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{{Before and after |
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<blockquote>'''''"All Folk, from birth, sense that death is upon them. They spend our lives trying to ignore the call of the Void."''''' - Althaanii 1:1</blockquote> |
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| left = None |
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| right = [[Tale:Fear of Death|Fear of Death]] |
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}} |
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{{quote |
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|text='''All Folk, from birth, sense that death is upon them. They spend our lives trying to ignore the call of the Void.''' |
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|sign=Althaanii 1:1 |
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}} |
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---- |
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Vand scaled the crumbling staircase, moving on all fours to make his escape faster, each step being his shin's height above the last. ''Why do we keep them like this?'' he thought, ''Why should '''we''' be the ones to accomodate '''them'''?'' Just as he shifted his weight to the next step, it cracked apart and fell to the darkness below. Barely, just barely, he caught himself by his back foot on the edge of the staircase. |
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"Mot curse this!" he swore, hoisting himself up with his underdeveloped core strength. Seated on the staircase, catching his breath, he took out a small clay tablet from his rucksack and began to run his clawed finger over it. Eyes closed, reading it, his breathing started to slow. "I'm here. I'm still living," he sighed as he stashed the tablet and continued to climb. |
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Vand scaled the crumbling staircase, moving on all fours to make his escape faster, each step being his shin's height above the last. ''Why do we keep them like this?'' he thought, ''Why should ''we'' be the ones to accomodate ''them''?'' Just as he shifted his weight to the next step, it cracked apart and fell to the darkness below. Barely, just barely, he caught himself by his back foot on the edge of the staircase. |
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The surrounding tunnel was almost completely vertical. The staircase had to almost constantly spiral, barely attached to the stone walls, to extend upwards. Moss, lichen, and fungi spread across the cavern walls, luminescent mushrooms providing the only source of light. In fact, this seemed fairly bright to Vand. Like most Kobolds, he spent most of his time with a very slight amount of light. Total darkness was hard to come by in Stygia, but living in the lower layers meant there was just enough to be reserved for rituals and storytelling, and very dim light was the norm. His eyes narrowed and ached slightly at the fungal radiance. |
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"Mot curse this!" he swore, hoisting himself up with his underdeveloped core strength. Seated on the staircase, catching his breath, he took out a small clay tablet from his rucksack and began to run his clawed finger over it. Eyes closed, reading it, his breathing started to slow. "I'm here. I'm still living," he sighed as he stashed the tablet and continued to climb. |
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Thinking of home, his pace up the stairs increased yet again. He would never go back. Not ever again. He said he would return as soon as he had experienced the Surface. This was half the Truth. He would return to the Abyss once he'd had enough of the Surface. He would never return to his so-called home. |
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The surrounding tunnel was almost completely vertical. The staircase had to almost constantly spiral, barely attached to the stone walls, to extend upwards. Moss, lichen, and fungi spread across the cavern walls, luminescent mushrooms providing the only source of light. In fact, this seemed fairly bright to Vand. Like most Kobolds, he spent most of his time with a very slight amount of light. Total darkness was hard to come by in Stygia, but living in the lower layers meant there was just enough to be reserved for rituals and storytelling, and very dim light was the norm. His eyes narrowed and ached slightly at the fungal radiance. |
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Each step seemed to get taller. The stairs seemed to both be pristine and in disrepair from their lack of use. He was in all likelihood the first person to climb them since his own hatching. It had been 17 years, nearly 70 harvests of Plump Helmets. Now, he was a man—not a runt nor a hatchling anymore. His life was just that—his; the only one who could usurp him as his own master was Mot himself. |
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Thinking of home, his pace up the stairs increased yet again. He would never go back. Not ever again. He said he would return as soon as he had experienced the Surface. This was half the Truth. He would return to the Abyss once he'd had enough of the Surface. He would never return to his so-called home. |
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---- |
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Finally, Vand reached the platform at the top of the staircase. This was it, the end of the underground realm he was so used to. The only thing between him and the surface was a slab of stone, engraved with ancient writing. Running his hand over the writing—that was odd… it was completely unreadable. Upon closer inspection he first realized it was not written in Cobalt, hardly a major development considering where he was, and secondly, it was not written in a Stygian language at all. He realized it must be Cadmean, which he spoke but could not read. With all his puny might, he shoved the slab aside, scraping his claws into it as he did. |
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Far from the blinding flash he expected from the Surface, perfectly cut stone dimly lit by sparsely placed crystal lamps met his gaze. Through the passage there was a large—some sort of storeroom. ''Yes, that must be it,'' Vand thought, ''they stashed some treasure down here, and now it's '''mine''' to take.'' The chamber had several stone pots within it, and had two doorways to the left and right of its entrance. Finding a large, oblong stone case in the center of the room, without lock or hinge, he squatted down and lifted the lid. |
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Each step seemed to get taller. The stairs seemed to both be pristine and in disrepair from their lack of use. He was in all likelihood the first person to climb them since his own hatching. It had been 17 years, nearly 70 harvests of Plump Helmets. Now, he was a man―not a runt nor a hatchling anymore. His life was just that―his; the only one who could usurp him as his own master was Mot himself. |
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Decay. Rot. Dust. Bone. Despite never having seen a non-Kobold before, the sight and smell of long-death was essentially the same. The skeletal cadaver was adorned with several rings, a couple necklaces, and jewels embedded in the bone, wearing a regal robe, as well as a golden crown. Whoever they were, they were rich, and now they would be sharing their wealth. It was only fair; after all, Vand had worked so hard all of his life just living, why shouldn't he take something? Pocketing a couple of the rings, Vand thought of how prized rare metals and jewels were on the Surface, especially compared to their value back home, which was entirely determined by their practical uses, save for trades with the Surface. |
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It sat up. The dead noble, with a swift jerk, sat straight up. In its eye sockets laid a malevolent glow, red with hatred, yet glazed over. Vand immediately ducked out of instinct below the edge of what was now obviously a coffin. His blood pounding in his ears, Vand scrambled on the ground nearly prone, dashing all the way to the room's left exit. He thought desperately, ''It couldn't have seen me. It can't see me.'' He started, creeping further down the corridor, away from where that accursed thing dwelled. He was defenseless. Checking his sack, he found only a lantern, some dried Plump Helmets, a waterskin, and a tinderbox. He had taken only what he thought he would absolutely need to make it to the Surface. |
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Finally, Vand reached the platform at the top of the staircase This was it, the end of the underground realm he was so used to. The only thing between him and the surface was a slab of stone, engraved with ancient writing. Running his hand over the writing―that was odd...it was completely unreadable. Upon closer inspection he first realized it was not written in Cobalt, hardly a major development considering where he was, and secondly, it was not written in a Stygian language at all. He realized it must be Cadmean, which he spoke but could not read. With all his puny might, he shoved the slab aside, scraping his claws into it as he did. |
