Declan Gregory
PPC
Standing upon the precipice, Soren threw a wild yell into the air. It echoed upon the smooth snow surface and Declan cast his hands to his ears in reflex. But no demon of the deep was roused. The surface of he frozen lake remained deadly quiet. He envied Soren's ability to project such a strong voice for Declan's was diminutive in comparison.
As though he read Declan's thoughts, Soren's face darkened with intense concentration. Declan accepted the amulet, wrapping the cord around his wrist and clenching the knot in his fist.
Questions marred his expression with doubt. Was he suppose to hold it aloft in defiance of the creature? He studied the ancient world his whole life. Many cultures prized valuables as wardings to fend off horrors and monsters. They were myths, but standing before the lake, clutching one such symbol, he believed for the first time in heir validity.
"I will return it, I swear." He placed much faith in Soren. But of all his doubts, Soren was not among them.
Suddenly, ice cracked and sheets toppled into the water. The glassy surface churned and the wind howled. Snow stung his cheeks, icicles piercing his skin raw. Soren trust his hand forth but Declan was transfixed upon the beast of the lake. Boulders of ice spouted from its many limbs, blubbery and slick like tentacles. It's body unfolded before them, and Declan's face turned a shade of blue resembling it's skin.
Weak hands let the amulet fall from his grip but the cord around his wrist let it dangle rather than disappear underfoot.
He wanted to weep with fear and awe for the creature hell bent on destroying them. A guardian of hell. Or a guardian of heaven. Either was terrifying.
He lept to one side as a boulder sure to crush him dead landed near, separating him and the amulet from Soren. His feet slipped out from under his knees in the snow and the sky turned upside down. As he rolled down the hillside ever toward the lake, his hands clutched for grip.
As the hill leveled flat near the lake shore, pebbles rained down upon him and he sat up with dizzying fear for the looming presence shadowing over head. He thrust his arm over his eyes for shelter, only to realize the beast had no eyes itself. It's aim was random and the showering of its defenses explained.
Declan pulled the pistol and scampered to his knees, completely unaware the amulet had fallen somewhere between where he currently knelt and the top of the hill moments before. He fired the gun. The heat of discharge sizzled on the cold air as he emptied all the rounds into the beast's body.
Edited by
Dane Gregory, Jul 9 2016, 10:31 PM.
Damn the man! Sören could not tear his gaze from the scores of bloody threads circling the rune uruz lest the whole thing tangle uncontrollably. But his outstretched hand found no purchase. One job! "Declan!"
The impatient command ripped free of his throat, sharper than the skin-shredding ice. In his arrogance, he had not considered Declan's fear. He walked the ancient world, made a living from it, yet saw only dead things. Confronted thus, the man crumbled. And damn him for it!
They stood this far up the hill for a reason. Sören had not deemed it necessary to share the details with Declan but regretted it now, as in his squinted peripheral he saw the man tumble down into the snow, away from a chunk of ice that would never have hit him. Sören's teeth bared; half grimace, half snarl. The vortex of power that raged within was more violent and consuming than the storm around them. Ahead the rune completed, and abruptly a chunk of flung ice burst into a thousand glittering pieces. The ground sizzled briefly under the boiling rain.
He blazed, oh he blazed, brighter than the weak winter sun.
"Du kommer att böja sig för mig!*"
Shots rang out in the storm. Sören saw the beast flinch but not the shadow where Declan crouched. Robbed of every advantage, smarting from the betrayal, he stalked down the hill. Bloody runes rent the ice. The wind howled and tore, a screaming fiend, and still he came. Fire gouted and splintered the ice into dazzling shards. His fist clenched so tight his fingers might dig trenches into the flesh of his palm.
The creature canted its head like a charmed snake. Despite Declan's assault, its attention was focused on Sören. No, he abruptly realised; on the runes he wove. The knowledge did him little good. Not did he have the time to dissect it on his fearless descent. Beneath his winter gear sweat soaked his skin. The strain of the runes burst veins against his head, his neck, his arms. The guardian loomed larger as he drew closer, and the chords of power sliced not ice but the beast's blubbery flesh.
Blood sprayed in a bright arc.
Abruptly something burned like fire in one of his eyes. A tentacle rose unseen, smashed into him, and he hit the ground hard, face first. His hands clenched convulsively, fist fulls of snow against the furious pain. He roared, forcing himself up onto all fours, shoving snow against the burning socket of his eye. The world shadowed dark without the power, and for a moment even the shriek of the wind began to hush. Ice crunched as the beast began its descent. No. Sören tightened his aching fist, scrambling to find purchase with his other hand to haul himself up. And met something cool and smooth instead.
A gruesome, bloody smile hiked his lips as he dragged the amulet over his head. He rose on trembling knees.
Above the great beast wavered uncertainly, as though blind. Then uruz tore chunks from its flesh. It screamed, more shrill than the wind. Its blood hissed as it met the snow. Until it finally fell.
