The Deep Places of the World: The Crypt of the Tainted, p2

Meravyel wasn't certain that Galen would get the turnout his endeavor would require. He wanted to activate and attempt to defeat whatever powers were bound by the altar within the Bedlam cemetery's central mausoleum. A part of her thrilled at the idea. A part of her dreaded the discovery. As time passed and her experiences mounted, she found that she did believe some things are best left unknown or undiscovered. Still, the dangerous curiosity that fueled her, continued to drive her in these pursuits. She could not refuse to at least try.
The mausoleum contained a set of stairs leading downward into what was once a simple and small Crypt. Three sarcophagi lined the western wall of the hall that stretched out from the stair landing. But to the east... excavation younger than that of the original crypt opened up into what could only be a lecture hall. Stools, in surprising repair, lined the north and south sides of the central, depressed area. Flagstones were laid to form a floor and stairs. At its center, instead of a podium, stood the altar. Along the eastern wall were larger, stone chairs. Meravyel presumed these would serve as seats for professors, or whoever might've headed whatever surely secret society created this place.

To the north and south were areas that contained bookshelves. They were largely bare. Again, flagstones had been laid to form an even floor. To the south was what Meravyel determined to be a 'laboratory' area of the hall. Blood, older than perhaps even she, stained the tables and the floor. Nearly all remnants of any equipment that may have been here were long ago removed or looted. Or possibly broken and dissolved by the acid of the interred grizzles that were likely created here.

Rumors paired with research helped to prepare her for what was to come. Perhaps not to face the creature that waited for a worthy challenger, but for those things that made the challenger worthy. She sought the finest smiths and tailors to be certain her armor was in good repair. She met with a reclusive alchemist in Cove and had her kimono treated with a chemical the woman claimed would resist disease and decay. Meravyel did not intend to bring any 'surprises' with her from the journey. If she returned. If any of them did. She also bought the strongest bowstring she could find. She filled her quiver impossibly full. It would mean death to run out of ammunition down there.

All in all, the assault went as hoped. The first waves of attacks were easily handled by the energy vortices summoned by the mages on hand.

When discussing the monsters they were likely to face, Meravyel posed the question of whether or not paralysis still functioned against Plague Beast Lords, as it once did in the Yewish Swamps. Someone in the crowd claimed it would not hold them, in that place. Meravyel frowned, but nodded. She was no mage, and therefore couldn't test the theory herself.

Yet, when the third wave hit and the plague beast lords began to grow more and more powerful by dissolving and absorbing the corpses of the fallen around them... One mage dared to try. And it worked! Meravyel hurried over, dismissing her shadowy unicorn steed and drawing her dagger from her belt. It couldn't move or lash out, but it's life functions continued. The plague beast lord's body gurgled and writhed within the effects of the paralysis. She hesitated for only a moment, her stomach threatening to tumble out the contents of her dinner...

Her dagger met surprising resistance against the rubbery flesh of the plague beast lord. The blade pierced through the thing's "skin" with a sickening pop, and the sigh of escaping gas. She held her breath and wrenched her dagger across the beast's form. It took all of her strength and a little leverage. She nearly slipped in the slimy blood that spilled from the beast. The foot-long gash she cut into it split further open of its own accord, and the indistinguishable stew that comprised the monster's internal workings gushed forth and across the already slick stones.

This was repeated whenever she saw a nearby mage paralyze one of the lords.

"Paralysis works! Use it on the Beast Lords!" She shouted to those that could hear her over the din of grizzle bones scraping on the flagstones, acid hissing through metal, leather, and flesh, and the screams of those burning.

Things seemed to move more quickly after that. The third wave died, and from the thick layer of decaying body fluids rose clouds of disease and decay. They seemed sentient, but scattered in their focus. Meravyel fired an arrow into the mist, aiming carefully should her arrow pass through the other side... The mist closed around the shaft, but quickly pulled away. The enchantments on her arrows seemed to harm it. As she watched the others battle the clouds, their results seemed similar.

She fired faster and with more confidence. Pausing once or twice, she concentrated and created her own animates from the remains of the plague beast lords. They mindlessly fought the clouds, immune to the sprays of diseased mist they ejected. There were also mummies... but Meravyel caught details that didn't fit with what she knew of traditional mummies. The bandages, and even the flesh of these creatures seemed more... decayed. The essence of a mummy was that of a preserved corpse. These more closely resembled bandaged rotting corpses. She wasn't going to let one get close enough to touch her.

Nor would many others, from the looks of things.