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He sat against the cold stone wall, his head positioned exactly below one of the crystal lamps, and took out his tablet again. Touching it yet again, he gathered his will and pressed on. This was just a minor setback, and he would be at the Surface in no time at all. He bit into a Plump Helmet and took a swig of Stygian water as he snuck carefully through the corridor. A cool breeze at his back impelled him to move quickly. Each step held another chance, another risk of making a noise which ''that thing'' could hear. The walls cut at perfect angles contrasted greatly with his usual experience of water-weathered cavern walls, rich with moss. There were several niches filled with pots—no, urns. |
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Far from the blinding flash he expected from the Surface, perfectly cut stone dimly lit by sparsely placed crystal lamps met his gaze. Through the passage there was a large―some sort of storeroom. ''Yes, that must be it,'' Vand thought, ''they stashed some treasure down here, and now it's ''mine'' to take.'' The chamber had several stone pots within it, and had two doorways to the left and right of its entrance. Finding a large, oblong stone case in the center of the room, without lock or hinge, he squatted down and lifted the lid. |
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At the end of the hall was another doorway, except rather than the dim lighting of the rest of the crypt, there was total darkness. Vand, in spite of spending a great deal of his time in the dark even for a Kobold, stopped at the sight. It was just… off. The rest of the tomb was lit as well as any abode of the living, and if Vand didn't know better (which he hadn't), he would have thought it was such. He took out his lantern and lifted the hood to examine it. It had no fuel; no oil, or luminous moss, or anything. He stepped into the shadows, keeping low to the ground, and blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust. |
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Decay. Rot. Dust. Bone. Despite never having seen a non-Kobold before, the sight and smell of long-death was essentially the same. The skeletal cadaver was adorned with several rings, a couple necklaces, and jewels embedded in the bone, wearing a regal robe, as well as a golden crown. Whoever they were, they were rich, and now they would be sharing their wealth. It was only fair; after all, Vand had worked so hard all of his life just living, why shouldn't he take something? Pocketing a couple of the rings, Vand thought of how prized rare metals and jewels were on the Surface, especially compared to their value back home, which was entirely determined by their practical uses, save for trades with the Surface. |
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The sight of what laid in the chamber was almost enough to make Vand feel joy; but of course, nothing ever really impressed him, or made him laugh, and nothing important ever made him cry. This, however, even managed to make him smirk. Held in the boney hand of a long-dead Kobold lain on an altar was a dagger—akin to a stilleto, but with a slightly wider blade with sharp edges. ''Sorry to you, my Folk,'' lamented Vand, ''but I'll make better use of it than you.'' He plucked it from its slain wielder and sized it up. Its blade was about half the length of his forearm. It had a rather large pommel for its size, yet remained balanced in weight, and its guard was elaborate for such a piece. Measuring the edge, he winced as he cut through a layer of his scaly skin. It was sharp, to be sure. He immediately stashed it into his belt and stood up straight. Now he could take care of that one problem he'd left behind. Before he left to face his foe, he placed on the dead hand the most lustrous of the rings he had taken, a platinum piece with a piercing violet gem set inside. Hopefully, that would be a fair trade. |
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It sat up. The dead noble, with a swift jerk, sat straight up. In its eye sockets laid a malevolent glow, red with hatred, yet glazed over. Vand immediately ducked out of instinct below the edge of what was now obviously a coffin. His blood pounding in his ears, Vand scrambled on the ground nearly prone, dashing all the way to the room's left exit. He thought desperately, ''It couldn't have seen me. It can't see me.'' He started, creeping further down the corridor, away from where that accursed thing dwelled. He was defenseless. Checking his sack, he found only a lantern, some dried Plump Helmets, a waterskin, and a tinderbox. He had taken only what he thought he would absolutely need to make it to the Surface. |
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---- |
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Dashing with the elegance of an assassin, Vand crept back through the dark corridor to meet the risen cadaver, his cloak billowing as he went. A hand placed close to his new tool, he entered the noble's resting place yet again; there was no chance he would fail to lay that ''thing'' to rest. How should he do it? It was fairly skeletal, but assuming it still needed its innards intact, he could dispatch it with a single blow. Looking around, he saw no sign of it. |
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A cold, clammy grip fastened itself on his shoulder, the pressure of its fingers almost grushing Vand's collarbone. Vand's body heat rushed out as the chill of death tightened around his weak deltoid. He opened his mouth to yelp, but all that escaped was a pathetic whimper. The hand rose into the air, pulling Vand by his cloak as if he were a misbehaving kitten. He was spun around, faced yet again with the owner of the crypt. The corpse-light emanating from its eyes prescribed absolute terror. A creaking voice rang out: |
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He sat against the cold stone wall, his head positioned exactly below one of the crystal lamps, and took out his tablet again. Touching it yet again, he gathered his will and pressed on. This was just a minor setback, and he would be at the Surface in no time at all. He bit into a Plump Helmet and took a swig of Stygian water as he snuck carefully through the corridor. A cool breeze at his back impelled him to move quickly. Each step held another chance, another risk of making a noise which ''that thing'' could hear. The walls cut at perfect angles contrasted greatly with his usual experience of water-weathered cavern walls, rich with moss. There were several niches filled with pots—no, urns. |
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"Boy," it groaned, causing Vand to squirm, "I shall give you to the count of three to leave the way you came in." It dropped him, yet Vand stood his ground. Pulling the dagger out of his belt with grace, he flipped it, grabbed it in a forward grip, and plunged it precisely where the thing's spleen should be with a smirk. Expecting it to keel over and die for good, he was shocked to hear a chilling cackle. |
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At the end of the hall was another doorway, except rather than the dim lighting of the rest of the crypt, there was total darkness. Vand, in spite of spending a great deal of his time in the dark even for a Kobold, stopped at the sight. It was just...off. The rest of the tomb was lit as well as any abode of the living, and if Vand didn't know better (which he hadn't), he would have thought it was such. He took out his lantern and lifted the hood to examine it. It had no fuel; no oil, or luminous moss, or anything. He stepped into the shadows, keeping low to the ground, and blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust. |
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"What in Hell?!" he gasped. The undying corpse kicked him across the room as he held tight to his dagger. He scrambled to his feet and met the stony gaze of the dead. |
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The sight of what laid in the chamber was almost enough to make Vand feel joy; but of course, nothing ever really impressed him, or made him laugh, and nothing important ever made him cry. This, however, even managed to make him smirk. Held in the boney hand of a long-dead Kobold lain on an altar was a dagger—akin to a stilleto, but with a slightly wider blade with sharp edges. ''Sorry to you, my Folk,'' lamented Vand, ''but I'll make better use of it than you.'' He plucked it from its slain wielder and sized it up. Its blade was about half the length of his forearm. It had a rather large pommel for its size, yet remained balanced in weight, and its guard was elaborate for such a piece. Measuring the edge, he winced as he cut through a layer of his scaly skin. It was sharp, to be sure. He immediately stashed it into his belt and stood up straight. Now he could take care of that one problem he'd left behind. Before he left to face his foe, he placed on the dead hand the most lustrous of the rings he had taken, a platinum piece with a piercing violet gem set inside. Hopefully, that would be a fair trade. |