Panting, Sören thudded to his knees, the pure thrill of victory tainted by the poker-hot pain of his eye. Teeth grit hard, he scooped another handful of snow to his face.
[[*You will bow to me]]
Declan Gregory
PPC
Gun spent with wild shooting, Declan smacked around his body in search of another magazine and fumbled to put it in place. The beast roared with pain overhead as Declan stooped within its shadow. But the pain was not of his doing. It little more than flinched at what must feel like bee stings in its body. Something else was wrenching it apart. Declan hoped it was Soren.
Soren!
He fumbled for the amulet around his neck. No it wasn't there. His pocket. No it was empty. His wrist! But the cording was gone. Frantically, he searched the snow, finding nothing but foot prints and pink rivers.
A great howl of defiance lifted his gaze uphill. Soren held the amulet aloft and stalked closer. A tentacle rose in retaliation, and smacked into his friend's body, felling him.
"Soren!" Declan yelled, but his voice was weak in the wind. Snow prickled his face. Soren was unmoving for a moment. The gun was ready.
That's when he saw it. A flicker from the corner of his eye. The guardian, fully risen like an arctic blubbery worm, abandoned its guardianship in search of its attackers. Water suctioned, pulsed and bobbed like the ocean under the beating of a tempest.
In the guardian's absence, the water swirled into a whirlpool and drained in the center. The surface of the water lowered. Ancient skeletons, the army after whom the lake was named, rose in its place, pristine and bone-white. Declan sensed the pull of the lake. To plunge into the dark depths of its center.
His head whipped back. Soren had risen, face bloodied pink and red with fury. The beast fell before him and snow powdered around the crash. The hills shook, and Declan searched for signs of avalanche.
Sure the beast was unresponsive, he loped to the former edge of the drained lake. Skeletons and ice made for a crunchy carpet. But the doorway, or hole, or cave - it seemed too architectural to be natural - beckoned.
Apathetic about preserving the dead, Declan picked his way to the center of the lake, beating Soren to the edge, and he peered downward. Darkness such that hadn't seen the light of sun in a thousand years - or more - peered back into him.
"It's an entrance!" he cried. "There's something. I see something down there!" He grinned victorious.
Air hissed passed gritted teeth. The snow numbed his face, cooled the edges of the pain, but did not cure it. Only there was no time to lay mewling on the ground like a mortal. Sören let the ice fall, blinked razors, saw hazy blackness. He yanked one of the scarves from around his neck, pulling impatiently when it tangled with the amulet's chord. Then he stretched the fabric taut over half his face, swaddling the offending eye shut.
He would deal with it later. Contemplate the sacrifice. The repercussions.
Of the blindness.
I paid the price willingly.
He pushed himself up, testing an unsteady balance. Closing his fist made the pain an exquisite decadence, but he needed both the alertness and the strength of his gift. The power trickled through his veins, re-fortification, but it was lapped by the warning of exhaustion. He spat bloody phlegm on the snow, then stalked away to discover what Declan was shouting about.
At the drained lake's edge, the beast's body lay on his blind side; he paid the damned creature not one whit of attention. Bone and ice crunched underfoot as he picked his way down. The black maw of an entrance greeted them at the basin's centre. Even through his furs Sören could feel the icy chill within, a place bereft of human life for thousands of years.
"Then lead on."
His voice was gravel, laced through with pain. His jaw clenched with it, unable to return the grin of victory. But the fever in his visible eye was fierce; he was as eager as Declan to descend.
Declan Gregory
PPC
Declan paled when he realized the extent of Soren's injuries. The rag bloodied and bound about his skull, he hoped covered a gouging crevice, not an eye injury.
Fervor wracked Soren's expression, sharp from the uncovered eye. Declan nodded, dry tongue yearning for the wetness of snow before descending. But the siren call forward overcame.
He stepped out into darkness, and his foot found a staircase.
Stone. Natural. As though the walls of the cave angled of their own accord into perfect stones downward.
The air was humid despite the elevation. And surprisingly, a dim light echoed within. When they reached the bottom, bones crunched underfoot, extraordinarily loud in the vastness. At the bottom of some kind of bowl in the earth, water pooled, likely from the lake above. And Declan believed somehow the guardian lived down here, rising when it sensed dangerous approach.
The light from above illuminated slick walls, which Declan studied thoroughly.
"There," he pointed. A door was embedded into the stone face. Above was inscribed a picture, waves and a figure commanding them.
"Strange to find in so remote a place."
Wary, but too late to turn back now, he pushed the door and surprisingly, it swung on easy hinges.
Sören's usually amenable disposition wilted beneath the pain. Declan dawdled, captivated by their discovery, and it irritated him. When the man paused yet again, sketching the outline of a door, wary and slow, Sören was the one to shoulder through. The air tasted recirculated, but not old as one would imagine. Naudhiz quested the ahead, a searching web more complete than his compromised sight.