As three clouds closed in around her, a hunger seeming to pulse through them, there was a howl from the center of the lecture hall. Her attention snapped to the altar. Standing on the altar, it's misshapen legs easily straddling the Idol... was a very large grizzle. It looked less like a construct and more like... something else. The sound that issued from it made her skin crawl and her hair stand on end. Despite the sticky, disgusting heat of the enclosed cavern, Meravyel shivered as an unnatural chill passed through her.

The clouds took advantage of her momentary distraction. All three of them darted forward, enveloping her. Fire erupted around her in the dampness of the clouds. Flamestrikes from mages turned the clouds into steam that rose to the ceiling. As the clouds evaporated away, two other mages cast cleansing spells over Meravyel. She looked again to the center of the fray.

The creature swung one of its massive limbs. A darkly clothed figure flew back, landing heavily on the upper flagstones. It was Galen. Of course the peredhil would be the first to charge down something like this. Again, she shivered. The sight of the beast unsettled the elfmaid like few other things could.

By the time she slogged through the fallen remains of the waves of beasts that kept this creature's secrets, it had fallen. The group that had gathered for this journey had worked surprisingly well, and effectively considering the enclosed space and the strength of the waves...

Galen regained his feet just before the creature perished, and Meravyel's worry faded.

The group cleared fairly quickly, once the meager treasures had been picked over. Meravyel summoned her steed, so that she wouldn't have to walk through the sludge... Her feet were bare, and now burnt by the acid of the grizzles.

Spoz, Galen's former guildmaster and leader of the Warriors of Redemption, lingered for a moment. Meravyel was always secretly pleased when she saw WoR participate in these ventures. Some of their numbers had come to assist her with Serrado the Awakened. Without them, paired with the others that came, she was certain the task would have been doomed to failure.

The two men exchanged words and saluted one another, and Spoz rode out of the Crypt.

Meravyel could hear the voices of a few lingerers nearer to the stairs, but only she and Galen remained in the lecture hall.

"I now understand why no mention was ever made of this place," Galen half-mumbled, with a cigarette between his lips. He took one long drag, looked at it, and then extinguished it. "There is naught here but death."

Meravyel looked around. His observation was certainly not incorrect, even if incomplete. "There's a lot more than death here. There's-"

Galen held up a hand, something having caught his eye. Meravyel allowed the interruption and fell silent; she wasn�t ready to share her thoughts on the subject anyway. Her eyes followed his gaze. He pointed, as he dismounted, to the altar. "What's that?"

"An altar?" Meravyel smirked, likewise dismissing her mount and wincing as her feet touched the stones. The chemical burns would need treated, but were not any more disabling than a brush-burned knee.

He knelt on one of the stone steps, and gestured more specifically to some markings. "These."

He moved to give Meravyel space when she knelt and leaned in to study what had caught his eye. She pulled off her gloves and ran her fingertips over the markings. "Chemical burns." She nodded to a nearby broken and bleeding grizzle. Its blood still hissed where it touched the blood of other fallen creatures.

"No, it looks too much like writing." Galen frowned. Either at the idea, or at her reluctance to grant his finding more credence.

Meravyel pursed her lips. Her curiosity and good sense warred with one another. She thought the same thing, but did she really want to know what it said? She sighed and looked again. Her eyes narrowed. "It is shorthand."

"Shorthand for what?" He had surprising patience with her.

"Necromantic shorthand." It was as if she didn't hear him, or wasn't listening. As if she were speaking out loud, to herself. "Normally only used by advanced level students. It isn't all that current either." Her fingers caressed the grooves. Most of them she couldn't make out. Only three symbols were clearly legible.

"How do you...?" Galen stopped. Perhaps he didn't want to know. Perhaps he already did.

"It's an older dialect. Most of it is too worn to make out reliably. It was probably carved with a horn." Her eyes searched the ground near them and she found a grizzle horn that had been broken off in the battle. "Dipped in the acid. The lines are too precise to be anything else." She pulled a flask from her pocket. She had taken the time to fill three of these with grizzle blood. In a demonstration, she dipped the horn into the acid. It didn't burn away like most other things. Using the tip of the horn, she added her own symbol to the end of the still legible ones.

"What does that say?"

"Defeated."

"The first part."

She offered him a wry smile. She put the flask away, and wrapped the horn up and put it in her satchel. She had collected a few others for later study as well. "As near as I can tell, it appears to be a warning." She pointed to a faded symbol. "That should be 'beware'. And here..." she pointed to the three symbols.

Galen waited, looking at her.

"Ilhenir the Stained."