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"Insolent child," it breathed, "did you truly believe that you could hurt me, with but that tiny pin? Was the pile of bones not enough for you to realize? I slew that foolhardy lizard, a true warrior they may have been, and now ''you'' are trying to take their place?! What a grand and intoxicating innocence." |
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''Child? This bastard needs to die!'' thought Vand. His blood grew hot and rushed to his face as his grip on his dagger tightened. He raised it to the height of his head, held back, poised to lunge—then suddenly, it pulsated in his grip. The blade shot out, extending to four times its size, transmuting into a veritable sword! Vand hissed as he thrusted it straight for the cadavers skull, striking through the nose-hole and breaking through the top of the head! |
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Dashing with the elegance of an assassin, Vand crept back through the dark corridor to meet the risen cadaver, his cloak billowing as he went. A hand placed close to his new tool, he entered the noble's resting place yet again; there was no chance he would fail to lay that ''thing'' to rest. How should he do it? It was fairly skeletal, but assuming it still needed its innards intact, he could dispatch it with a single blow. Looking around, he saw no sign of it. |
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"Aagh! You knave!" cried the robed figure. Vand swiftly pulled back his blade and prepared to strike again, but his injured opponent raised their arms and began chanting. The arcane dirge caused Vand to shudder, tremble, and fall to the ground. His sword shrunk back to dagger-size as he lost his valor, but thinking quickly he stuffed it in his tunic. "I'll have to make your death painful for your audacity. I can hardly believe a runt like yourself managed to pull that… ''maneuver'' off, but I remain… unimpressed." Vand hissed with rage, and yet his muscles simply would not support him. |
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A cold, clammy grip fastened itself on his shoulder, the pressure of its fingers almost grushing Vand's collarbone. Vand's body heat rushed out as the chill of death tightened around his weak deltoid. He opened his mouth to yelp, but all that escaped was a pathetic whimper. The hand rose into the air, pulling Vand by his cloak as if he were a misbehaving kitten. He was spun around, faced yet again with the owner of the crypt. The corpse-light emanating from its eyes prescribed absolute terror. A creaking voice rang out: |
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"What did you do to me?!" growled Vand, attempting to hide his fear. |
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"Boy," it groaned, causing Vand to squirm, "I shall give you to the count of three to leave the way you came in." It dropped him, yet Vand stood his ground. Pulling the dagger out of his belt with grace, he flipped it, grabbed it in a forward grip, and plunged it precisely where the thing's spleen should be with a smirk. Expecting it to keel over and die for good, he was shocked to hear a chilling cackle. |
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"Are you Kobolds really so backward that you haven't seen magic in your tiny lives?" |
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"What in Hell?!" he gasped. The undying corpse kicked him across the room as he held tight to his dagger. He scrambled to his feet and met the stony gaze of the dead. |
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"O-Of course we aren't!" he replied. Vand hadn't ''personally'' seen any person perform magic of that caliber, but he knew there ''must'' be great Kobold mages. "Why… who do you think forged that… Needle that I struck you with?" |
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"Insolent child," it breathed, "did you truly believe that you could hurt me, with but that tiny pin? Was the pile of bones not enough for you to realize? I slew that foolhardy lizard, a true warrior they may have been, and now ''you'' are trying to take their place?! What a grand and intoxicating innocence." |
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"Oh, is that what you named it? Such inelegant creatures. Well, at least you know how to make a simply charmed weapon." They hoisted Vand over the shoulder nonchalantly and took him into the chamber across from the hall he had come in through. The chamber was lit with a single crystal, and held within a large stone altar and an idol resembling the person who was now placing him on the altar. |
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''Child? This bastard needs to die!'' thought Vand. His blood grew hot and rushed to his face as his grip on his dagger tightened. He raised it to the height of his head, held back, poised to lunge—then suddenly, it pulsated in his grip. The blade shot out, extending to four times its size, transmuting into a veritable sword! Vand hissed as he thrusted it straight for the cadavers skull, striking through the nose-hole and breaking through the top of the head! |
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"Wait, what are you going to do to me?! What's that statue of you?!" |
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"Aagh! You knave!" cried the robed figure. Vand swiftly pulled back his blade and prepared to strike again, but his injured opponent raised their arms and began chanting. The arcane dirge caused Vand to shudder, tremble, and fall to the ground. His sword shrunk back to dagger-size as he lost his valor, but thinking quickly he stuffed it in his tunic. "I'll have to make your death painful for your audacity. I can hardly believe a runt like yourself managed to pull that...''maneuver'' off, but I remain...unimpressed." Vand hissed with rage, and yet his muscles simply would not support him. |
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"Of me? You stupid skink! That's the very god of death! Your own death, in fact!" they said. Vand scoffed despite his circumstances. How was he supposed to tell apart Human corpses? Then, he processed what was told to him. |
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"What did you do to me?!" growled Vand, attempting to hide his fear. |
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"Mot?! That's supposed to be… Mot?" he snickered. It was so ridiculous. Of course, portraying the deity as a simple corpse was not ''so'' unnatural, but still, it was so ''hubristic''! |
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"Are you Kobolds really so backward that you haven't seen magic in your tiny lives?" |
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"Why yes. Recognize you not the visage of doom?" |
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"O-Of course we aren't!" he replied. Vand hadn't ''personally'' seen any person perform magic of that caliber, but he knew there ''must'' be great Kobold mages. "Why...who do you think forged that...Needle that I struck you with?" |
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"''Visage of doom''? You make me laugh! The god of all death, all silence, all darkness, and all solitude? A mere corpse? It's ludicrous!" Vand could hardly believe it. He, as a Kobold, was offspring of Mot, in a sense, but surely that was no great advantage over contemplating the vastness of death? |
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"Oh, is that what you named it? Such inelegant creatures. Well, at least you know how to make a simply charmed weapon." They hoisted Vand over the shoulder nonchalantly and took him into the chamber across from the hall he had come in through. The chamber was lit with a single crystal, and held within a large stone altar and an idol resembling the person who was now placing him on the altar. |
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"Your ''insolence'' will end soon, and Mot will be grateful for my offering." Vand was unable to object to the idea of offering living sacrifices to the god of death. His kidnapper put him in a cruciform position and started chanting yet again. The cruel song inspired torpor and lethargy in Vand. It was as if Mot itself was laying an icy hand on his bosom. All would soon end. Soon, Vand could face the eternal hermitage. He felt… comforted. |
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"Wait, what are you going to do to me?! What's that statue of you?!" |
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---- |
