Winter on the southwestern coast of Aquis is generally a mild thing. The air does get colder certainly, but rarely does the area see much in the way of frozen precipitation. Cor found it quite nice in fact, as there always seemed to be a warmer wind blowing in off the sea from the south. As he was promised, Cor finally convinced Rael to show him the safe route to the ocean. They left Sanctum, taking the northbound road for about a half mile, then turned west toward the sea, which always lay within sight. When Cor looked back at Sanctum, he realized they had essentially come down a small mountain that Sanctum was perched upon, and they continued descending as they approached the water.
Cor marveled at the beach, an expanse of fine, pure white sand the likes of which he had never seen in his travels; he had only ever seen ports, docks and moorings. They walked south along this beach, which sloped steadily downward, Cor talking about the Narrow Sea and its difficulties. The sand was strange to walk on, not like solid ground; it shifted under his weight, making him feel extremely unsteady. He crouched down and dug his hands into the sand. Either because of the color or consistency under his feet, Cor expected it to feel like snow; it did not, and he wasn’t sure he cared for it.
The steep hill leading down to the beach finally gave way to a face of rock, which as they continued down the beach, began to tower above them. As they walked, Cor began to notice and recognize the rotten odor of low tide, which meant that this part of the beach was normally under water. This also meant that they could tarry only so long.
They reached what Rael announced was the bottom and was as far as they could go. There was little sand here and the area was littered with large rocks; Cor had no real desire to continue on as doing so meant hopping from rock to rock. He had little doubt that a broken leg could happen easily. He looked upward, craning his neck and saw the top spire of Sanctum, towering above him, and the dizzying height of it made Cor want to lose his balance, despite years at sea.
Cor was about ready to start the journey back up when he spotted something curious amidst the rocks further down. Cautiously, he went a little closer, Rael watching him closely, to see the entrance to a cave that was about as large as he. There were puddles of seawater just inside; no doubt the cave completely filled with water at times. Inspecting it from a short distance, Cor could tell the cave opened up further in. He wanted a closer look, but Rael called him back, saying it was time to leave before the tide came returned.
That night, sleep did not come easy to Cor. He had an uneasiness about his stomach and an anxiousness in his limbs. He felt as if he had forgotten to do something important and that he needed to do it immediately. Of course, he had no idea what this could be. He had already tried studying; in addition to everything else, Rael was teaching him Loszian, which by all accounts was an extremely bizarre language. Unable to concentrate, Cor forced himself to stay in bed, constantly tossing in a vain attempt to be comfortable. He would begin to doze, only to be pulled to his senses abruptly by some unknown thing.
He closed his eyes again and lay quite still for several minutes before realizing everything sounded wrong. Crickets and the howling of a dog in the distance replaced the ambient sound of ocean waves and wind. He bolted upright, opening his eyes to find his room, the keep and Sanctum to be gone. He sat on his mattress surrounded by an ancient ruin. Large worked stones lay everywhere within sight, worn down by weather or covered in moss, weeds and other foliage. The full moon illuminated the scene with extreme clarity, if surreally, and he stood and made his way through the labyrinth of destroyed walls up a grassy incline, vaguely wondering if he were dreaming.
At the top of the hill, Cor looked in all directions, stopping in awe when he looked to the east. A great trench of upturned soil, perhaps a mile wide cut its way through the countryside. The trench dug deeper and narrower into the ground as it continued away from him, ending in a fiery pit that billowed black smoke. Littered about the area, he could see hundreds more stones, clearly part of a building at some point, scattered all about the area. Again, they looked ancient, edges worn by the elements, covered in moss and grass in stark contrast to the fresh trench.
Cor made his way back down the slope to the main ruin, inspecting it quite closely. From what he could see of the ancient foundation, it was smaller than Sanctum, perhaps half the overall size of Sanctum’s keep. He found the remains of two sets of stone spiral stairs on the north and south side of the ruin, and they clearly ascended, though there were only a few steps of each left. He made his way back to the middle of the ruin and sat down heavily on his mattress, resting his chin on his knuckles. Clearly, the only option was to wait until the dream ended.
There was a slight sound behind him, like the creak of a wood floor. The sound surprised Cor; he turned abruptly, and the movement sent a shudder through the mattress, followed by the sound of cracking wood planks. Too late Cor realized what was about to happen, and the mattress, with him atop, crashed downward through a wood trap door, weak and rotten with age. Cor landed, still on the mattress, with a jarring thud on solid ground. He lay there for a moment and looking up, he could see faint moonlight peering through the hole above. In the gloom it wasn’t easy to see how far down he was, but he knew he would need to find another way out.
Cor sat up slowly, taking stock of his surroundings. He was on a floor of smooth stone, caked with ages of dust, and the room or cavern was apparently immense, as he could not see a wall in any direction. He sat in the middle of a wide lane, which was flanked on either side by small stone buildings, none more than ten feet in any dimension. They were gray with heavy oak doors and were largely unadorned except some had glyphs on the doors themselves. Outside of every other building stood a metal stand, each containing a torch which burned giving off black smoke.
