Night settles on Carrion Crown, growing old. Around the ancient hill, a white fog creeps from the river, gradually spreading and covering the land as far as the eye can see. Like an island, the crest of the hill is alone in a sea of white fog.
The city itself is quiet, those in Ustlav lock their doors at nightfall and bolt them tightly. The streets are empty, the battered cobblestones worn and wet beneath Timur Serikov's boots. Old stonework, even by dwarven standards. A chill wind starts to rise, an odd feeling for the dwarf, who spends so much time below. The Overburn is a strange place indeed, filled with many wonders such as wind, stars and clouds. No wonder those who lived here were so odd.
A nervous, quick step behind him break his thoughts. The dark of night holds no secrets for the dwarf and turning he sees the figure quite plainly. It is an elf, which surprises Timur. He had not be told who would be meeting him here but he hadn't expected that. He is young, by elf standards anyway, with a pale clear face, bright green eyes. Around his neck hang a pair of goggles as well as a holy symbol of some type. A bulky pack, badly balanced, hangs from one shoulder.
Suddenly the green eyes lit on Timur and he says, his voice louder then needed, ”Master Serikov?”
Timur smiles at the title.
"Selimitsoz bi. Min ostimidom..."
He pauses a moment and shakes his head and begins again in Taldane.
"I'm sorry. I don't know if ye speak my people's language. Hello. I am indeed Timur Serikov, though ye've no need to address me as Master. I have no holdings and no authority to have earned such an appellation."
The wind blows and the hair on his arms begins to stand.
"Come, the way down is nearby. Let's get out of this wind and into more comfortable territory. Well, more comfortable for me at least and ye'll need to grow accustomed at any rate."
Timur leads the elf toward the tunnel and, once far enough inside that the wind is no longer an issue, he stops and addresses the elf again.
"So, first things first, I suppose. What's yer name? What brings an elf down into the Darklands? Where exactly are we headed? All that standard getting to know ye, stuff."
'I will not be upset to set my back on this land. That wind has a cruel and weird edge..." The young looking elf follows Timur into the tunnel, a old sewer line that links to some old mining digs that leads to the real caves....
The elf finds a rock, and sweeps off some dust with his hands. Sitting on it, he places the goggles on his face and grins. "This is better."
A pause then, offering his hand to Timur, 'My name is Ioldihe Menesos. I am from a distant land but I was told you were a good guide to the strange lands that lie below."
"Why we are going is plain enough. I had a master, Sisisaglos Leenro, a great priest who came this way many years ago. We have lost all contact..." His face turns solemn, "My order has given him up for dead, but I have not. I wish to seek him out and return him to the surface."
Timur's face turns down just a bit.
"Well, I hate to say it, but chances are yer master ain't alive. Life's tough enough down here fer those of us who've been in it all our lives."
He stands and claps the dust off of his hands.
"But never let it be said that I ain't one fer hope. I've seen all kinds of weird in the deep caves."
A soft shuffle comes from deeper in the tunnel and a mole the size of a riding dog and wearing studded leather barding pads over and settles down next to Timur. Timur breaks a wide smile and squats down to ruffle the mole's fur.
"Hey there, girl. Get tired of hunting earthworms?"
Timur looks up at Ioldihe.
"This is Zimlikup. She's a good beast."
He stands and holds a hand out.
"Come on, if we're looking fer someone, sooner is better than later. Where did ye last hear from him?"
Ioldihe shakes his head at Timur's fear, "High-priest Leenro was a great man and was capable of surviving even the most hostile conditions. I have faith he is alive if perhaps trapped or lost."
The elf eyes the dogmole curiously and kneels down. Carefully he rubs the creature's fur, not idly but with purpose. Behind the goggles the elf's eyes tighten as if..remembering something.
"A dogmole? I have never seen one before but I hear they are quite invaluable underground. Good at detecting cave-ins and poisonous gases, yes?"
Still kneeling by the furry beast Menesos looks up, "Oh, about 75 years ago."
Timur blinks.
"Seventy-five? Seyten elgor, that's...a hell of a cold trail."
He exhales sharply.
"Alright, then. Do ye know the general location of where he was? Have ye got all of yer supplies? I take it yer goggles help ye see in the dark?"