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Maryam's descent into the Abyss was finally going somewhere. The straight wall in front of her belied the supposedly empty natural caverns below Beit-Tiemat. Maryam set her torch down, keeping it upright using a few rocks. Stepping back and raising her mace over her shoulder, she prepared to break it down; however, she hesitated, hearing a strange voice speaking incantations, then cursing. |
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"Why isn't it working? Mot, why won't you take him! Mot!" ''Mot,'' she thought, ''Mot is… death? Oh, the '''god''' of death! Wait, that sounds bad… like a heretical ritual!!'' |
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"Of me? You stupid skink! That's the very god of death! Your own death, in fact!" they said. Vand scoffed despite his circumstances. How was he supposed to tell apart Human corpses? Then, he processed what was told to him. |
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"Hi-Yaah!!!" shouted Maryam, bringing down all 240 pounds of her weight, plus armor, swinging her bulky weapon into the wall. It could not withstand her might, and crumbled to pieces. The scene through the wall was bleak, yet exciting. In dim light, a deathly figure bent over a horrific altar, with a blasphemous idol to Mot, the evil god who consumes all. On the altar lay in the pose of a cross a diminutive cloaked figure with reptilian snout, hands, and feet. Thinking back to her history lessons, Maryam recognized the figure as… Malika al-Aqrab! The hated "Scorpion Queen" who once ruled over the coast! And… started a war with the Kobolds, even kidnapping their crown prince! That must be it! She rose again to kidnap and kill the… new prince of the Kobolds! |
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"Mot?! That's supposed to be...Mot?" he snickered. It was so ridiculous. Of course, portraying the deity as a simple corpse was not ''so'' unnatural, but still, it was so ''hubristic''! |
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Maryam grabbed her torch and charged in the room. "Fell queen! Cease this sacrilege and release the prince!" she yelled. She raised her mace, prepared to swing, and stared down the dead queen. |
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"Why yes. Recognize you not the visage of doom?" |
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"Wha—prince—who? Why have you interrupted my offering to the great god Mot!" The foul woman stood up straight and glared with vile malevolence right at Maryam. |
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"''Visage of doom''? You make me laugh! The god of all death, all silence, all darkness, and all solitude? A mere corpse? It's ludicrous!" Vand could hardly believe it. He, as a Kobold, was offspring of Mot, in a sense, but surely that was no great advantage over contemplating the vastness of death? |
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"I am Maryam et-Tiemat! By the light of the Moon of Tears and the power of the goddess of the sea, I shall put you to rest once and for all!" |
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"Your ''insolence'' will end soon, and Mot will be grateful for my offering." Vand was unable to object to the idea of offering living sacrifices to the god of death. His kidnapper put him in a cruciform position and started chanting yet again. The cruel song inspired torpor and lethargy in Vand. It was as if Mot itself was laying an icy hand on his bosom. All would soon end. Soon, Vand could face the eternal hermitage. He felt...comforted. |
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"You fool! You whelp! The power of death will overcome you!" The Queen began to chant, raising her arms in prayer. |
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"As if your foul magicks would work against one with a pure heart such as I!" Maryam heartily proclaimed. "By the power of Ashtaret, my soul is surrounded by walls like the great cities and I shall be victorious in battle!" Maryam stood proudly, but despite her claim, she felt a twinge of fear and pain. Still, she remained stalwart, and took a swing at her terrible foe. With a crash, her mace came down upon the boney old hag. Rather than shattering apart, it seemed that the bag of bones simply collapsed into a relatively intact pile, albeit with some rupture to what was left of her connective tissue. "Now's my chance, my chance to rescue this Kobold prince, my chance to secure my birthright!" Maryam thought of her cruel parents who made her brother their heir instead of her. And for what? Because he was "more well-adjusted" or "better with people?" Well now, she would prove worthy. |
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Maryam's descent into the Abyss was finally going somewhere. The straight wall in front of her belied the supposedly empty natural caverns below Beit-Tiemat. Maryam set her torch down, keeping it upright using a few rocks. Stepping back and raising her mace over her shoulder, she prepared to break it down; however, she hesitated, hearing a strange voice speaking incantations, then cursing. |
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She examined the unconscious prince and checked his nostrils. He was breathing, albeit slowly. His fingers were adorned with rings, no surprise considering his status. She scooped him up and fastened him onto her back using some rope. He was lighter than he looked, even considering his small size. Now, she was finally ready to return to the Surface and ''shove it'' to her family. |
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"Why isn't it working? Mot, why won't you take him! Mot!" ''Mot,'' she thought, ''Mot is...death? Oh, the ''god'' of death! Wait, that sounds bad...like a heretical ritual!!'' |
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---- |
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Vand felt a darkness within himself. His limbs simply dangled, and his body was entirely limp. He could hardly muster up the strength to breathe, yet somehow, he managed. His first external sense to return was his sense of touch. There was a weight against his chest and tension against his back. He tried to squirm to no avail. Then, his hearing returned. He heard… clanking. Rhythmic clanking, like footsteps. Metal footsteps. Where was he? He blinked a couple times and his vision returned, albeit quite foggy. He could see a bright fire, held by a gauntlet. His chin was resting on someone's cape. in front of his eyes he saw a helmet, topped with a rather gaudy accessory: a tantour, about a half-foot long, with a purple silk veil draped from it. |
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''Where… am I?'' he wondered, ''Am I… being carried?'' Whoever was carrying him must have been rich. Presumably, he had been captured for intruding upon the Human tomb, and now he was going to be locked up, or worse. Perhaps they were angered at his waking of a dead noble, or found the rings he had taken. Thinking of the rings, he looked to his hands and noticed they were tied around his kidnapper's shoulders and had the rings he had taken on them. That was odd… he was sure they were in his pocket. And if he was wearing the rings… why hadn't his abductor taken them? Vand couldn't muster the breath to speak. |
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"Hi-Yaah!!!" shouted Maryam, bringing down all 240 pounds of her weight, plus armor, swinging her bulky weapon into the wall. It could not withstand her might, and crumbled to pieces. The scene through the wall was bleak, yet exciting. In dim light, a deathly figure bent over a horrific altar, with a blasphemous idol to Mot, the evil god who consumes all. On the altar lay in the pose of a cross a diminutive cloaked figure with reptilian snout, hands, and feet. Thinking back to her history lessons, Maryam recognized the figure as...Malika al-Aqrab! The hated "Scorpion Queen" who once ruled over the coast! And...started a war with the Kobolds, even kidnapping their crown prince! That must be it! She rose again to kidnap and kill the...new prince of the Kobolds! |
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Instead, Vand started squirming and wriggling. He knew kicking or his armored foe would only hurt his feet, so he tried throwing his puny weight around to make them lose balance. |
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Maryam grabbed her torch and charged in the room. "Fell queen! Cease this sacrilege and release the prince!" she yelled. She raised her mace, prepared to swing, and stared down the dead queen. |
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"Ah, the prince has awoken!" spoke the woman carrying him, keeping her gait. Prince? He wasn't a prince. His clan didn't even have a monarch, it was loosely ruled by the matriarch, his great aunt. Did that make him a prince? Maybe not, but it would make lying easier. |
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"Wha—prince—who? Why have you interrupted my offering to the great god Mot!" The foul woman stood up straight and glared with vile malevolence right at Maryam. |
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"H… hello? Who—" |
