The Dungeon We Forgot

I ought to follow up on my own posts more often than I do. I have this nagging insecurity that once I put something out there, I need to move on. It’s an obsession with novelty that really isn’t helpful. Some ideas deserve to be revisited, and developed further.

A couple months back, I sketched out a list of twenty architectural features that would make dungeons more memorable. Part of the goal there was to solve the blank page problem, to give myself a better starting place for a dungeon than “Well, I guess it needs an entrance…” To help me make dungeons that are interesting not just for what’s in them, but also interesting for how the floorplan is laid out.

It seems like a natural progression here is to put theory into practice, and make a dang dungeon using those principals. So, I’ve rolled 3d20 on the list, and tried to incorporate a river, a mix of natural and crafted spaces, and an area that can be seen but not easily accessed into a single dungeon. The resulting map is uglier even than I intended for it to be, (I’m no Gus L.), but I think it will serve.

I originally intended for this post to include 3 such dungeons, but it’s a ding-dang long process sketching out a dungeon even as rudimentary as this one and making it presentable. So you’ll take one dungeon and you’ll like it! >:(

This dungeon is built into the lowest plateau of a strange, stepped mountain, far to the north where the summers are short and the people are hard. It was constructed just a few years ago by the folk of the nearby village, though they do not remember doing so. One day, they simply dropped everything, took up their tools, and wandered en masse towards the plateau to set themselves to work.

Eight years passed in hard labor. Those children too young to work died of neglect as their parents mindlessly chiseled stone, stopping only to mechanically eat and sleep. Then the construction was complete, and everyone woke up knowing that time had passed, but recalling nothing of those eight years. Not a one of them dared enter the structure they had made.

They returned to their homes and their lives, insomuch as they could. They try not to think too hard about the mysterious structure they built just a few miles distant. But on cloudy nights, when there are no moon or stars in the sky, it’s impossible not to notice the processions of ghostly red lights moving sometimes towards that place, and sometimes away from it.

The entry chamber is 4 stories tall, with a massive featureless statue standing between two winding stairways. If any living thing tries to leave, the statue will come to life and prevent them from doing so. Just placing its arm across the passage would be enough to stop anyone not equipped with picks and explosives and hours of free time in which to work.

Not far from the entrance is a room bisected by bars of milky white metal. On the near side are carpets on which a person could kneel in worship. On the far side is a throne, in which rests a withered corpse.

This is the Dread Lich, which once blighted a distant land no local will have ever heard of. When its phylactery was destroyed, it retreated here, half a world away from those who sought its destruction. Here it will rest and recuperate until all who remember it are long dead. Then, it will return to take vengeance on their descendants.

The white metal bars are sufficient to absorb any magic, and will shift to deflect any attack, directed beyond them. The Dread Lich has only one existence now, and has no wish to risk destruction needlessly.

In the south are the pens. There are people here, children really, between 12 and 19 years old. They are runaways from families in the area, though none of them wanted to be. They could hear themselves say what they said to their families, they watched themselves flee as if from a distance, but could not control their bodies until they had run all the way here, and locked themselves into these pens.

The floors are a cold red stone, which drains their vitality. Gradually they will grow sick. When they die, the stone will absorb even their bones.

At the center of the dungeon is a curious sort of crater, open to the sky above, with sheer cliffs rising on every side. A river pours in from the higher plataeus, creating a verdant little microbiome here, with small populations of animals not seen in the surrounding region. This area could serve as an alternate entrance or exit, if the players have sufficient climbing gear or skill.

Leading off from here is a small series of natural caverns, where a dragon has taken up residence. It believes it has done so of its own free will, abandoning a horde of gold to satisfy its desires for a colder climate. Why a reptilian creature would have such desires is anybody’s guess…

In the northernmost part of the dungeon, stairs lead down to an underground lake, which glows red with a swirling horde of spectral minds that have no proper place in this world.

Getting Weird with the Classics 4

Why in the world has it been almost 2 years since I last did one of these? They’re a lot of fun to write, and people seemed to enjoy reading them. I rolled the items for this post forever ago, and they’ve just been sitting in my drafts folder, perpetually ignored.