"Oh, yes." Ioldihe says excitedly standing up. 'Finest design by the arcane masters at the Acadamae." Seeing the name meant nothing to the dwarf he rushes on, "A great magical school in Varisia. A real marvel of magic!"
"As for the High-priest, he said he was heading down to the deepest parts of the Darklands. Have you been there?"
He pats his bulky pack-back, "I think I have everything I need."
"Hells, do you mean somewhere in Orv? I've been to a few places in Sekamina, but I've never been as deep as that."
Timur thinks a moment.
"So...ye've got no name to go off of. Do you know if this is the entrance he used? Or if it was close to here?"
'Yes, I believe my research indicated Orv as a likely place he ended up." he frowns when Timur mentions he has never gone there, 'I am sorry, I was told you would be an informed guide. Is there someone else who can escort me all the way to Orv?"
"I believe he took the entrance at the Candlestone Caverns, outside of Andoran, so not very close to here. Will that be a problem?"
Timur knows of the closest routes to Sekamina. There is Fellstrok and Hagegraf, the duergar cities. Closer at hand is the Well of Sorrows, the undead haunted remains of a trap set by some necromancer of great power.
Even farther away are two more paths down, leading through the Court of Ether and the Midnight Jungle.
Timur's eye twitches a bit at the insult, whether it was intended or not.
"Look, yer from the surface so I'll excuse yer ignorance, but the Darklands are massive. It's rare for anyone down here to travel between layers at all, much less down into the vaults of Orv. It's not just a matter of finding an 'informed' guide. The majority of people who delve that deep don't come back. Now, I can escort you relatively safely through the places I'm familiar with, but yer likely to not find anyone with specific knowledge of the deeper layers that'll be even partially sympathetic."
He pauses and sighs.
"I don't mean to snap, but it's not as simple as ye seem to think it is. I'm not going to abandon ye in the deep layers, though. I signed on for a job, I'm gonna do my damnedest to see it through."
He puts his hand on Ioldihe's shoulder and nods at the elf.
"Now, we've got options, but none of them are good ones. The closest path into Sekamina is the Well of Sorrows. That particular option has us delving down amidst an army of undead. Not a great vacation spot, so to speak. That pretty much leaves us with Fellstrok or Hagegraf, unless ye really want to go out of your way to find a way down. Both of those are Deurgar cities. Not pleasant places, but at least there's some semblance of civility. Fellstrok will probably have us fighting through a ton of orcs and morlocks, though. Hagegraf seems our best bet."
How's that fer uninformed ye arrogant elf-prick?
He looks into Ioldihe's eyes.
"Any thoughts?"
The elf looks taken aback and it is hard for Timur to tell but he...blushes?
"I beg your apologies, Master Serikov. I did not mean to offend. Obviously the few books I have read on the subject have not adequately prepared me for the dangers ahead. Again, forgive me." The elf actually bows, goggles nearly falling off his face.
After hearing the list of entrances he swallows but says, "I know little of these matters. Of these I have only heard the duergar mentioned and that very mysteriously. They do not care for dwarves, correct? Can we truly pass through one of their cities?"
"A Duergar warband out in the wild is something to avoid, but Hagegraf is a city rivaling many of your surface cities. When people have nice homes and good clothes and plenty of food, they tend to be more lenient. As long as we have something to offer and we don't make any waves, we should be able to get through just fine. Just...try not to get up in arms about the slavery. Unless you want to become a slave yerself."
Timur cracks a sly smile.
"It's okay. There's a grove of mushrooms around here that are particularly valuable. We'll stop off, collect as many as we can, and pose as merchants. That should get us in and through without too much hassle."
"I am in your capable hands, Master Guides."
He looks around, "When do we leave? Also, what type of mushrooms are they?" The elf soon launches into a complicated dissertation on taxonomic terminology for fungus.
"Let's head out now. No point in dallying."
Timur shoulders his pack and pats Zimlikup on the head.
"I don't know the specific name for them, but they're toxic. They're typically used for poisons."
Soon the pair are heading off into the tunnels, Zimlikup in the lead, nose sniffling.
Behind goes Ioldihe Menesos, the elf awkward and clumsy. He spends a great deal of time looking around at at the rocks and formations. Several times this causes him to trip and stumble. Even after the first few miles, his hands are bloodied and raw.
Behins Timur strides, keeping his eyes and ear peeled for dangers. He detects nothing, but to his experienced skin, he can feel the air grow wetter and hotter.
