moonlight for John to see three figures standing there in his room. Their faces were shrouded by long black cloaks.
Panic started to rise up in John. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling the way he did. Yes, he had taken heavy damage from his encounter with the goblins, but it was nothing a little rest and food couldn’t handle. No, this is something different. It’s like a fog in my mind and a weight on my chest. There could be only one explanation. His food or drink had been tampered with, maybe both. John had thought that the unspoken rules of hospitality would prevent such a thing from happening, but he should have been more careful. Not everyone feared the wrath of the Hearth God.
Although hurt and likely drugged, John was still a fighter and reached deep within himself. He lashed out at his would-be attackers and heard the satisfying sound of his fist connecting with skin. The one John hit cried out, but that was as far as John got. The remaining two were able to wrestle him down while the third, now recovered, came at him, returning the blow that left John stunned.
The attacker’s hood had come down when John hit him. The face staring back at John was deranged. The man’s face was plastered with a menacing grin and sunken bloodshot eyes. His head was completely bald, though every spot of skin on his face and skull was covered with intricate white tattoos that John could not decipher. No, those aren’t tattoos. John realized. Those are scars. Who are these people? Is he an acolyte?
Lines of scar tissue covered the man’s exposed skin and John could see it continued downward as far as he could see until obstructed by the rest of the man’s cloak. John had no doubt that the scars continued down and covered the rest of his body. After all, cultists were an insane bunch. Who could understand their motives or reasoning for doing anything?
John had seen his fair share of strangeness and oddities since he had started traveling, but none of them surpassed the unsettling appearance and nature of the various cultists his travels had exposed him to. It never mattered which god or deity they worshipped. They all invariably had the same insane practices and the same self-mutilating tendencies.
As the cultist rushed toward him, John was expecting a punch or a stab, but instead, he was met with a rag over his face and an acrid smell. Reflexively he breathed in, and then John was falling, drifting, until there was nothing but darkness. The last thing he remembered before passing out was hearing, "Yeah, that's him alright."
**************************
John Younger woke for the second time that night. Though this time, it was with a splitting headache. To his dismay, he had indeed been forced to spend his night sleeping on the floor. He could feel the hard stone beneath his body.
Without opening his eyes, and while trying to control his breathing to appear as if he were still unconscious, he opened his senses to himself and his surroundings. Not wanting to alert his captors that he was regaining consciousness if they were around.
Besides the headache, John was relieved to find he had no new wounds that he could feel and seemed to still have all his extremities and organs in their correct locations. Just the older injuries that marred his body. His attackers hadn’t roughed him up then. Curious.
Around him, John heard nothing. Wh
en he reasonably sure that he was alone he opened his eyes, stood up, and looked around to see that he was in a large open space. I wasn’t even tied up or restrained? Curious, that can’t mean anything good. There was a wide assortment of weapons scattered about him. Swords, daggers, bows. Everything from battle hammers to spears, and even a couple of rusty war scythes.
The rest of the room was a flat expanse of stone. There were no doors to speak of, just a single staircase leading downward. The room’s illumination came from what seemed to be a witch light, hovering toward the ceiling.
The longer he looked around the room, the more he saw that there were not just weapons scattered about the floor. There were also bundles of chains and manacles, some rusted over by time, while others still looked new enough for the iron to gleam. It looks like they’ve taken far more than just me. Most bore traces of blood and, in some cases, what looked like flesh. The floor itself was similarly decorated, the shades of red varying from the deep russet of old blood to the new vibrant hues.
John had heard rumors of what some cultists did with those that they abducted. It appeared as if he were about to learn firsthand if those rumors were true or not.
Suddenly, out of the empty air, there came a voice.
I am one who calls this dungeon their own.
Though it is not my home. They have called me Lachesis.
I will guide you as I can.
Choose a weapon and continue downward.
John tried to ignore the voice, but he couldn’t. He looked around frantically and saw there were no exits. He couldn’t even see where the entrance had been. From what John could tell, the only place to go seemed down. For now, I’ll do as the voice commands until I can figure out what’s going on.
John was at least happy to see that his personal hand axes had made the journey with him. They were lying next to a sword and shield and a wooden staff. He reached down to grab them, fully intending to pick up a least one other weapon as well. One could never be too careful.
But, as soon as his hands had wrapped around the comfortable handles of his axes, the rest of the assortment began to fade away like mist in the sunlight, until nothing remained beside the downwards staircase and the manacles of those that had come before.
With no other course of action remaining to him, John Younger gathered his resolve and made his way toward the staircase and downward, into the unknown.
Let me see how strong you are.
Ah. The strength of three men, and the wit of just one.
You’ve the endurance of a bull and the grace of one as well.
STR = 3
WIT = 1
END = 4
AGI = 2
*No current abilities.
*Afflictions - Bruised Ribs.
What is this? Ah I recognize it.
*Equipment *
-Twin Axes, -Simple Leather Armor, Sovereign Medallion
Chapter 3: Those Who Also Roam
* * *
Welcome to the 2nd floor of this dreadful place where dark things reside. This floor was called the Castle Labyrinth and was once filled with people.