For anyone who doesn’t remember, here’s how this works: I use the 1979 Dungeon Master’s Guide to randomly generate 3 magic items. Then I reinvent them to be a little weirder, goofier, grosser, and generally more in line with my personal style.

As should be obvious from the title, I’ve done this not once, not twice, but three times before, all back in early 2016.

So, without further yammering:

Ring of Water Walking

This ring enables the wearer to walk upon any liquid without sinking into it; this includes mud, quicksand, oil, running water, and even snow. The ring wearer’s feet do not actually contact the surface he or she is walking upon when liquid or water is being walked upon (but oval depressions about 1 1/1′ long and 1 inch deep appear per 100 pounds of weight of the walker will be observed in hardening mud or set snow). Rate of movement is standard movement for the individual wearing the ring. Up to 1,200 pounds of weight can be supported by a water walking ring.

Ring of Walking Water

A copper band which glows a faint orange. If thrown into a sufficiently sized body of liquid, that liquid will swirl into form around the ring. The process takes only a single round, after which the fluid–now in the shape of a human wearing the ring on their finger–will come to the aid of whomever threw the ring.

Liquid-persons have 4 hit dice. They are as strong, dexterous, and swift as an average human. They cannot speak, but for the duration of the effect, will obey any commands the ring thrower gives them. There is a wide variety of abilities these creatures might have, based on whatever particular fluid they are composed from. Rather than write an anticipatory list that would no doubt be incomplete, I leave it to the individual referee to determine what it means to command a fluid person composed of salt water rather than fresh water, or lava, or fetid water, or beer, or poison, etc.

When they are created, a liquid person has an innate sense of why they were created. The referee should ask the throwing player to specify what that reason is, with the understanding that it cannot be too broad in scope. Anything that would take longer than 30 minutes will need to be broken down into a smaller task.

When the immediate need for them has passed, liquid persons will attempt to flee from their creator. They know the thrower will want their ring back, but the liquid person would rather keep their new life. So, if the player does not wish to lose their ring, then after each use they must chase down and tackle the liquid person, which will fall apart if the ring is taken from them.

Candle of Invocation

Candles of Invocation are specially blessed and prayered tapers which are dedicated to the pantheon of gods of one of the nine alignments. The typical candle is not remarkable, but it will radiate magic if such is detected, and good or evil will be radiated also if appropriate. Simply burning the candle will generate a favorable aura for the individual so doing if the candle’s alignment matches that of the character’s. If burned by a cleric of the same alignment, the candle temporarily increases the cleric’s level of experience by 2, allowing him or her to cast additional spells, and even normally unavailable spells, as if her or she were of the higher level, but only so long as the taber is aflame. Any burning also allows the casting of a gate spell, the respondent being of the alignment of the candle, but the taper is immediately consumed in the process. Each candle will burn for 4 hours. It is possible to extinguish the candle as any other, but it can be placed in a lantern or otherwise sheltered to protect it from drafts and other things which could put it out without affecting its magical properties.

Candle of Embarkation

A large wax candle, of plain make. When lit, the candle conjures a vessel beneath it, appropriate to whatever whatever environment the candle-lighter’s weight is resting in. If lit by someone standing in a river, the candle will conjure a riverboat, while in the sea it will conjure a galleon. On land, the candle might conjure a carriage with a team of of oxen. If the candle is lit while falling (difficult to do, with all that rushing air), it will produce a flying machine. Strange environments may produce strange vehicles.

Whatever the vessel summoned, there are a few similarities. First, the candle will always place itself in an enclosed space, like a ship’s cabin. Second, the person lighting the candle, as well as any creature within 20′ of them, will likewise be moved to the same space the candle occupies. This includes everything, from friends and foes, to badgers and bugs.

The vessel will come with everything it needs for basic locomotion (boats will have sails, carriages will have pulling animals, etc), but will lack anything else. The candle cannot conjure operators, provisions, or armaments.

The conjured vehicle will persist for as long as the candle remains lit. If the candle goes out, the vessel will disappear. If undisturbed, the candle will last for 12 hours.