The mushrooms are around a geothermal spring, so this is a good sign.
"It's getting more humid. We're getting closer. There's a hot spring that the mushrooms grow near."
Timur tries to tune in and see if he can see or hear anything that may pose a problem.
For several more hours they go on, the tunnels become tighter and wetter. Water drips off the ceiling, running down their backs. The rocky walls leave smears of mud on all of them, including the dogmole. The floors becomes slippery and treacherous, with the elf falling a few more times.
Finally he stops, panting. 'Can....can we stop and make camp? This humidity.." He wipes his brow, causing sweat and water to flick off.
Timur has seen nothing yet but they are about a solid days hike to the mushrooms. Luckily, it lies in the same twisted direction as the duergar city.
"Plopping down right here in the middle of the tunnel is probably a bad idea, but I'll keep an eye out for a decent place to bed down. Let's push on just a bit further. We're still about a day's hike from the grove, so we will stop soon."
Timur begins looking about for a good place to make camp, preferably in a cozy side chamber, but anywhere more defensible will do. Alternatively, if soft earth can be found (not stone), I can instruct Zimlikup to burrow out a den for us.
Timur finds three likely shelter spots. One is a small flat place in a small side chamber, with half the floor being calm still water. A second is a jagged side tunnel full of stalagmites and stalactites, and the tunnel fades off into darkness. Last is a large round room, filled with tumbled rocks and plenty of hide-holes (And exits).
Timur indicates the side chamber.
"This looks to be the best we're gonna get. We'll set up on the wall as far from the water as we can get. We'll check to see if it's safe to drink, but otherwise we should keep an eye on it."
He busies himself setting up his bedroll against the wall before checking the drinkability of the water.
Carefully the dwarf tests the water and it does appear drinkable. The dogmole for his part drinks heartily.
Ioldihe looks like he is about to mess with the water but at Timur's look he retreats back to a corner. There he mutters a prayer and makes a gesture. Then a snug little shelter of webbing appears, attached to wall and floor. Smiling the elf climbs inside and closes the little door, totally concealed.
Timur watches the elf create his fancy web-house.
"Neat trick, that." he mumbles under his breath.
He heads to his bedroll and settles in, back to the wall. He pat's Zimlikup's side and closes his eyes. Eventually, sleep takes him.
Timur sleeps well, for he was still in the caves he knew well. The twisted, broken areas of Nar-Voth were dangerous and wild, but at least he knew them. Where this elf was taking him however....how many dwarves ventured into Sekamina let alone Orv? On the upside he could make a Gladdringgar like no other.
Hours later he is roused by Zimlikup. The little mole nudges him awake, the signal for something unusual but not deadly.
In the deep silence of the caves Timur can hear dim sounds of slapping and thumping.
Timur can tell it is intelligent, not simply the low everlasting groan of overburdened stone. But what is causing it he does not know.
Timur slowly opens his eyes, glancing toward the water and cautiously reaches over for his urgrosh.
The dark water is still and silent, holding hidden secrets and treasures. In the distance the slapping, thumping sounds draw closer. Timur can tell they are coming from down the main tunnel. Zimlikup becomes more agitated.
Ascertaining that the sounds were not coming from the pool, Timur rises to a knee and scans the room again, just to be double sure. He approaches Ioldihe's...nest?...and feels around trying to gently awaken the elf.
Timur, on his scan, notices the water has fallen slightly, revealing some very old, barely discernible stairs leading into the water. As he pokes the web shelter, he hears a yelp from inside and then Ioldihe saying, suspiciously, "Who is it?"
The sounds grow louder in the distance but Timur knows sound can carry oddly in the cramped caves.
"Shh. There's somethin' in the tunnel. Could be harmless, but more likely it's not. Prepare yourself."
Timur creeps cautiously to the entrance of the side chamber and peeks around the corner.
"Prepare? How?" The elf says, opening his shelter and peeking out. "Is it someone or something?"
TImur pokes his head out, taking a risk but it helps his ears as well. The slapping, thumping sound grows louder and he can tell it is many feet. Then his brain connects the dots. The humid air, the mushrooms...
Vegepygmys.
They were closing fast, coming down the same narrow tunnel they walked yesterday.