Globes of light hung above, casting a watery glow across the cavern within as though it hung underwater. Inscription rippled the walls. Art perhaps. A shrine? A burial chamber? There were many objects. The eerie form of sombre statues. Stacked chests, their wooden frames surprisingly in tact considering their age and circumstance. There was a fishing net of no material Sören cared to guess, wound through with bits of beautiful shell. The glitter of more covetous items.
Yet Sören's eye roved quickly, hemmed by purpose. Somewhere a faint hum reacted to the rune threading its progress amongst the detritus. And despite the glint of wealth, that was how he viewed the meaningless accoutrements. Even the historic magnitude of the discovery, the secrets to be unearthed, the supernatural creature slain to gain entry - it all paled when he felt that flicker of recognition. From that moment, his hunger would only be sated by recovering the object that called to him.
He was not overly circumspect; in fact he doubted Declan would be paying much attention beyond the wonders surrounding him. Even if he did happen to notice, there was little the man could do to stop him, and, balanced on the razor's edge of agony, Sören would be ruthless. He strode to the centre, brow lowered into a piercing frown. Something like an altar - empty of crowning glory - thrust from the ground. Stylised waves worshipped its base, tenderly carved sea creatures arching out from the waters. Sören's hand groped the cool marble. Searching. Until the brush of his touch met something that made the rune sing.
He bent and with a wrench he released the shard. Its edges, still sharp, bit a warning into the palm of his flesh; would draw blood with a squeeze. At its base it grew jagged, as though once larger. This first study was rough; brief by necessity. Sören eased it into the confines of his coat with barely a pause, and finally felt his soul eased.
His energy fled, then, enough that he slumped, one hand braced against the pedestal's top. His hand sprung open, fingers aching sharply. The world dimmed considerably. "If you wish to document this, be quick."
Declan Gregory
PPC
Light glinted across the chamber like reflections snaking over water. What wonders there were to behold overhead, Declan quickly forgot in the trove of treasures at his feet.
He was going to be famous. His family would be venerated! The ancient world turned on its head!
He had his Wallet out, perched high, turning it to his giddy face as he explored the discovery. He was careful not to touch anything, but his fingertips itched to caress every immaculate object.
Gold, silver, bronze. Coins askew as though once neatly stacked. He bent low to examine a massive conch shell brimming with pearls. Statuettes of men with the tails of fish. Fossilized skeletons of sea horses. Urns bearing paintings of poisonous octopus and snakes. Usually a symbol of danger, he was careful to avoid touching them.
A noise turned him in time to witness Soren wrench something out from the base of the altar. But he didn't voice his objection.
Instead, he did as ordered, and began to record everything in sight. But he would be back with a full team next time.
Soren needed medical attention, though. And despite the temptation to stay alone while his friend returned to camp, Declan was ill prepared for a long stay.
They returned to the passageway that led them to the chamber. Soren led the way, lights following him. Declan trailed last, hesitant to leave. In his previous haste before, he hadn't noticed the inscriptions along the wall. His pace slowed as his eyes roamed the writings. The theme of the temple chamber behind them had been distinctly nautical. Odd for such a land locked location. But as he squinted, he thought he recognized the writings on the wall as European. Greek? They were so faded. He paused, realizing Soren had made quick progress and was leaving him behind. In the middle of the passage, Declan cried out "Wait! Soren! I think this is Greek,"
he pointed at the wall, fingers ever so slightly grazing the surface.
Click.
His heart skipped a beat. There was a grinding mechanism. And Declan stepped back from the wall. The noise grew ominous. "Sören!!"
He cried.
He made it three steps before the passageway filled with poison. He fell, never making it out.
Declan lingered but Sören did not wait. The man knew the way back to their camp, and with the creature dead there was nothing that might hinder his safe return. "I don't care,"
he said harshly, without looking back. Until there was a sudden click, like the snap of bone. Sören spun, squeezing his fist, filling painfully with the tumultuous power. It felt as though it ruptured every vein in his body as it snaked out. But Declan's body already slumped. The runes intended to jerk him free instead cradled his limbs, softening his tumble to the floor.
"Sova gott, vän*"
His brows lowered into a frown as he tugged his scarf up over his mouth, backing up the tunnel, returning to cold light. Bone-weary, he did not pause before treking slowly to the village.
The strange underground shrine and its secrets and treasures no longer interested him. The death of his friend was regrettable, and yet he did not spare himself the time to mourn. Nor to think of a small girl with a tea set. But he reported the death dutifully, and laid credit for the lake's secret discovery like a wreath at Declan's feet. That he had promised anyway. It would take weeks for the body's retrieval and subsequent excavation of the site. By that time the body of the beast would have rotted, or the village would have taken care of it. Neither prospect concerned Sören. After seeking what medical attention he could, he disappeared as quietly as he had arrived.
[[*Sleep well, friend.]]