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> Meravyel wasn't certain that Galen would get the turnout his endeavor would require. He wanted to activate and attempt to defeat whatever powers were bound by the altar within the Bedlam cemetery's central mausoleum. A part of her thrilled at the idea. A part of her dreaded the discovery. As time passed and her experiences mounted, she found that she did believe some things are best left unknown or undiscovered. Still, the dangerous curiosity that fueled her, continued to drive her in these pursuits. She could not refuse to at least try. > The mausoleum contained a set of stairs leading downward into what was once a simple and small Crypt. Three sarcophagi lined the western wall of the hall that stretched out from the stair landing. But to the east... excavation younger than that of the original crypt opened up into what could only be a lecture hall. Stools, in surprising repair, lined the north and south sides of the central, depressed area. Flagstones were laid to form a floor and stairs. At its center, instead of a podium, stood the altar. Along the eastern wall were larger, stone chairs. Meravyel presumed these would serve as seats for professors, or whoever might've headed whatever surely secret society created this place. > To the north and south were areas that contained bookshelves. They were largely bare. Again, flagstones had been laid to form an even floor. To the south was what Meravyel determined to be a 'laboratory' area of the hall. Blood, older than perhaps even she, stained the tables and the floor. Nearly all remnants of any equipment that may have been here were long ago removed or looted. Or possibly broken and dissolved by the acid of the interred grizzles that were likely created here. > Rumors paired with research helped to prepare her for what was to come. Perhaps not to face the creature that waited for a worthy challenger, but for those things that made the challenger worthy. She sought the finest smiths and tailors to be certain her armor was in good repair. She met with a reclusive alchemist in Cove and had her kimono treated with a chemical the woman claimed would resist disease and decay. Meravyel did not intend to bring any 'surprises' with her from the journey. If she returned. If any of them did. She also bought the strongest bowstring she could find. She filled her quiver impossibly full. It would mean death to run out of ammunition down there. > All in all, the assault went as hoped. The first waves of attacks were easily handled by the energy vortices summoned by the mages on hand. > When discussing the monsters they were likely to face, Meravyel posed the question of whether or not paralysis still functioned against Plague Beast Lords, as it once did in the Yewish Swamps. Someone in the crowd claimed it would not hold them, in that place. Meravyel frowned, but nodded. She was no mage, and therefore couldn't test the theory herself. > Yet, when the third wave hit and the plague beast lords began to grow more and more powerful by dissolving and absorbing the corpses of the fallen around them... One mage dared to try. And it worked! Meravyel hurried over, dismissing her shadowy unicorn steed and drawing her dagger from her belt. It couldn't move or lash out, but it's life functions continued. The plague beast lord's body gurgled and writhed within the effects of the paralysis. She hesitated for only a moment, her stomach threatening to tumble out the contents of her dinner... > Her dagger met surprising resistance against the rubbery flesh of the plague beast lord. The blade pierced through the thing's "skin" with a sickening pop, and the sigh of escaping gas. She held her breath and wrenched her dagger across the beast's form. It took all of her strength and a little leverage. She nearly slipped in the slimy blood that spilled from the beast. The foot-long gash she cut into it split further open of its own accord, and the indistinguishable stew that comprised the monster's internal workings gushed forth and across the already slick stones. > This was repeated whenever she saw a nearby mage paralyze one of the lords. > "Paralysis works! Use it on the Beast Lords!" She shouted to those that could hear her over the din of grizzle bones scraping on the flagstones, acid hissing through metal, leather, and flesh, and the screams of those burning. > Things seemed to move more quickly after that. The third wave died, and from the thick layer of decaying body fluids rose clouds of disease and decay. They seemed sentient, but scattered in their focus. Meravyel fired an arrow into the mist, aiming carefully should her arrow pass through the other side... The mist closed around the shaft, but quickly pulled away. The enchantments on her arrows seemed to harm it. As she watched the others battle the clouds, their results seemed similar. > She fired faster and with more confidence. Pausing once or twice, she concentrated and created her own animates from the remains of the plague beast lords. They mindlessly fought the clouds, immune to the sprays of diseased mist they ejected. There were also mummies... but Meravyel caught details that didn't fit with what she knew of traditional mummies. The bandages, and even the flesh of these creatures seemed more... decayed. The essence of a mummy was that of a preserved corpse. These more closely resembled bandaged rotting corpses. She wasn't going to let one get close enough to touch her. > Nor would many others, from