Timur knows vegepygmys are strange, plant-like creatures, warped and twisted by russet mold. Common in Nar-voth near water, they set up roving warcamps anywhere they can, and raid for new creature to 'introduce' to the mold. Individually the small warriors are more annoyance then danger but in large numbers they can wear even a tough fighter down, and more worryingly, Timur knows sometimes they can transform and enslave animals into 'thorny' creatures much stronger then they.
This sounds like a decent sized band and Timur only has a few moments left to decide what to do.
Timur tsks.
"Vegepygmies. Fungus people. Nasty little things. Sounds like a lot."
Timur turns back and eyes the water again, then looks at Ioldihe.
"Yer god give ya any magic to breathe underwater?"
He busies himself hastily rolling up his bedroll while awaiting the inevitable "no".
As Timur begins packing his things he sees Ioldihe steps out of his little shelter, bag packed.
"Actually, yes. Last..evening? Night?" he seems momentarily puzzled by the lack of time in the Darklands before saying, "In any case, I saw some signs of building at the water's edge. I had hoped we could explore it today so I did prepare some spells for that last night." Then he frowns, 'But only for us, not the dogmole."
Timur grimaces. He turns to Zimlikup and pats her back.
"Zim. Jagorw."
He turns back to Ioldihe.
"Alright, let's do this."
Zimlikup wags the stump of a tail then burrows into the wall, moving between cracks in the ponderous stone. In a moment it is gone but Timur knows it will stay as close as it can. The vegepgymys will never be able to find it inside the walls.
The elf's eyes are wide behind the goggles.
"The spell is is called Aboleth's lung, have you heard of it?" Timur has not, but the name aboleth, spoken in the Darklands, lingers in the air like a curse. On the surface they are merely an arcane word, an old memory.
Here, aboleths are all too real.
Unaware Ioldihe nods, "After I touch you, you will be able to breath water for about two hours. Quite amazing really. Are you ready?"
Timur sighs.
"Even if I ain't, we don't have time to quibble about it. Work your magic as quickly and quietly as you can."
Timur pulls his everburning torch out of his haversack and tucks it under his cloak for easy underwater access.
The young looking elf mutters a prayer to a god Timur has never heard. 'Nethys'. The priest asks for knowledge and magical cunning before touching Timur's chest. Instantly he feels a burning sensation in his chest, a churning, boiling sensation. His lungs stop working and he starts to choke, eyes watering.
Ioldide ignores him and repeats the procedure on himself, after which he plunges below the surface. The dark water soon hides the elf perfectly.
Bloody magic...
Timur scrambles toward the water with less dignity than he'd like. Once beneath the water, he breathes experimentally. Confirming that he isn't going to drown, he pulls out his everburning torch and looks to Ioldihe. He tries signing to Ioldihe in Sakvroth, asking if he understands it.
A breath of water feels mighty strange to the dwarf but other then his bread floating in front of his face, he seems all right. The hand signs are obviously lost on the elf, who shakes his head. he will have to teach the cleric.
The water is dark but even without his light, Timur can see well-made steps leading down into darkness and the sides of the chamber are chiseled. Someone, perhaps long ago, worked this area.
Timur can see Ioldihe swimming closer to the walls, peering at it.
Timur sighs; a truly strange experience underwater. He swims over to inspect the walls along with Ioldihe. He holds his torch above him, casting light on as much as possible. His eyes may not need it to see in general, but his darkvision was devoid of color, which can sometimes be important.
The torch casts a buttery yellow light on the dark walls, light reflecting.
Engraved in the black stone is a mosaic, long damaged by water, with many stones missing. Timur can may out faint humanoid shapes, marching toward in great columns, led by glowing humanoids. Much is gone but it seems they are moving upward, somehow....
A line of text, faded and worn catches Timur's eyes. It is Dwarven!
Hard to read, he brings the light to bear and it says, "This temple built at the order of General Taargick, constructed by the Ever-Advancing Legion."
Ioldihe looks over, obviously confused.
Timur doesn't know much of Dwarven history but the name 'Taargick' is known to every dwarf. He was the leader of the Dwarven nation during the last part of the Quest for Sky. This temple...was that old? It was a holy relic beyond compare!
From above Timur can hear sounds, the vegepgymys no doubt.
Ioldihe looks confused and points downward where the stairs and crumbled mosaics lead.
Continuing down seems both the best bet and only option at this point. Timur keeps an eye on the walls as the two of them descend.