Boots of Striding and Springing
The wearer of these magical boots has a base movement rate of 12″ , regardless of size or weight. This speed can be maintained tirelessly for up to 12 hours per day, but thereafter the boots no longer function for 12 hours– assume they “recharge” for that period. In addition to the striding factor, these boots also have a springing factor. While “normal” paces for the individual wearing this type of footgear are 3′ long, the boots also enable forward jumps of up to 30′, backwards leaps of 9′, and vertical springs of 15′. If circumstances permit the use of such movement in combat, the wearer can effectively strike and spring away when he or she has the initiative during a melee round. However such activity has a degree of danger, as there is a base 20% chance that the wearer of the boots will stumble and be stunned on the following round; adjust the 20% chance downwards by 3% for each point of dexterity above 12 for the wearer. In any event, the wearer increases armor class value by +1 due to the quickness of movement these boots imbue.

Springs of Booting

A small wooden box, or metal tin, similar to one that might be used to carry tea leaves, ground seasonings, or snuff. In reality, the box contains springs wrapped in cloth sleeves. They’re pressed up against the lid, waiting to bounce out and startle whoever opens the box.

Anyone struck by these is quickly booted from wherever they are, via the nearest exist. If they are on a boat, the will be tossed overboard. If they’re in a building, they’ll go out the nearest openable window or door. If they’re in a dungeon, they’ll be flung back up to the surface. To them, it will feel like their body is attached to a cord, pulling them around at high speed. This pulling is always completely safe–they won’t get dragged through lava, or slammed into any walls. However, that won’t count for much if they’re then tossed out a 20th story window, or over the rail of a ship sailing through lava.

Anyone who opens the box themselves, without specifically pointing it away, will automatically be hit, and dragged off. Characters may also attempt to aim the weapon at a target before opening it, but this will require a successful attack roll against the base armor rating, followed by a saving throw versus paralyzation to dodge.

They Came from the Silver Wheel

A blinding flash, a sonic boom, and the Silver Wheel appears. Twelve feet high, perhaps a hundred and twenty across, the wheel is a perfect cylinder. Its surface is smooth, without any obvious rivet or seam. It is beyond cyclopean; a featureless catastrophe from unknown realms. Any thing or any one which occupied the space the wheel chose for itself is gone.

Some time after the Wheel appears, a door opens. People emerge. They have no recollection of what is inside of the wheel. No recollection at all of their lives since they last entered it. They do have a mission in the forefront of their minds, which is always the same on every world they visit: the Silver Wheel desires treasures. It is somehow fed by them, and has indentured these people to procure its sustenance. Once they have returned with enough valuables to sate the Wheel, it will shift again. When it does, an identically sized bit of another world will appear, displaced by the Wheel’s movement. Where that bit of a world once was, the Wheel now is, and soon it will release its servants to seek new treasures.

These servants of the Wheel are the Player Characters.

Background

“They Came from the Silver Wheel” is a campaign I intended to run back in 2014, but it never came together. Eventually, I gave up on the idea to focus on other things, and for some reason it only now occurred to me to use it as blog fodder.

The Silver Wheel is a framing device, meant to allow the referee to connect as many disparate adventures together in a single campaign as they want. There are too many interesting settings out there, and not enough time to run a whole campaign in even a fraction of them. Using the Silver Wheel, you can spend a few sessions in A Red and Pleasant Land, then warp to Greyhawk, then to some old campaign setting you ran back in high school, then–fuck it–why not appear in Star Frontier for a bit, before jumping to Scenic Dunsmouth.

The Silver Wheel allows a group to poke their heads into a ton of different adventures and campaign settings, and in so doing, preempts setting fatigue. The Wheel’s voracious appetite for treasure keeps the game focused properly, but skirts the niggling issue of what the players can do with all their money.

And, hopefully, the wheel’s many benefits will encourage the players not to abandon it.

Benefits of the Wheel

Servants of the Silver Wheel are well cared for. They are healthier, and more capable than other men. They are well equipped, and even allowed to keep those treasures which are useful to them–such as magical items. But, since those servants are also player characters, they have agency. If they wish, they can abandon the wheel at any time. Eventually, it will recruit new servants from this world. They will gather what it desires, and it will disappear, stranding the PCs on this world forever. They will lose all of the wheel’s many benefits, but they will be free.

