Pegulis, Chapter 8

[Nemopedia]

Ophanim Hayyoth

He felt confident. The hope he had lost and the fear he held back in the sewers seemed to have washed away with the water. The thought that there was something ominous following them had faded from his mind, as the clockmaker looked down into the darkness they were downing into. Carefully the group climbed their way down the pools, following the stream of water by the light the sage had lit up for them. Sleeves and legs were wet again, but Ophanim didn't mind it as much as before now. This water felt light and clean against his skin, neither was it freezing, or cold to touch, the liquid being a slightly warm, and comfortably cool at the same time.

However, the lukewarm water held one disadvantage for them. It caused the air to be humid and warm, making the cave they were moving in stuffy. That the access to fresh air was limited as well, so below the ground, made it only scarcer to divide around the group. With that train of thought Ophanim descended further down the pools, took a misstep once and felt himself slide away against the one in front of him. "S-Sorry," he mumbled at the girl who gave him a pointed look. The reluctant mix of voyagers didn't speak much to each other unless necessary, he guessed it was so that they could part from each other and never mention the other again when this was over.

Continuing in the silence from before the group passed down the dark road, following the glistering stream of water. The Avian did not know how much time had passed, and when he heard someone mumble about the hour they lived in he reminded himself of his profession. Of course he would, as a clockmaker, have something to measure the time with. However, it seemed that they would have to do it without the help of the clock. Ever since the fall down from the sewers his pocket watch had been screwed. Water having entered behind the glass and the delicate pieces inside of the clockwork had been damaged by the water. He would have to put it apart completely and dry each piece before getting it to work again, but now wasn't the time for that.

One thing was for certain, it had been way past his dining time, or times, leaving his stomach hungry and calling for food. He had however not packed any food with him when he set out for his journey. Stupid, now that he thought of it, for it didn't seem that there were any sources of food surrounding them either. It would seem that he will have to ask one of his companions, but in the time they had spent together he had seen none of them eating, so his assumption was that they had none. Surely they lot of them were suffering just as much as he did in the circumstances they were now. He just hoped that they were to reach their destination soon. Whatever their destination was.

Averagely they could spend thirty days without food. Ophanim knew that, but his body didn't it seemed as it felt weak and ready to devour itself. The sound their stomachs made to call out for food had long been ignored, the group having stopped apologising for the noise their bodies were making. At least they still had water, which they needed much more, but even that seemed to slim down as the water level was lower than it had been when they started to follow the stream.

"It is best to gather water now..." Medwick suddenly spoke to the group, halting as the rest followed suit. He was right, gathering water in bottles was their best guess for survival for now. Even if they were to run out soon it at least gave them a slightly bigger chance of reaching the end. Nodding a bit everyone started to fill their flasks, or whatever they had to contain water with in silence, trying to preserve their energy as much as possible.

Bending down to catch his fill of water the clockmaker realised how long they had been moving. His body felt sore and heavy from the long walk and his head ached. His jaw trembled as he tried to keep up a straight face, not wanted to come across as weak now, even if he felt like it. Everything screamed 'fatigue' at him, hunger and listlessness, the Avian would have lied down to rest for a while wasn't it for Amara who called the group together, having found something.

"Look at this," she spoke in a hushed voice, swiping her fingers over the marks she had found. Ash, a memory of whatever flame had lit there. There were more black spots that were of the same size as the one she had found. These marks weren't here at random, neither was it set up for a camp fire. It almost looked like they were there for a reason, but Ophanim couldn't think of what reason it could be, his head far too dizzy for him to think properly anymore. The hunter voiced the question that all of them thought, rubbing her thumb over her fingers as she examined the ash some more. "What's this?"

 

[unanun]

[ooc: some links lead to sound. turn your volume down]

PEGULIS
THUNDER FALLS​

"The Ghoul Sage is an old god."

The wind howled through the parapets of the old observation tower, where the Archon was being imprisoned for her safety. She closed her eyes and pushed the heel of her palms into them until she saw sparks. "That is almost unsurprising." There was a sudden steel in her voice as she stood to face the gathered cultists. "But there is no reason to trust you."

"Unfortunately, we had to take these necessary steps to isolate you, Archon. This was the only way to assure an undisturbed audience with you." Behind them, the prism door continued to shimmer despite a distinct lack of sunlight.