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"I am Maryam et-Tiemat! By the light of the Moon of Tears and the power of the goddess of the sea, I shall put you to rest once and for all!" |
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"I am Maryam et-Tiemat. I gallantly rescued you from that horrible witch. It seems she rose from the dead to start another war with your kind, and so kidnapped you, the prince! Oh, how horrible!" |
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"You fool! You whelp! The power of death will overcome you!" The Queen began to chant, raising her arms in prayer. |
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"Ohuh? Ugh… uh… yes," Vand replied weakly, "I was… on a trip to the surface… and I got captured by that cruel noblewoman after I… recovered one of my people's artifacts from her tomb." It was a stretch, but the truth, filled in with some quick thinking. ''I mean, it's not '''not''' one of my Folk's artifacts,'' he thought. |
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"As if your foul magicks would work against one with a pure heart such as I!" Maryam heartily proclaimed. "By the power of Ashtaret, my soul is surrounded by walls like the great cities and I shall be victorious in battle!" Maryam stood proudly, but despite her claim, she felt a twinge of fear and pain. Still, she remained stalwart, and took a swing at her terrible foe. With a crash, her mace came down upon the boney old hag. Rather than shattering apart, it seemed that the bag of bones simply collapsed into a relatively intact pile, albeit with some rupture to what was left of her connective tissue. "Now's my chance, my chance to rescue this Kobold prince, my chance to secure my birthright!" Maryam thought of her cruel parents who made her brother their heir instead of her. And for what? Because he was "more well-adjusted" or "better with people?" Well now, she would prove worthy. |
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"Well, I shall take you to my home, and there, you will be nursed back to health." |
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She examined the unconscious prince and checked his nostrils. He was breathing, albeit slowly. His fingers were adorned with rings, no surprise considering his status. She scooped him up and fastened him onto her back using some rope. He was lighter than he looked, even considering his small size. Now, she was finally ready to return to the Surface and ''shove it'' to her family. |
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"H-health?" |
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"I mean, just look at you, you're nothing but scales and bones!" Vand cringed at the comment. He was never good at putting on weight, whether fat or muscle. He was always the weakling, the sickly, the pitiful. He had set out to escape all that, but would it follow him wherever he went? |
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Vand felt a darkness within himself. His limbs simply dangled, and his body was entirely limp. He could hardly muster up the strength to breathe, yet somehow, he managed. His first external sense to return was his sense of touch. There was a weight against his chest and tension against his back. He tried to squirm to no avail. Then, his hearing returned. He heard...clanking. Rhythmic clanking, like footsteps. Metal footsteps. Where was he? He blinked a couple times and his vision returned, albeit quite foggy. He could see a bright fire, held by a gauntlet. His chin was resting on someone's cape. in front of his eyes he saw a helmet, topped with a rather gaudy accessory: a tantour, about a half-foot long, with a purple silk veil draped from it. |
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"N-no. Kobolds are just… like that," he retorted. ''Well, at least '''I'm''' just like that,'' he thought. |
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''Where...am I?'' he wondered, ''Am I...being carried?'' Whoever was carrying him must have been rich. Presumably, he had been captured for intruding upon the Human tomb, and now he was going to be locked up, or worse. Perhaps they were angered at his waking of a dead noble, or found the rings he had taken. Thinking of the rings, he looked to his hands and noticed they were tied around his kidnapper's shoulders and had the rings he had taken on them. That was odd...he was sure they were in his pocket. And if he was wearing the rings...why hadn't his abductor taken them? Vand couldn't muster the breath to speak. |
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"Ah, my greatest apologies. I am not entirely familiar with the physiology of your Folk," she said. Vand still felt weak, weaker than normal. shifting his head a bit, he was shocked to find Maryam was more than twice his size! Large, even for a Human. |
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Instead, Vand started squirming and wriggling. He knew kicking or his armored foe would only hurt his feet, so he tried throwing his puny weight around to make them lose balance. |
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"Who… are you?" |
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"Ah, the prince has awoken!" spoke the woman carrying him, keeping her gait. Prince? He wasn't a prince. His clan didn't even have a monarch, it was loosely ruled by the matriarch, his great aunt. Did that make him a prince? Maybe not, but it would make lying easier. |
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"I already gave you my name, and what about you?" |
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"H...hello? Who—" |
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"No, I mean—Oh. My name is Vand. But, uh, what kind of person are you?" |
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"I am Maryam et-Tiemat. I gallantly rescued you from that horrible witch. It seems she rose from the dead to start another war with your kind, and so kidnapped you, the prince! Oh, how horrible!" |
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"Ah. I'm the heir to the throne of Beit-Tiemat. Or, I'm ''supposed'' to be, if my parents weren't fools!" ''Ah, the very same,'' thought Vand. |
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"Ohuh? Ugh...uh...yes," Vand replied weakly, "I was...on a trip to the surface...and I got captured by that cruel noblewoman after I...recovered one of my people's artifacts from her tomb." It was a stretch, but the truth, filled in with some quick thinking. ''I mean, it's not ''not'' one of my Folk's artifacts,'' he thought. |
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"Wait, so, you're a princess?" said Vand, looking at the purple cloth inches from his face. |
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"Well, I shall take you to my home, and there, you will be nursed back to health." |
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"Princess? Hardly that prestigious. My parents only rule over a township." ''An entire township? Only?'' "Well, perhaps someday I could become a princess… then a queen. I just have to find a prince to marry." ''That's vaguely threatening in my current circumstances,'' worried Vand. |
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"H-health?" |
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"You're looking for… a prince?" he questioned. |
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"I mean, just look at you, you're nothing but scales and bones!" Vand cringed at the comment. He was never good at putting on weight, whether fat or muscle. He was always the weakling, the sickly, the pitiful. He had set out to escape all that, but would it follow him wherever he went? |
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"Yes, well, one that isn't but a boy." Vand stifled a hiss. At least he didn't have to worry about getting locked into an arranged marriage, but… |
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"N-no. Kobolds are just...like that," he retorted. ''Well, at least ''I'm'' just like that,'' he thought. |
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"I'm an adult, by the way," spoke Vand. "As of… three days ago," he admitted. Maryam just laughed and kept walking. How condescending. Still, perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, lest she sought rulership over Stygia. Maryam kept her pace even as the torch she carried dwindled. Vand thought he was close to the Surface when he reached the tomb, but how much farther up could it really be? "Um… do you know how far it is to get to the Surface?" |
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"Ah, my greatest apologies. I am not entirely familiar with the physiology of your Folk," she said. Vand still felt weak, weaker than normal. shifting his head a bit, he was shocked to find Maryam was more than twice his size! Large, even for a Human. |