So what are these benefits? Well, whatever happens to people inside the wheel must be good for their health, because whenever they level up, they roll a bonus from the following table, in addition to whatever benefits they would normally receive:

+1d4 hit points
A random save is reduced by 1.
1 skill point
A random ability score is raised by 1
Character gains +1 to attack rolls
Character’s speed is increased by 30′.

These benefits are permanent so long as the character returns to the Wheel regularly. If the Wheel leaves them behind, these boons will begin to fade. After each month of time the characters spends away from the wheel, randomly determine one of their boons for them to lose, until they have none left.

The servants of the Wheel also have access to special equipment. At the start of each new adventure, the players are entitled to any basic piece of equipment they can carry without becoming overly encumbered. Things like rope, iron spikes, 10′ poles, bear traps, etc. These must be identified at the start of play, and cannot be swapped out until the players are ready to jump to the next world.

Basic equipment from the Wheel is somehow better than standard examples of its type. The exact nature of the improvement is left to the referee, and may not always be the same, as the Wheel is fond of experimenting with new ideas.

By way of example, a short sword that normally deals 1d6 damage might be enhanced by microvibrators, causing it to deal 1d8 damage. Or, it might have a basic artificial intelligence to it, allowing it to adjust attacks of its own volition, increasing attack rolls by some amount. As another example, a rope might be programmable, so that it will twist itself into knots when a command is sent, or it might be able to crawl up to some desired position like a snake. Armor might brace the body in such a way as to increase the player’s carry capacity, or it might have built-in communications tools.

Whatever the improvement, these items are ephemeral. They depend on the energy that infuses them within the Wheel, and deprived of it for more than a month, they will cease to function.

It angers the Silver Wheel if any of its gifts to its servants are not returned. When players re-enter the wheel, their experience gain will be penalized by the base cost of any equipment they left behind, multiplied by 100.

Secrets of the Wheel

Within the Wheel is a creature of the mind. It is neither corporeal, nor fully incorporeal, but exists between these two states. It has a sort of gaseous body, but its essence is not strictly bound to that frame, and may be tangible or not at different times. The creature is an exile. The Wheel is its prison, the only place in our dimension with an environment it can endure.

The creature’s only source of amusement is traveling to different worlds, and experiencing the minds there. It tastes their conceptions, searching always for new flavors. Of particular use to it is the concept of value. This is the mother’s milk which allows it to perform the titanic feat of leaping instantaneously from world to world.

When the creature takes a gold piece into itself, and vaporizes it, the amount of power generated is proportional to how local minds value the object. So, on a world of plenty, an apple would be useless; but during a famine, an apple might provide significant energy.

Are You Loyal to the Party?

There are two things about hirelings that I hate.

I hate seeing them treated as props. As things that can be safely ignored until a player wants them to make an attack, or use an ability. I understand that during play, everyone is focused on the events of the game rather than characterizing the background NPCs. This is good and proper. But while I am not interested in forcing my game into cul de sacs of “rich role playing experiences,” it none the less feels lame when hirelings are only ever brought up for their utility. Players should have to do more maintenance to keep them around.*

I also hate determining a hireling’s loyalty when they are first hired, and having that number remain static throughout their tenure with the party. A person’s loyalty to their employer should be a function of their working experiences, not an innate attribute of their character. Loyalty should be a thing that goes up and down constantly, depending on how valued the retainer feels, and how much of a future they see for themselves in this work.

(Loyalty, for any non-OSR folks in the audience, is a number between 2 and 12. Any time the hirelings are presented with a situation that tests their loyalty, the referee rolls 2d6. If the result is greater than the hireling’s loyalty score, then they are not loyal enough to endure whatever the current situation is. They might flee the scene, betray the party, or simply refuse to follow an order they’ve been given.

In attempting to solve the latter issue, I spent about a year rolling loyalty checks for hirelings after every session. If something traumatic had happened, a failed check caused the hireling’s loyalty to go down by 1. Otherwise, a failed check caused it to go up by 1. The idea was that, over time, the hireling’s loyalty would grow, but that its growth had diminishing returns. It’s easy to go from being an acquaintance to being a friend, it’s more difficult to go from being a friend to being the most important person in someone’s life.