The Castle Labyrinth? That’s odd. John thought as he reached the bottom of the staircase and looked down and gazed around the new area in which he had found himself. The base of the stairway sealed shut behind him, trapping him in.
No, it’s not trapping you in. The dungeon itself is forcing you forward. There is one deep below who was taken an interest in you. You may yet survive.
Troubling, but I need to keep myself focused. John struggled to make out his surroundings, but it was entirety too dark to see, with not a single light source to be found. He had just about been ready to resign himself to exploring an unknown location in the pitch-black darkness when there was a rush of energy.
The hairs on John’s body stood up and gooseflesh pimpled his skin. In front of him, a row of torches flared to life, illuminating the space allowing him to see clearly. The voice from before spoke to him again.
This floor will test your mettle. How quick can you be? And how quick can you learn? You’ll find not everything is as it seems here. You must be better than your fellows were.
That sounds ominous. I mean, I hope I can be quick enough? Is the voice talking about other adventurers? From his vantage point, he could see down a long stone hallway that branched off into four rooms and two more hallways branching of at the far end to the right and left.
Directly ahead of him at the end of the hallway that he now faced; John saw a closed wooden door. Five silvers says I’ll find nothing good behind that door. John knew danger was coming. The mysterious voice of this so called Lachesis had instructed him to choose a weapon had obviously wanted him to be prepared.
As cautious as he could be, John proceeded down the hallway, his hands hovering over his axes, waiting to draw them at the first sign of trouble.
Along the way, he was able to see into the nooks and dark hallways that branched off of the main area.
He looked through the first door on his left. It revealed a massive library with shelves holding hundreds of books that lined hardwood shelving against grey stone walls. John could also see a few pieces of furniture were scattered around. Chairs were set next to reading tables and low burning torches helped to illuminate the room with soft yellow light. They must have activated at the same time as the others. On a sparely furnished side of the room, John saw an open archway that he assumed led into the next room.
Directly across the hall from the library was the kitchen. At the moment, the counters of the kitchen stood completely bare. The shelves and jars seemed empty and sparse without even a knife to be seen. Plenty of spoons though, for all the good they would do. The room had another open archway that led into the next. John continued down the hallway, to see what else the floor that he had found himself on had to offer.
The second room on the left, which was connected by an archway to the library, held a chapel. There were several pews arranged facing an alter that bore no clue as to what god was worshipped here. John supposed that it could be an open chapel, used to pray to whatever god a weary adventurer might pray to for guidance. I wonder, what about that voice?
No. This place is not mine. I do not dwell within. You will find it is a safe place. It belongs to the gods who still dwell above.
John shook his head to clear the voice away. I’ll need to see one of the clerics whenever I get out of here. Nobody wants to hire mercenary who hears voices.
He kept going. Straight through the second door on the right, which was connected to the kitchen, held a larder. At first glance, John could see that the food options were scarce. A single loaf of bread occupied the otherwise empty shelves, and he could see several unmarked jars scattered throughout. That bread looks edible.
At the back of the larder, John could see a door that led into an the ice cellar. Waves of cold mist rolled out of the open door coming up from the cellar door.
What lies below is best left forgotten. Do not make the same mistake as those who came before. Sometimes, it is best to leave curiosity unsatisfied.
Alright. Leaving the cellar alone. There must be something here though. He looked around, his eyes panning in the only food he saw. The sight of that single loaf of bread sent a pang of hunger through his body. But why? I just ate, didn’t I? Even if the meal had been tainted.
“Unless I’d been out much longer than I thought.” He muttered, scaring himself a bit when he heard his voice carry. I'll need to be quiet.
He reached out to grab the bread, but rather than hold it in his hand, the bread disappeared.
I will store items you find until such a time as you demand them.
What have you found? A dry loaf of moldy bread. It will provide some nourishment and res
tore some health.
“Thanks, but can I have it back? I was going to eat that.” John responded feeling irritated.
If you insist, but it is still too early to consume that which is rare. The hunger you feel now doesn’t compare with the hunger you’ll feel tomorrow or the day after.
I don’t like the sound of that. John pushed that thought aside and continued his way. Maybe the voice is right and it's not the best time? I can always ask later.
Once he reached the end of the hallway, John saw that on his left was a separate, smaller hallway that led to a dark room. In contrast, the room that he could see on his right was brimming with light, and he thought he could hear the sound of babbling water coming from inside. I'll come back here. The thought of exploring the dark wasn't appealing but something drew him.
Given that he had gave all of the other rooms at least a cursory glance, John circled back towards the beginning and tried the only closed door that he had come across. The one at the end of the path in the last hall. It proved to be firmly locked.
There must have been some kind of puzzle to this place that I haven’t solved. John imagined that the key to this locked door resided somewhere within the rooms he had just passed. That should be no challenge. It might take a little time, but aside from him, the floor was empty. Maybe I’ll go visit the larder and see if I can scrounge up enough food for a meal