It seemed to Cor he had one of two main directions to go; he could walk between the buildings, which he assumed were crypts, but there were no torches beyond this lane. He began to walk one direction. The flickering torchlight cast bizarre shadows on and between the crypts, causing him to constantly turn towards shaped that weren’t there, and he quickened his pace, paranoia building.
After forty or fifty feet, the rows of crypts came to an end, and with them the torch stands, but the room continued, and somehow he knew he was going the right direction. Cor carefully removed the last torch from its holder, and he was surprised by its weight. Holding the torch as high as he could, Cor continued in the same direction counting his steps. After about twenty paces, Cor began to panic; he was surrounded by darkness. He could no longer see the light from the other torches, and his illuminated little beyond five or six feet. After looking in all directions, he couldn’t even be sure which way he faced anymore. Cor calmed himself, trying to keep in mind this had to be a dream, and he stood quietly for several minutes before continuing on his way, certain that he continued on the same path.
After another ten paces, Cor could see two points of orange light. Uncertainly, he continued forward, slowly closing the distance, and as he approached, he realized the points of orange light were burning torches. The room ended here; a solid gray expanse of stone formed a wall leading upwards and to the left and right. Two torch stands flanked a heavy wooden door. Cor ran to the door certain he had reached his destination. It was of heavy oak, banded by black iron and showed no signs of decrepit age. The door had two glyphs branded into it, which he recognized from the ancient language Rael made him study. The first glyph stood for Lord Dahken; the second was clearly a proper name, but Cor could not decipher it. He knew that he needed a way out, not a tomb, but something drew him inexorably onward.
Cor gently pushed his hand against the side of the door opposite its hinges; he found it solid and unmoving. He added more strength behind his push and made the door give slightly before settling back into its position. Somewhat warily of the dust coating the floor, Cor set his torch down and placed both hands on the door. He braced his feet against the floor and pushed w
ith his legs driving into the door. It began to give, slowly at first, then a little more freely as he forced it ajar.
The opening was little more than a foot wide, but it was wide enough for Cor to slip through. The room beyond was pitch black inside, and he picked up his torch before carefully passing the door. The next room was relatively small, and he could see the ceiling a mere four or five feet overhead. There was a wall only a few feet to his right stemming from the wall with the door, and the wall opposite the door was perhaps only ten paces away. Inlaid into that wall was a stone shelf, upon which lay three pieces of armor; he knew it was not a way out that he sought, but these.
Cor crossed the room quickly, discarding a burnt out torch from a nearby stand and inserting his own to free both his hands. The armor gleamed solid black in the torch’s light and looked as if it had never been used; it was not rusted from time, nor scraped or dented from battle. It was too large for Cor, clearly made for a man.
He inspected them each in turn, starting with a set of legguards. They consisted of four metal plates, curved slightly, one for the front of each thigh and shin. The plates were connected in front by black chain mail and had leather straps to secure them around the back of the legs, with two additional straps at the top, likely to attach to ones girdle or belt. The hauberk was similar, made of solid black plate. It was molded to resemble a well muscled male torso and would cover from just above the waist to the shoulders on most men. Cor could see a layer of chain mail that would hang down slightly below the shoulders. The front and back of the hauberk buckled together just under the arm.
The helm shocked Cor, for it was unlike anything he had ever seen. Also made of gleaming black plate, it was rounder than a normal man’s head. Almost perfectly circular, it had the bulbous look of an inhuman insect monstrosity. The helm seemed bizarre in purpose, for it covered the head, but not the entirety of one’s face. Its protection stopped at the nose, and the plate from the back of the head wrapped around to cover the cheeks and jaw, but the neck and mouth remained exposed completely. The helm had no visor, nothing to allow the wearer sight at all. Cor leaned forward, inspecting it closely, then deciding to try on the helm. He gently grasped it between his hands and lifted it slightly; despite the solid steel appearance, it weighed almost nothing at all.
Cor raised it from its resting place and suddenly stopped, holding very still. When he entered the tomb, he hadn’t looked at the left side of the room and was convinced someone was standing there. He slowly put the helm down and reached for his sword and fetish, but of course, he did not have them; they were in his room in Sanctum, wherever exactly that was. While he had never seen a bear before, he understood very well what they were, and he couldn’t help feeling that one was regarding him very quietly. Cor haltingly turned to face that side of the room. He didn’t know what he would see and was convinced he didn’t want to.
An immense clang erupted in the distance, and the room dissolved before him. Cor opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling of his room, lying on his mattress, which had just been on the floor of a great catacomb. His sword leaned against the wall where he always left it, his fetish tucked into the swordbelt. Cor sat up, momentarily confused. He opened the shutter on his window and could see the sky beginning to lighten with dawn’s first light. Cor could hear movement in the larder; no doubt Rael had dropped a pot or skillet. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, belted on his sword and trudged out of his room to join Rael.
* * *
In the depths of a dark cavern smoothed by human hands, a form shifted slightly. It removed its hands from their stone resting place and steepled them in thought. It stared at the stone shelf, on which rested three pieces of gleaming black armor. The form closed its eyes and returned to its repose.
12.