In practice, this wound up just being busywork for me. Loyalty trended upwards over time, until the party had a half dozen hirelings with 11 loyalty. At that point, they basically are a prop, since they’ll almost never go against their employer’s wishes. The only part of the system I think anybody enjoyed were the little notes I wrote into the session reports, explaining why the hireling’s loyalty did whatever it did. “Albert was offended by Don’s joke. His loyalty goes down by 1.” “Sheniqua is proud of having incinerated all those guards. Her loyalty goes up by 1.” Stuff like that.

I quietly stopped bothering to use that system a few months back, and nobody seems to have missed it. I’ve been glumly pondering what I could do to make it work ever since. Then, as I was recording “Romantic Fantasy and OSR D&D” for Blogs on Tape, a good possibility occurred to me:

Periodically, the referee should go down the list of the party’s hirelings. For each one, the the referee decides whether their recent experiences should cause their loyalty to go up by 1, down by 1, or remain the same.

Let me break that down:

“Periodically” could mean at the end of every session, at the end of every adventure, during every haven turn, or even at the end of each in-game year. It depends on how swingy you want the system to be, and how much effort you want to put in. Personally, I think I’ll do it every Haven turn.

When I say “the referee decides,” I mean exactly that. This should be done by fiat, without any dice. Dice are a great way to resolve an infinity of choices, where a referee might unwittingly show their biases. But if a question can be resolved by common sense, dice just muddy the issue. When it comes to hirelings, the referee should already have some sense of who they are as a person, just as they do for all the game’s NPCs. And the referee will certainly know what the hireling’s recent experiences were. It’s not as though NPCs do anything when the referee isn’t around.

It should be easy to infer, given what the referee knows, how each hireling feels about their job right now.

Their loyalty might go down if they suffered serious injury, or if the players made reckless decisions, causing them to lose confidence in the party’s leadership. It might also go down if the hireling is just annoyed, bored, or feels like they’re not a respected member of the crew.

A lowered loyalty isn’t necessarily a punishment. It’s not always about the Hireling hating or fearing their employer. They’re just fractionally less interested in continuing to adventure, and if their loyalty gets low enough, a failed check might mean they strike out on their own.

On the other hand, their Loyalty might go up if they feel valued. It could be as simple as a good conversation with the PCs, being deferred to on some minor decision, or being celebrated for some success. Making sure your employee had a good day at work will help ensure they don’t betray you to the next goblin who looks at them funny.

Loyalty remaining unchanged should be an uncommon choice. Used only if the referee is really torn between the two other options.

I’m really enamored with this idea, because it seems to elegantly resolve both of the things I hate, with a single mechanic. Hireling morale will be anything but static. It’ll be going up and down all the time, and hopefully it’ll be going down a lot more than it did with my previous method. Moreover, those fluctuations provide a direct incentive for the players to interact with their hirelings to keep up morale. It’s rare, in my experience, to find any opportunity to offload some of the referee’s mental burden onto the players.

This method also seems to have the tertiary benefit of creating a natural cap on the number of hirelings a player can take on. The more people you try to bring with you, the more time and energy you’ll have to spend to keep them happy.

I’m excited to spring this on my players after their next haven turn.

*I realize this problem would be solved if I required hirelings to earn a half-share of treasure. It’s a good method, and one I might use again in the future. But it doesn’t _really_ solve either of the two gripes presented in this post.

Behaviors for The Level 1 Creature Generator

Well known amphibian aficionado and all-around cool dude Michael Raston recently put out The Level 1 Creature Generator. It’s a handy tool for referees who are tired of listening to the reptilian enthusiasts and mammalian traditionalists argue with one another every time the party is attacked by Kobolds.

I think it’s a pretty fun creative tool, but I’m also Michael’s bud, so I’m not going to pretend to offer any kind of serious review for it. It’s good stuff, and Michael deserves his dollar for it.
That being said, after perusing the basic shape table, the form table, and the ability table, it struck me that the project could be improved by inclusion of a behaviors table. So I made one.