the looks of things. > As three clouds closed in around her, a hunger seeming to pulse through them, there was a howl from the center of the lecture hall. Her attention snapped to the altar. Standing on the altar, it's misshapen legs easily straddling the Idol... was a very large grizzle. It looked less like a construct and more like... <i>something else</i>. The sound that issued from it made her skin crawl and her hair stand on end. Despite the sticky, disgusting heat of the enclosed cavern, Meravyel shivered as an unnatural chill passed through her. > The clouds took advantage of her momentary distraction. All three of them darted forward, enveloping her. Fire erupted around her in the dampness of the clouds. Flamestrikes from mages turned the clouds into steam that rose to the ceiling. As the clouds evaporated away, two other mages cast cleansing spells over Meravyel. She looked again to the center of the fray. > The creature swung one of its massive limbs. A darkly clothed figure flew back, landing heavily on the upper flagstones. It was Galen. Of course the <i>peredhil</i> would be the first to charge down something like this. Again, she shivered. The sight of the beast unsettled the elfmaid like few other things could. > By the time she slogged through the fallen remains of the waves of beasts that kept this creature's secrets, it had fallen. The group that had gathered for this journey had worked surprisingly well, and effectively considering the enclosed space and the strength of the waves... > Galen regained his feet just before the creature perished, and Meravyel's worry faded. > The group cleared fairly quickly, once the meager treasures had been picked over. Meravyel summoned her steed, so that she wouldn't have to walk through the sludge... Her feet were bare, and now burnt by the acid of the grizzles. > Spoz, Galen's former guildmaster and leader of the Warriors of Redemption, lingered for a moment. Meravyel was always secretly pleased when she saw WoR participate in these ventures. Some of their numbers had come to assist her with Serrado the Awakened. Without them, paired with the others that came, she was certain the task would have been doomed to failure. > The two men exchanged words and saluted one another, and Spoz rode out of the Crypt. > Meravyel could hear the voices of a few lingerers nearer to the stairs, but only she and Galen remained in the lecture hall. > "I now understand why no mention was ever made of this place," Galen half-mumbled, with a cigarette between his lips. He took one long drag, looked at it, and then extinguished it. "There is naught here but death." > Meravyel looked around. His observation was certainly not incorrect, even if incomplete. "There's a lot more than death here. There's-" > Galen held up a hand, something having caught his eye. Meravyel allowed the interruption and fell silent; she wasn�t ready to share her thoughts on the subject anyway. Her eyes followed his gaze. He pointed, as he dismounted, to the altar. "What's that?" > "An altar?" Meravyel smirked, likewise dismissing her mount and wincing as her feet touched the stones. The chemical burns would need treated, but were not any more disabling than a brush-burned knee. > He knelt on one of the stone steps, and gestured more specifically to some markings. "These." > He moved to give Meravyel space when she knelt and leaned in to study what had caught his eye. She pulled off her gloves and ran her fingertips over the markings. "Chemical burns." She nodded to a nearby broken and bleeding grizzle. Its blood still hissed where it touched the blood of other fallen creatures. > "No, it looks too much like writing." Galen frowned. Either at the idea, or at her reluctance to grant his finding more credence. > Meravyel pursed her lips. Her curiosity and good sense warred with one another. She thought the same thing, but did she really want to know what it said? She sighed and looked again. Her eyes narrowed. "It is shorthand." > "Shorthand for what?" He had surprising patience with her. > "Necromantic shorthand." It was as if she didn't hear him, or wasn't listening. As if she were speaking out loud, to herself. "Normally only used by advanced level students. It isn't all that current either." Her fingers caressed the grooves. Most of them she couldn't make out. Only three symbols were clearly legible. > "How do you...?" Galen stopped. Perhaps he didn't want to know. Perhaps he already did. > "It's an older dialect. Most of it is too worn to make out reliably. It was probably carved with a horn." Her eyes searched the ground near them and she found a grizzle horn that had been broken off in the battle. "Dipped in the acid. The lines are too precise to be anything else." She pulled a flask from her pocket. She had taken the time to fill three of these with grizzle blood. In a demonstration, she dipped the horn into the acid. It didn't burn away like most other things. Using the tip of the horn, she added her own symbol to the end of the still legible ones. > "What does that say?" > "Defeated." > "The first part." > She offered him a wry smile. She put the flask away, and wrapped the horn up and put it in her satchel. She had collected a few others for later study as well. "As near as I can tell, it appears to be a warning." She pointed to a faded symbol. "That should be 'beware'. And here..." she pointed to the three symbols. > Galen waited, looking at her. > "Ilhenir the Stained."
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