A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands - Book 2: Chapter 49: The Belly of the Beast

The air was tumultuous, yearning for freedom from the domain of her parents, eager to explore beyond the reach of the expansive primordial oceans and the tranquil, silent night. Distressed by this, Water and Darkness endeavored to craft both a haven and guardian for their wayward daughter, aiming to keep her from the emptiness that lay in the great beyond. This they called the Earth.

– The Birth of the Gesthe, by an unknown author.

Bathed by the light of my golden Aura, a dance of shadow and light presented a room filled with large earthenware pots. Interesting, I mused. After a closer inspection of one of the pots, I attempted to pry its lid off, but found it stubbornly sealed. Applying more force might risk damaging this ancient artifact. I briefly considered shattering the pot to check for any hidden treasures, but my inner historian instantly vetoed that sacrilegious thought. I chose another pot at random, and this time I succeeded in opening it. Curiously, I took a cautious look inside.

Inside, the pot harbored dark brown crystals closely resembling black sugar. This was a small stroke of fortune, for food would be no small boon here, but I had to be careful. I had to check for sure.

Corpse Honey

Durability 64/65

An Identify spell revealed a somewhat macabre name for the contents of the pot. Yet, despite this ominous label, I was aware that honey could endure for thousands of years, remaining perfectly edible. Moreover, if it happened to be tainted or had merely spoiled, my robust Constitution and the Purify spell in my arsenal would allow me to easily negate any repercussions. It was amusing to think that I, who once had such a delicate stomach, was now ready to consume some ancient honey discovered underground without a second thought.

Sampling a small portion, I discovered that it certainly lived up to the ‘honey’ part of its name, although the ‘corpse’ element still had me apprehensive. It was likely named after the flower that the honey-making bees had harvested, or something along those lines, I justified to myself. Sampling another bite, I had to spit out an inedible fragment, a small chip of white. I would have to be careful not to choke when eating the honey.

I then spent the subsequent twenty minutes inspecting the rest of the room, which only revealed yet more earthenware pots. Having not experienced any adverse effects from my recent risky indulgence, I concluded that it was safe for consumption.

A pot itself would be too heavy to lug around with me, so I made do by wrapping some of the crystallized honey in a few leaves, and stuffing it into my pouch. I inspected the other pots, the ones I could open at least, finding them all uniformly filled with Corpse Honey.

Finding no more in the room, I retreated to the corridor to uncover more of this enigmatic place. Equipped with light, sustenance, and a reserve of Mana, and buoyed by my recent victory, I felt that I was in a reasonable state. A swift pull from my water flask brought me some relief, the precious item thankfully not lost in my recent ordeals. Still, the need for more water hung over me, an issue not yet urgent but becoming increasingly critical.

The passage subtly inclined upward, a detail that kindled a tiny flame of hope within me. Could this lead me out of this dreadful place? A deep dive into my emotional state revealed neither fear nor anxiety. I wondered, could this tranquility be the result of my prolonged use of the Holy Aura spell, something I had never sustained for such a length of time before? Yet, contemplating this seemed premature, like putting the cart before the horse.

For an indeterminate span of time, I trudged on, alone in a circle of light besieged by the oppressive darkness, the echo of my footsteps as my only company. The passage held no branching paths, no additional rooms, just an unending tunnel, seemingly leading to nowhere.

Then, an ominous click sounded beneath my foot, followed by the grating hum of machinery. From the darkness to my left, an object collided with my pauldron, while yet another skittered across my thick cuisse. With my adrenaline surging, I quickly retreated from the suspect tile and crouched low, reducing my silhouette and covering my helm’s eyeslits with an armored gauntlet. A barrage of projectiles peppered my armor, each strike echoing in the tight confines of the passage. When the final bolt had clanged harmlessly away, silence once again descended. With my heart pounding against my ribs, I dared a cautious look around.

Spent metal darts littered the floor, resembling fish spilled from nets after the morning catch. I had been a victim of a dastardly trap. Of course there would be traps here, I thought bitterly. By dint of bad luck, some of the darts had found their way through the weak points of my armor, namely the joints, cutting in shallowly through the layer of mail. A minor annoyance, and a quick glance at my Status showed that I had suffered only minor damage from the sprung trap. Nevertheless, a man could still die from a thousand cuts. A grimace twisted my face as I observed the sorry state of my robes, now reduced to tattered shreds. Frustration welled within me, prompting a muttered curse directed at the world at large.

I inspected one of the darts, bringing the missile close to my face. It was a simple thing, made of wood and was the size of a large pencil, with a sharp metal tip. If I had not been so heavily-armored, the storm of darts could have done some real damage. Not serious damage, of course, considering the prodigious amount of Health points I had. I doubted that even a stab in the heart could kill me as I was. Annoyed, I threw the thing down onto the floor where it joined its brothers.