Level 1 Creature Behaviors

Roll 1d4, then 1d10

One

Plagued with obsessive compulsions. Must perform actions a specific number of times, quickly clean any blood off themselves, and adhere to rigid standards of organization and symmetry in all things.
Will talk about anyone it encounters as if they cannot hear or understand it. Will only directly address other creatures of its own type, or sometimes talk to itself.
Takes wagers on everything. 5sp you can’t guess where their tattoo is? How about 2sp you’ll need to ask them for help before you get out of the dungeon? 15sp they can kill that adventurer in less than 3 swings.
Tell a lot of really obvious, pathetic lies, all the time.
They use a “talking stick”, and take it very seriously. Anyone who speaks without holding the stick is warned a single time, then attacked with intent to kill if they break the rule again. If their stick is lost, they will not speak until a new stick can be consecrated.
Interpret everything in the most depressing possible way. They seem almost fetishistic in their desire to be miserable.
Have a dizzying array of superstitions. It seems everything that happens can be interpreted to have some prophetic significance to them.
Believe themselves to be much more intimidating than they are, as if the mere sight of them should make mortal men cower in fear. No matter how someone acts towards the creatures, they will bend over backwards to maintain this belief.
Act as though any violence they perform is a favor. “You are welcome for ending your miserable existence. It must be such a burden being a member of a lesser order of life.”
Conceive of themselves as contemptible filth-creatures, which deserve to be put down.

Two

Treat new people they meet with an uncomfortable familiarity, like an obnoxious sibling. They’re very touchy, take constant jibes at a person’s foibles, and play pranks which go way too far.
Waste is deeply offensive to them. They are committed to using every part of the adventurer.
Have an obsession with seeking out the most glorious deaths they can. Will fight to stay alive only to make the death more glorious.
Always have a scribe among them wherever they travel, so someone can record their deeds and bring it back to the community. This scribe is strictly a non-combatant.
Are paralyzingly afraid of the dark. Always have plenty of torches or other light sources with them.
Are frantically afraid of the vast open void of the sky. Refuse to step out from the underground. If they can be captured and shoved into a building, they will never leave it of their own volition.
Dispassionate, scientifically curious observers. Will frequently repeat an action several times to see if the results are consistent. Obsessively record their findings.
Tinkerers, always enthusiastic about trying out new things to see if they can achieve interesting results. Get bored very quickly.
Offended by the very concept of writing. Thoughts should stay in people’s heads where they can be alive. Trapping thoughts on paper is perverse.
Passionate body modders. Will often tattoo or pierce themselves impulsively. When wounded, will openly speculate about how they might manipulate the wound to heal in some cool-looking way.

Three

Cowardice is a virtue. Only a buffoon wouldn’t try to escape death by any means necessary. Offer violence only when you have overwhelming force, or using hit-and-run tactics.
The use of metal tools is deeply contrary to their spiritual beliefs. They are profoundly offended by anyone displaying worked metal, and at the very best, will treat them with the contempt due to a heathen non-believer.
Speak only in a sing-song. Rhyme as often as they can.
Animal slavery is an abhorrent practice to them. Only soulless brutes would ever bind an animal, or bend it to their will.
Will obey the will of any cat.
Observe a complex code of etiquette which no one not raised among them could ever hope to adhere to. Would agree with the phrase “Killing a person is no excuse for being rude to them.”
Do not use any footwear themselves, but find it to be a fascinating adaptation of other cultures. Can be used as a kind of currency among their people. Will be intensely interested in acquiring the shoes and boots of anyone they meet.
Due to some ancient insult, these creatures loathe wizards. Wizards know what they did. And, indeed, any magic users present do know. Talking about it will only enrage these creatures more, even if making an apology.
The most popular sport among them is competitive water diverting. They shift the course of rivers and compete in both time taken, and style points.
Every one of them thinks they’re a comedian. They enable one another with endless, grating laughter over the dumbest jokes.