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"Just a little. Just a little," she said as she made their ascent. Through the narrow caverns, lit by her torch and glowing flora, Vand heard a howling and whooshing. Soon enough, a light appeared through an ornate stone archway. This was it. This was the surface. |
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"Who...are you?" |
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"It's so bright!" he exclaimed. He expected light, but this was so difficult to bear, even with the torch burning so radiant. |
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"I already gave you my name, and what about you?" |
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"It… it's night," stated Maryam, "the darkest part of the night, in fact. The only source of light right now is the stars, and even then, the Moon of Souls absorbs half of that." But it was so bright. Such light could never be found in the Abyss. Such light could never be found within Vand. As Maryam ducked through the arch, Vand shut his eyes tight and felt the open air flow over his body. |
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"No, I mean—Oh. My name is Vand. But, uh, what kind of person are you?" |
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[[Category:META: Tales]] |
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"Ah. I'm the heir to the throne of Beit-Tiemat. Or, I'm ''supposed'' to be, if my parents weren't fools!" ''Ah, the very same,'' thought Vand. |
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[[Category:Author: sword-of-stabbing]] |
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"Wait, so, you're a princess?" said Vand, looking at the purple cloth inches from his face. |
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"Princess? Hardly that prestigious. My parents only rule over a township." ''An entire township? Only?'' "Well, perhaps someday I could become a princess...then a queen. I just have to find a prince to marry." ''That's vaguely threatening in my current circumstances,'' worried Vand. |
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"You're looking for...a prince?" he questioned. |
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"Yes, well, one that isn't but a boy." Vand stifled a hiss. At least he didn't have to worry about getting locked into an arranged marriage, but... |
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Summary |
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"I'm an adult, by the way," spoke Vand. "As of...three days ago," he admitted. Maryam just laughed and kept walking. How condescending. Still, perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, lest she sought rulership over Stygia. Maryam kept her pace even as the torch she carried dwindled. Vand thought he was close to the Surface when he reached the tomb, but how much farther up could it really be? "Um...do you know how far it is to get to the Surface?" |
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"Just a little. Just a little," she said as she made their ascent. Through the narrow caverns, lit by her torch and glowing flora, Vand heard a howling and whooshing. Soon enough, a light appeared through an ornate stone archway. This was it. This was the surface. |
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"It's so bright!" he exclaimed. He expected light, but this was so difficult to bear, even with the torch burning so radiant. |
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"It...it's night," stated Maryam, "the darkest part of the night, in fact. The only source of light right now is the stars, and even then, the Moon of Souls absorbs half of that." But it was so bright. Such light could never be found in the Abyss. Such light could never be found within Vand. As Maryam ducked through the arch, Vand shut his eyes tight and felt the open air flow over his body. |
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<hr> |
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To be continued... |
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[[Category:Tales]] |
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[[Category:Scope: Abystyx]] |
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[[Category:Author: Sword-of-stabbing]] |
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Latest revision as of 04:30, April 24, 2025
All Folk, from birth, sense that death is upon them. They spend our lives trying to ignore the call of the Void.—Althaanii 1:1
Vand scaled the crumbling staircase, moving on all fours to make his escape faster, each step being his shin's height above the last. Why do we keep them like this? he thought, Why should we be the ones to accomodate them? Just as he shifted his weight to the next step, it cracked apart and fell to the darkness below. Barely, just barely, he caught himself by his back foot on the edge of the staircase.
"Mot curse this!" he swore, hoisting himself up with his underdeveloped core strength. Seated on the staircase, catching his breath, he took out a small clay tablet from his rucksack and began to run his clawed finger over it. Eyes closed, reading it, his breathing started to slow. "I'm here. I'm still living," he sighed as he stashed the tablet and continued to climb.
The surrounding tunnel was almost completely vertical. The staircase had to almost constantly spiral, barely attached to the stone walls, to extend upwards. Moss, lichen, and fungi spread across the cavern walls, luminescent mushrooms providing the only source of light. In fact, this seemed fairly bright to Vand. Like most Kobolds, he spent most of his time with a very slight amount of light. Total darkness was hard to come by in Stygia, but living in the lower layers meant there was just enough to be reserved for rituals and storytelling, and very dim light was the norm. His eyes narrowed and ached slightly at the fungal radiance.
Thinking of home, his pace up the stairs increased yet again. He would never go back. Not ever again. He said he would return as soon as he had experienced the Surface. This was half the Truth. He would return to the Abyss once he'd had enough of the Surface. He would never return to his so-called home.
Each step seemed to get taller. The stairs seemed to both be pristine and in disrepair from their lack of use. He was in all likelihood the first person to climb them since his own hatching. It had been 17 years, nearly 70 harvests of Plump Helmets. Now, he was a man—not a runt nor a hatchling anymore. His life was just that—his; the only one who could usurp him as his own master was Mot himself.
Finally, Vand reached the platform at the top of the staircase. This was it, the end of the underground realm he was so used to. The only thing between him and the surface was a slab of stone, engraved with ancient writing. Running his hand over the writing—that was odd… it was completely unreadable. Upon closer inspection he first realized it was not written in Cobalt, hardly a major development considering where he was, and secondly, it was not written in a Stygian language at all. He realized it must be Cadmean, which he spoke but could not read. With all his puny might, he shoved the slab aside, scraping his claws into it as he did.
Far from the blinding flash he expected from the Surface, perfectly cut stone dimly lit by sparsely placed crystal lamps met his gaze. Through the passage there was a large—some sort of storeroom. Yes, that must be it, Vand thought, they stashed some treasure down here, and now it's mine to take. The chamber had several stone pots within it, and had two doorways to the left and right of its entrance. Finding a large, oblong stone case in the center of the room, without lock or hinge, he squatted down and lifted the lid.
Decay. Rot. Dust. Bone. Despite never having seen a non-Kobold before, the sight and smell of long-death was essentially the same. The skeletal cadaver was adorned with several rings, a couple necklaces, and jewels embedded in the bone, wearing a regal robe, as well as a golden crown. Whoever they were, they were rich, and now they would be sharing their wealth. It was only fair; after all, Vand had worked so hard all of his life just living, why shouldn't he take something? Pocketing a couple of the rings, Vand thought of how prized rare metals and jewels were on the Surface, especially compared to their value back home, which was entirely determined by their practical uses, save for trades with the Surface.
It sat up. The dead noble, with a swift jerk, sat straight up. In its eye sockets laid a malevolent glow, red with hatred, yet glazed over. Vand immediately ducked out of instinct below the edge of what was now obviously a coffin. His blood pounding in his ears, Vand scrambled on the ground nearly prone, dashing all the way to the room's left exit. He thought desperately, It couldn't have seen me. It can't see me. He started, creeping further down the corridor, away from where that accursed thing dwelled. He was defenseless. Checking his sack, he found only a lantern, some dried Plump Helmets, a waterskin, and a tinderbox. He had taken only what he thought he would absolutely need to make it to the Surface.