Now, not only was I dealing with wandering undead revenant monsters, but now I also had to contend with devious traps. I would have to be more careful as I progressed through this dingy hell.

I got down on all fours, brushing aside several darts to examine the floor more closely. Right before the ‘pressure plate’ I had inadvertently stepped on, blocky ideographic script framed by stylized scorpions was inscribed upon stone. While I was hesitant to waste Mana, something compelled me to decipher its meaning. It was a curiosity I could not ignore.

“Step lightly, or dance eternally in my hall. Welcome to you, believers and honored guests,” was what my Identify spell revealed to me. “The builder of this trap had a dark sense of humor, at least,” I said to myself, almost hissing. Such pointless drivel.

Now, a new decision awaited me: did I press on and brave possibly more traps, or double back and try another route? The prudent and logical course would have been to retrace my steps and choose a different course, but a part of me wanted to find out who had been responsible for the trap. To bring them to justice for their crime against me.

So, with my sword in hand and a stern resolve in my heart, I continued. My Holy Aura illuminated the path, parting the darkness with ease, yet I moved slowly at first, my recent encounter urging me to caution. I tapped each new tile with my sword, ears tuned for the telltale sound of clicking gears. However, as no new danger emerged, my caution began to fade. After taking another fifty steps, the monotony of my exploration was interrupted by the unveiling of another trap.

This time, there was no stone-carved message, just a wire stretched across the passageway at shin height. I chuckled at the simplicity of its design and, in my arrogance, I merely stepped over it. But this time, there was no audible click. Instead, I felt a brief shift in the air before something hit me from behind with the force of a stampeding bull, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

I coughed blood as I lay on the cool stone floor, feasting on a rare banquet of pain. Something vital inside of me had broken, and I wanted to do nothing more than curl up into a ball. The voices within, ever my companions, whispered encouragement and urged me to live. Shock threatened to overwhelm me, but somehow I found it within me to cast my basic Heal spell, giving shape to the incantation. The magic of the spell raced against the damage that threatened to undo me. For a moment it was a close thing, but Heal, bolstered by Holy Aura, won the day.

Regenerating flesh strained against impacted steel. The groan of metal was followed by a popping sound. Though my cuirass still felt very tight, at least now I could breathe. The crushing pressure about my chest was now relieved.

I drank deeply of the stale musty air, the heady substance of life filling my lungs. Of the thing that had struck me, there was no sign. Struggling to my feet, a hysterical sob came over me. I had faced yet another close call with my fragile mortality.

Incongruously, tears of embarrassment, of all things, tracked down my face. I felt only glad that here, alone in this bleak place, there had been no one to witness my misfortune. This was the price for letting my guard down, and in turn, the vicissitudes of fate had not been kind.

There were two new notifications that I had completely failed to register. One of which was a gain to Constitution, followed by another that grated and set a fire to my belly, dispelling my self-pity.

You have Trap Detection (lvl.1)

Heedless and uncaring of other things that may lay in wait in the darkness, I screamed in frustration with the full force of newly-healed lungs. I had thrown caution to the wind. Let them come. Let all of them come.

Yet, none were drawn to my challenge. Not beast nor revenant, and the silence swallowed up my pathetic battle cry. With my face growing hot at my momentary lapse of control, I decided it best to put some distance between here and whatever might be coming for me.

I could not discern what my new Trap skill was doing exactly. Was it a passive skill, or something I had to directly invoke? At level one, it was not something I could rely on to shield me. So, I proceeded with caution, worry hounding each of my steps. Luck must have been with me, for I encountered no new traps.

Finally, after an eternity of slow plodding progress, I arrived at what I could only assume to be a large hall. Light did not diffuse naturally in this place. The golden light of my Holy Aura provided only a small sphere of illumination, stopping at a certain point and leaving the rest of the room submerged in a murky gray. Despite these conditions, I could still see that this place was lined with finely-crafted and highly-detailed statues on raised plinths. Carved from fine marble, they were of a monstrous aspect. Amalgamations of man and exotic beast, meticulously crafted with lifelike precision. Trapped, frozen forever in their own existence and horrific in their exquisite art.

In stark contrast to the statues, at the end of the hall was a large crude altar. A monolith to the profane. I moved closer to the simple stone construction as if drawn by some other force. A presence that was alien, yet tantalizingly familiar, filled this foreboding place. Then all there was, all that existed, was a shouted command, demanding obedience, that reverberated through my soul.

“KNEEL!” cried a female voice filled with divine authority.

My knees almost buckled at the force of the command. The dark voices rallied behind me, propping up my flagging will with their own.

“KNEEL! Bow down before the presence of Iasis, Mother of Monsters, Mistress of the Twisted Helix” the voice intoned again, though this time I could feel its influence over me weaken. Almost imperceptibly weaken, but still, weaken nonetheless.

“No…” I cried hoarsely, the long-smoldering coals of rebellion turning into a hot flame. I was in the presence of a godling, and I would not accept their authority over me.