"We will be able to free Pegulis from the Ghoul Sage. He moves around Sunne by manipulating prism doors such as these. If we break them, he will be trapped inside the Barvelle mountains, and Pegulis will be free."

"Free to do what?"

"To dig as we please, for the Divine Weapons." In the hoods of their robes, Eirene could not see their hidden smiles.

~​

Time. There was too too much time, and not enough food, water, or sleep. Without the sun to guide them, they slept in fitful starts. They argued over ways to distribute the rations.

Medwick massaged a blackened cheek. Art held a poultice over an eye. The endless tunnels continued on and on, up and down, spiraling into a complete loss of direction and darkness. The group clung desperately to the light of the thermic arc lamp, a small globe of white in the crushing abyss.

"It's over. We're going to die." Art was doing the worst of them.

Never let your pack give up. Lie, cheat, kill, if it means the remaining ones can still hope. But Medwick was nearing the end of his tether. He could no longer keep water down, and wondered if Amara had rabies, from the one time she bit him in a heated disagreement. He felt dizzy, like when he climbed too high, too fast. He slumped against the tunnel wall and peeled the bandage over his chest open, looking at the blackening flesh.

Thermic poisoning? He would have to ask Eirene about it later.

"Maybe you are going to fucking die. Actually, if you did, that would save us some trouble. We could eat you, drink your blood, and continue for at least a few more days. And at the very least, we wouldn't have to listen to anymore of your whining."

"Fuck you!"

"If you have that much energy left, shut up and keep going then." The features of habitation remained faint, but traceable. Amara was worth her weight in gold, dropping low to sniff the footprints, tasting the ash, and trying to find direction in the scratches.

They were bound to hit something. Eventually. Even if it was death, at the hands of the Vonsoon.

"How can we even be sure you aren't in the Ghoul Sage's employ?" Ophanim piped quietly from the back.

"What?" Medwick's voice was incredulous.

"Showing out of nowhere . . . leading us down into this hellhole . . . and you seem to know this area." His fingers trembled, and they closed weakly around the handle of a knife. "I bet he sent you . . . to lead us down here to die." His eyes were bloodshot, deep pouches beneath them, and unfocused, looking past Medwick with a fever delirium.

"Are ... are you fucking seriou-"

"Sh!" Ethelwen's voice was uncharacteristically sharp, and his ears perked, swivelling in the direction of a faint echo.

Buw ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Ethelwen set his jaw in a grim line. He had heard the same mocking cackle before, and it was unforgettable. "Follow the laughter."

~​

Somewhere deep in the Barvelle mountains, more laughter of the same echoed. Inside, there was a rather angry painter, who already splashed multiple cultists around the cavern walls. The remaining six and sixteen formed a circle around him, having rushed out of a ring of prism doors.
​

"Muwahha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! FROM WHERE DOES YOUR CONFIDENCE COME? A SMALL SCRAP YOU PILFERED FROM MY DEAD COLLEAGUES? PERHAPS HOLDING SUCH TRINKETS MAKES YOU FEEL EMPOWERED?" The Ghoul Sage pushed and another cultist was smeared across the wall - but the barrier around him held.

"If omnipotence exists and that is where absolute confidence derives, unfortunately you are correct." The Nocturne at the head of the cultists examined his fingernails. He was a grey, consumptive creature, wasted from a century of life underground. His eyes were massive and luminous yellow, and rags hung on his bones. "But in our preparations, I have confidence that they are perfect."

"NOTHING YOU DO CAN STOP ME. WHEN I AM FREE FROM THESE BONDS YOUR DEATH WILL IMMEDIATELY FOLLOW."

"Until then." The Nocturned bowed and stepped into a prism door.
​

~​

General Coul stood on the observation terrace. The entrance to the outside of the mountain was a small crawhole, which led to a narrow ledge and an iron restraining bar to prevent accidental death. The wind howled and every movement of his feet sent tufts of snow cascading down into the mountain fog.

"General. Tell me what the Czar said."

If he was shocked that Archon Eirene suddenly joined him, he did not give much say much. He was still deluged with the issue of Barvelle's defense, and he kept running the projections over and over and over ...

"General."

Eirene gazed beyond the fog, to the smoke in the distance. "Are the Kaustir-Pegulis volcanoes erupting?"