Four

Intensely sexual. Will probably invite you to an orgy. If you get into a fight with them, no matter who wins, they’re going to enjoy it in ways that make you uncomfortable.
Are currently on a scavenger hunt. They need a leaf with 6 points, a rock that looks like it has a face, the ear of a sentient creature, and something pink.
Do a lot of weird drugs, and will probably do more of them during any encounter.
Believe that boats are a crime against nature. If the gods had intended folk to float upon the water, they’d have made us more like ducks.
It is an accepted fact that only they, and other members of their species, are really ‘real.’ Everything and everyone outside of them is a fiction, which exists only to make their lives more interesting.
Highly secretive about their own existence. Anyone who knows of them must somehow be prevented from spreading that knowledge. Some are held captive for the rest of their lives, others are merely discredited so no one will believe them, still others are simply killed.
Generally a brusque people. However, if they decide to kill you, they will first invite you to share a meal and conversation with them. It’s only proper to get to know someone whose life you will end.
Are voluntarily carnivorous as a society, having decided that it is completely unethical to eat any plant-based foods.
The goddess of fortune is their most culturally significant deity. They believe that any decision left to chance will result in the most harmony with the cosmic plan. Though, they do not consider it wrong to make decisions for yourself. It is an understandably selfish thing to do. Only the most devout would allow themselves to come to serious harm simply to satisfy the cosmic plan.
Have a rigid warrior culture that prizes honor above all things.

Daughter of Tangled Corpses: Part 5

Bodies. Not the withered husks of the pale folk, but true human bodies. Piled in a mound, twisted into a single diffuse form. The tangle stood over them like a living creature, blocking any flight from the caverns. A half dozen heads rose above the mess. They were dead, and yet they gazed in unison upon the three thieves.

Banros only hesitated for a moment. He bolted, dodging to the creature’s right side and plowing forward to pass it. Alger and Jeanette moved to follow. But a chain of arms—each gripping the stump of the next—lashed out from the tangle. They slammed into Banros’ chest like a club, sending him straight onto his back. He curled in pain, but manged to force his body back onto its feet in time to avoid a second blow.

“Run!” he squeaked, his voice knocked out of him. The group sprinted back through the main cavern, but the way back was blocked. The cavern had begun to fill with pale folk. Jeanette expected to see the same terror on their faces that she knew was on her’s. But she saw only rage.

“What is it!?” she screeched to Eclesius when she saw him.

“Be silent, barbarian whores!” the caller bellowed, his pale face ruddy with rage. “We accepted you into our homes! Into our beds! You shared our food, now you rob us! You murder us!”

Jeanette was trying to form some convincing lie when Alger shoved her aside. She stumbled, then wheeled around to snap at Alger, but she stopped. Alger’s sword protruded from the old man’s back. A clean thrust through the chest. The cavern was still. In the quiet, Eclesius blood poured onto the sand like pattering rain. When his body fell to the ground, the pale folk began to scream, and fled to their caves.

Another howl rose behind them. Not a single voice, but a chorus of screeching sounds tumbling together into a single expression of hate. The corpse creature was swift. In an instant it was upon them. It lashed an appendage at Alger before the soldier had even turned to face the howl. The strike flung him back, rolling over his head and coming to rest flat on his belly.

Banros drew his own sword, attempting to hack at the creature’s limb. But before his blow could fall, the chain of arms withdrew into the mass. Banros fell off balance, and the limb lashed out again. Even as Alger climbed back to his feet, the creature sent Banros sprawling to the side.

Jeanette fumbled to get her dagger in hand, but didn’t move to help. She backed away, hoping to avoid the monster’s attention. But the moment a glint of steel appeared in her hand, the creature’s many faces spun on her. She dropped the dagger, and spread her open palms wide as she continued to step back. The monster didn’t heed surrender. It took two quick steps towards her. A downward slash from Alger sliced through its side.

One of the creature’s many bellies burst open, spraying dark blood on Alger’s face. Black and withered intestines sprang from the wound as well. The ropey innards wrapped round Alger’s wrist and swung the soldier to the side. He stumbled, and the creature continued to charge Jeanette with swift, lurching movements. Its many eyes had never left her.

She fled, arcing towards the cavern’s exit and the freedom of the world above. The spray of sand thrown up by the creature’s charge grew dense around her. She could hear the others shouting something, and risked a glance over her shoulder. The monster was three steps behind her, keeping pace. The tangled bodies were shifting. They separated—a mouth opened. The opening loomed behind her. Every muscle in her body pressed against the ground. Away from the creature. Towards the exit. A blow to her ankle sent her stumbling forward. A wet, claustrophobic darkness closed around her. Then crushing pain.