He sat against the cold stone wall, his head positioned exactly below one of the crystal lamps, and took out his tablet again. Touching it yet again, he gathered his will and pressed on. This was just a minor setback, and he would be at the Surface in no time at all. He bit into a Plump Helmet and took a swig of Stygian water as he snuck carefully through the corridor. A cool breeze at his back impelled him to move quickly. Each step held another chance, another risk of making a noise which that thing could hear. The walls cut at perfect angles contrasted greatly with his usual experience of water-weathered cavern walls, rich with moss. There were several niches filled with pots—no, urns.
At the end of the hall was another doorway, except rather than the dim lighting of the rest of the crypt, there was total darkness. Vand, in spite of spending a great deal of his time in the dark even for a Kobold, stopped at the sight. It was just… off. The rest of the tomb was lit as well as any abode of the living, and if Vand didn't know better (which he hadn't), he would have thought it was such. He took out his lantern and lifted the hood to examine it. It had no fuel; no oil, or luminous moss, or anything. He stepped into the shadows, keeping low to the ground, and blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
The sight of what laid in the chamber was almost enough to make Vand feel joy; but of course, nothing ever really impressed him, or made him laugh, and nothing important ever made him cry. This, however, even managed to make him smirk. Held in the boney hand of a long-dead Kobold lain on an altar was a dagger—akin to a stilleto, but with a slightly wider blade with sharp edges. Sorry to you, my Folk, lamented Vand, but I'll make better use of it than you. He plucked it from its slain wielder and sized it up. Its blade was about half the length of his forearm. It had a rather large pommel for its size, yet remained balanced in weight, and its guard was elaborate for such a piece. Measuring the edge, he winced as he cut through a layer of his scaly skin. It was sharp, to be sure. He immediately stashed it into his belt and stood up straight. Now he could take care of that one problem he'd left behind. Before he left to face his foe, he placed on the dead hand the most lustrous of the rings he had taken, a platinum piece with a piercing violet gem set inside. Hopefully, that would be a fair trade.
Dashing with the elegance of an assassin, Vand crept back through the dark corridor to meet the risen cadaver, his cloak billowing as he went. A hand placed close to his new tool, he entered the noble's resting place yet again; there was no chance he would fail to lay that thing to rest. How should he do it? It was fairly skeletal, but assuming it still needed its innards intact, he could dispatch it with a single blow. Looking around, he saw no sign of it.
A cold, clammy grip fastened itself on his shoulder, the pressure of its fingers almost grushing Vand's collarbone. Vand's body heat rushed out as the chill of death tightened around his weak deltoid. He opened his mouth to yelp, but all that escaped was a pathetic whimper. The hand rose into the air, pulling Vand by his cloak as if he were a misbehaving kitten. He was spun around, faced yet again with the owner of the crypt. The corpse-light emanating from its eyes prescribed absolute terror. A creaking voice rang out:
"Boy," it groaned, causing Vand to squirm, "I shall give you to the count of three to leave the way you came in." It dropped him, yet Vand stood his ground. Pulling the dagger out of his belt with grace, he flipped it, grabbed it in a forward grip, and plunged it precisely where the thing's spleen should be with a smirk. Expecting it to keel over and die for good, he was shocked to hear a chilling cackle.
"What in Hell?!" he gasped. The undying corpse kicked him across the room as he held tight to his dagger. He scrambled to his feet and met the stony gaze of the dead.
"Insolent child," it breathed, "did you truly believe that you could hurt me, with but that tiny pin? Was the pile of bones not enough for you to realize? I slew that foolhardy lizard, a true warrior they may have been, and now you are trying to take their place?! What a grand and intoxicating innocence."
Child? This bastard needs to die! thought Vand. His blood grew hot and rushed to his face as his grip on his dagger tightened. He raised it to the height of his head, held back, poised to lunge—then suddenly, it pulsated in his grip. The blade shot out, extending to four times its size, transmuting into a veritable sword! Vand hissed as he thrusted it straight for the cadavers skull, striking through the nose-hole and breaking through the top of the head!
"Aagh! You knave!" cried the robed figure. Vand swiftly pulled back his blade and prepared to strike again, but his injured opponent raised their arms and began chanting. The arcane dirge caused Vand to shudder, tremble, and fall to the ground. His sword shrunk back to dagger-size as he lost his valor, but thinking quickly he stuffed it in his tunic. "I'll have to make your death painful for your audacity. I can hardly believe a runt like yourself managed to pull that… maneuver off, but I remain… unimpressed." Vand hissed with rage, and yet his muscles simply would not support him.
"What did you do to me?!" growled Vand, attempting to hide his fear.
"Are you Kobolds really so backward that you haven't seen magic in your tiny lives?"
"O-Of course we aren't!" he replied. Vand hadn't personally seen any person perform magic of that caliber, but he knew there must be great Kobold mages. "Why… who do you think forged that… Needle that I struck you with?"
"Oh, is that what you named it? Such inelegant creatures. Well, at least you know how to make a simply charmed weapon." They hoisted Vand over the shoulder nonchalantly and took him into the chamber across from the hall he had come in through. The chamber was lit with a single crystal, and held within a large stone altar and an idol resembling the person who was now placing him on the altar.
"Wait, what are you going to do to me?! What's that statue of you?!"
"Of me? You stupid skink! That's the very god of death! Your own death, in fact!" they said. Vand scoffed despite his circumstances. How was he supposed to tell apart Human corpses? Then, he processed what was told to him.
"Mot?! That's supposed to be… Mot?" he snickered. It was so ridiculous. Of course, portraying the deity as a simple corpse was not so unnatural, but still, it was so hubristic!
"Why yes. Recognize you not the visage of doom?"
"Visage of doom? You make me laugh! The god of all death, all silence, all darkness, and all solitude? A mere corpse? It's ludicrous!" Vand could hardly believe it. He, as a Kobold, was offspring of Mot, in a sense, but surely that was no great advantage over contemplating the vastness of death?
"Your insolence will end soon, and Mot will be grateful for my offering." Vand was unable to object to the idea of offering living sacrifices to the god of death. His kidnapper put him in a cruciform position and started chanting yet again. The cruel song inspired torpor and lethargy in Vand. It was as if Mot itself was laying an icy hand on his bosom. All would soon end. Soon, Vand could face the eternal hermitage. He felt… comforted.
Maryam's descent into the Abyss was finally going somewhere. The straight wall in front of her belied the supposedly empty natural caverns below Beit-Tiemat. Maryam set her torch down, keeping it upright using a few rocks. Stepping back and raising her mace over her shoulder, she prepared to break it down; however, she hesitated, hearing a strange voice speaking incantations, then cursing.
"Why isn't it working? Mot, why won't you take him! Mot!" Mot, she thought, Mot is… death? Oh, the god of death! Wait, that sounds bad… like a heretical ritual!!