"That is no volcano." He eyed the pillar of smoke and lightning.

"That is the marching doom."​

 

[WarriorHeart]

The Colonel

Mason was a stubborn man and so he sat upright and proper behind the simple wooden desk in his tent. Though right now, he would rather pound his head on the cold surface than jot down notes of excuses and minor victories in his journal. Mabari attended him to his right but was within shadows. Some believed it was a sign of respect for her human counterpart. Mason knew it was because Mabari didn't want to intimidate those who had to appear before the Colonel [his occasionally foul moods did a good enough job of that as it was].

"Does my lord wish me to delve further into the details?"

"NO! No…" Mason cleared his throat and met eyes with the engineer who stood before him. "The details won't be necessary. Thank you for your report, Mr. Hodgekiss. If there is nothing further-"

The engineer bowed and forced a smile through his cold face. "No, sir. I am finished." The man vanished from the tent leaving Mason alone for a moment.

The colonel lowered his head to his notes and scribbled furiously for a few moments before putting his quill down. He looked over to Mabari and met her gaze. She seemed anxious about something but wasn't communicating with him today. Mason was about to address this when the flap of his tent was flung open and a young man stepped inside. The elder soldier lifted his gaze and tried to appear not quite as stern as with the engineer. "Yes?"

"Colonel, it's time for my lesson, sir." The young man shyly. He looked down at his tattered clothes and dingy boots.

Mason smiled a bit and rose from his seat. When he spoke, there was a spark in his voice. "Quite right, Mr. Talleme. Quite right." The soldier moved from behind his desk and over towards his makeshift cot next to Mabari. "Math, I believe." The older man sat down and watched his student.

The young Mr. Talleme moved with uncertainty towards the desk and sat behind it. He pulled a small ledger from his clothes and set it before him. He thumbed through a few pages and stopped when he came to one that had multiple math problems written along one side. "Which ones?" His bright juvenile eyes looked towards his tutor.

"As many as you can get done, Mr. Talleme." Mason picked up a small journal and sat back into a pile of blankets and furs that were propped up against the dire wolf. The colonel quickly became lost in its pages.

*****
An excerpt from the journal of Wilhelm Kavactian:
~~~~~

It has been three weeks since we left the main army. The mercenaries lack the general discipline displayed by the Kaustir forces but I would weigh them as equals when it comes to brutality. The way race and upbringing are ignored is astonishing. Not in a bad way, but it's scary to realize that these people value skill above everything else. If a Nocturne is best suited for leadership, he leads. If a Draken is the best archer, he is given the best bow.

Draken: Lizard men who have ice in the veins and need external sources of heat to stay warm. Be wary of these creatures, my son, because they live only for slaughter and physical wealth.

I know this because there are several in our company. There is one who carries the medallion of my father, your grandfather. He is older now but his scars reveal that he is not a creature easily defeated. I have to go now. One day, Mason, I will return with my father's medallion to pass on to you.

~~~~~
*****

"Did I do this right, Colonel?"

Mason snapped back to his current state; a state of being cold. He looked to young Talleme and smiled then took the small ledger. The colonel straightened himself and looked over the assorted arithmetic scribbled on the pages. While the lad was not as neat as some, he definitely had a way with numbers. Mason used his index finger to trace after the shown work on a rather complex matter of probability versus morality. Mason's father used to hide moral dilemmas in common algebra and scientific reasoning problems. The colonel has done the same for many of the young folk he has tutored over the years. While Mason is not a brilliant man, he is more educated than a great many of the poor souls that surround him. Once he had finished checking the work of the boy, he looked to his pupil. "Not right…" Mason handed back the ledger then smiled. "You did them correctly."

Young Mr. Talleme shook the sad expression for a grin and snatched his ledger back. He took off out of the tent with a bounce in his step and this left a smile on the colonel's face. He lay down on his cot and curled up with as many blankets as he could squeeze. Suddenly, Mason shot up and grabbed the report from his desk. He tucked it into a scroll box and sealed it. He then popped his head out of the tent and into the blistering cold.

"Sergeant!"

An upright young man turned on a booted heel and marched to the colonel. "Sir?"

Mason handed him the scroll box. "Have a runner get this to the General and I mean yesterday." Once the handoff was complete, the commanding officer returned to his cot. Mabari curled up against him and the duo drifted off to sleep.