"Hi-Yaah!!!" shouted Maryam, bringing down all 240 pounds of her weight, plus armor, swinging her bulky weapon into the wall. It could not withstand her might, and crumbled to pieces. The scene through the wall was bleak, yet exciting. In dim light, a deathly figure bent over a horrific altar, with a blasphemous idol to Mot, the evil god who consumes all. On the altar lay in the pose of a cross a diminutive cloaked figure with reptilian snout, hands, and feet. Thinking back to her history lessons, Maryam recognized the figure as… Malika al-Aqrab! The hated "Scorpion Queen" who once ruled over the coast! And… started a war with the Kobolds, even kidnapping their crown prince! That must be it! She rose again to kidnap and kill the… new prince of the Kobolds!
Maryam grabbed her torch and charged in the room. "Fell queen! Cease this sacrilege and release the prince!" she yelled. She raised her mace, prepared to swing, and stared down the dead queen.
"Wha—prince—who? Why have you interrupted my offering to the great god Mot!" The foul woman stood up straight and glared with vile malevolence right at Maryam.
"I am Maryam et-Tiemat! By the light of the Moon of Tears and the power of the goddess of the sea, I shall put you to rest once and for all!"
"You fool! You whelp! The power of death will overcome you!" The Queen began to chant, raising her arms in prayer.
"As if your foul magicks would work against one with a pure heart such as I!" Maryam heartily proclaimed. "By the power of Ashtaret, my soul is surrounded by walls like the great cities and I shall be victorious in battle!" Maryam stood proudly, but despite her claim, she felt a twinge of fear and pain. Still, she remained stalwart, and took a swing at her terrible foe. With a crash, her mace came down upon the boney old hag. Rather than shattering apart, it seemed that the bag of bones simply collapsed into a relatively intact pile, albeit with some rupture to what was left of her connective tissue. "Now's my chance, my chance to rescue this Kobold prince, my chance to secure my birthright!" Maryam thought of her cruel parents who made her brother their heir instead of her. And for what? Because he was "more well-adjusted" or "better with people?" Well now, she would prove worthy.
She examined the unconscious prince and checked his nostrils. He was breathing, albeit slowly. His fingers were adorned with rings, no surprise considering his status. She scooped him up and fastened him onto her back using some rope. He was lighter than he looked, even considering his small size. Now, she was finally ready to return to the Surface and shove it to her family.
Vand felt a darkness within himself. His limbs simply dangled, and his body was entirely limp. He could hardly muster up the strength to breathe, yet somehow, he managed. His first external sense to return was his sense of touch. There was a weight against his chest and tension against his back. He tried to squirm to no avail. Then, his hearing returned. He heard… clanking. Rhythmic clanking, like footsteps. Metal footsteps. Where was he? He blinked a couple times and his vision returned, albeit quite foggy. He could see a bright fire, held by a gauntlet. His chin was resting on someone's cape. in front of his eyes he saw a helmet, topped with a rather gaudy accessory: a tantour, about a half-foot long, with a purple silk veil draped from it.
Where… am I? he wondered, Am I… being carried? Whoever was carrying him must have been rich. Presumably, he had been captured for intruding upon the Human tomb, and now he was going to be locked up, or worse. Perhaps they were angered at his waking of a dead noble, or found the rings he had taken. Thinking of the rings, he looked to his hands and noticed they were tied around his kidnapper's shoulders and had the rings he had taken on them. That was odd… he was sure they were in his pocket. And if he was wearing the rings… why hadn't his abductor taken them? Vand couldn't muster the breath to speak.
Instead, Vand started squirming and wriggling. He knew kicking or his armored foe would only hurt his feet, so he tried throwing his puny weight around to make them lose balance.
"Ah, the prince has awoken!" spoke the woman carrying him, keeping her gait. Prince? He wasn't a prince. His clan didn't even have a monarch, it was loosely ruled by the matriarch, his great aunt. Did that make him a prince? Maybe not, but it would make lying easier.
"H… hello? Who—"
"I am Maryam et-Tiemat. I gallantly rescued you from that horrible witch. It seems she rose from the dead to start another war with your kind, and so kidnapped you, the prince! Oh, how horrible!"
"Ohuh? Ugh… uh… yes," Vand replied weakly, "I was… on a trip to the surface… and I got captured by that cruel noblewoman after I… recovered one of my people's artifacts from her tomb." It was a stretch, but the truth, filled in with some quick thinking. I mean, it's not not one of my Folk's artifacts, he thought.
"Well, I shall take you to my home, and there, you will be nursed back to health."
"H-health?"
"I mean, just look at you, you're nothing but scales and bones!" Vand cringed at the comment. He was never good at putting on weight, whether fat or muscle. He was always the weakling, the sickly, the pitiful. He had set out to escape all that, but would it follow him wherever he went?
"N-no. Kobolds are just… like that," he retorted. Well, at least I'm just like that, he thought.
"Ah, my greatest apologies. I am not entirely familiar with the physiology of your Folk," she said. Vand still felt weak, weaker than normal. shifting his head a bit, he was shocked to find Maryam was more than twice his size! Large, even for a Human.
"Who… are you?"
"I already gave you my name, and what about you?"
"No, I mean—Oh. My name is Vand. But, uh, what kind of person are you?"
"Ah. I'm the heir to the throne of Beit-Tiemat. Or, I'm supposed to be, if my parents weren't fools!" Ah, the very same, thought Vand.
"Wait, so, you're a princess?" said Vand, looking at the purple cloth inches from his face.
"Princess? Hardly that prestigious. My parents only rule over a township." An entire township? Only? "Well, perhaps someday I could become a princess… then a queen. I just have to find a prince to marry." That's vaguely threatening in my current circumstances, worried Vand.
"You're looking for… a prince?" he questioned.
"Yes, well, one that isn't but a boy." Vand stifled a hiss. At least he didn't have to worry about getting locked into an arranged marriage, but…
"I'm an adult, by the way," spoke Vand. "As of… three days ago," he admitted. Maryam just laughed and kept walking. How condescending. Still, perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, lest she sought rulership over Stygia. Maryam kept her pace even as the torch she carried dwindled. Vand thought he was close to the Surface when he reached the tomb, but how much farther up could it really be? "Um… do you know how far it is to get to the Surface?"
"Just a little. Just a little," she said as she made their ascent. Through the narrow caverns, lit by her torch and glowing flora, Vand heard a howling and whooshing. Soon enough, a light appeared through an ornate stone archway. This was it. This was the surface.
"It's so bright!" he exclaimed. He expected light, but this was so difficult to bear, even with the torch burning so radiant.
"It… it's night," stated Maryam, "the darkest part of the night, in fact. The only source of light right now is the stars, and even then, the Moon of Souls absorbs half of that." But it was so bright. Such light could never be found in the Abyss. Such light could never be found within Vand. As Maryam ducked through the arch, Vand shut his eyes tight and felt the open air flow over his body.