—

Alger helped Banros to his feet.

“It can be cut; it can be killed!” Alger encouraged. He shoved the other man’s weapon back into his hand before taking off after the monster. Banros paused, and took a long look at the path between himself and the exit. It was clear of obstacles. He could even pick up a bag of gold on the way…

But he wasn’t fast enough to make it out before the monster finished with the other two. Then it would come after him, and he’d be alone. His best chance at survival was sticking with them. Which meant fighting that thing.

“I’m going to die.” Banros muttered.

He sprinted towards the fight. The corpse creature was gaining on Jeanette. Its body was shifting, opening up.

“Look out!” he heard Alger shout.

“Keep running!” Banros called. Jeanette turned, and tangle of corpses closed around her. She was gone.

“Don’t stop.” Banros commanded. “We still can’t run. We still need to kill it!” Alger never broke stride.

But the creature took no notice of them. In fact, Banros realized, it hadn’t moved at all since the witch had tumbled into its maw. The bodies were writhing. They rose to the mound’s surface, then retreated beneath it again. The whole mass was pulsating. Alger must have noticed it as well, because he slowed to a stop a few steps outside sword range. Banros stopped next to him.

“We need to run.” Banros said, already beginning to jog towards one of the discarded sacks of gold. Alger moved to stay beside him.

“It will catch us!” Alger hissed.

“Maybe. If it starts running. But killing it was a long shot.” Banros hissed back. He handed one of the sacks to Alger, and hefted the other over his own shoulder. “We were never going to kill it. It was going to kill us. But fighting was our only chance, so I thought we should do it. Now we have a better chance.”

“What about the witch?”

“She’s dead.” Banros replied. He fiddled with the sack, trying to find the best way to hold it without slowing down.

“You don’t know.” Alger sounded morose.

“Do you think she’d stick around if it was you?” Banros asked. “Hell, she was running when we were both on the ground. She thought she could get away while the fucking thing ate us.”

Alger didn’t answer.

They reached the passage that led to the drawbridge. Banros tore off one of his sleeves and wrapped the cloth around his sword blade. He leaped, dunking the blade into one of the channels of black oil that lit the cavern. The makeshift torch was sloppy, but Banros didn’t intend to stop to make a better one. With all speed, the pair charged into the darkness.

They had covered a hundred yards when the howling chorus rose behind them again. It was coming closer. The howl was growing louder faster than any creature could move.

“Run!” Banros screamed. Alger’s chest burned as the drawbridge came into view. Maybe they could climb it–

He felt a sharp blow. He sped forward, but his feet weren’t on the ground anymore. Both men slammed into the raised drawbridge, rolled down it, and landed in a heap. Banros screamed again, this time in pain. He slapped his own face to put out the fire that was burning there. In the tumble he’d struck himself with his torch. The pitch boiled away at his skin. He screeched in panic and pain as he flailed.

The corpse creature loomed over them. Its many faces leered with toothy grins. They were trapped. Alger didn’t think. He dove forward and plunged his sword down one of the grinning throats. He didn’t even remember drawing it. It didn’t matter. He pulled it back and plunged the sword forward again. The beast surged forward. Alger was elbow-deep in its gullet. It rammed him against the drawbridge. It pressed on him, crushing his body against the wood. The sound of cracking rib echoed in Alger’s ears, and he roared in pain. If he could have collapsed to the floor he would, but the press of flesh kept him upright. He focused every survival instinct he had on pulling his sword arm back again. He hacked at the creature. He sliced down, separating one of its heads, leaving a gaping hole.

—

“One of us.” echoed a dozen voices all at once. “Blood of our Blood. Kinswoman. Nobeli.” Jeanette’s mind was fuzzy. She recognized that she was hearing words, but she had forgotten their meaning. She was being pressed flat, crushed. Her breath came in gasps. Everything hurt. She couldn’t think.

“You will merge. You will become us. Nobeli. Once of us. One of us. One of us.” The voices began to repeat the final words over and over. As they went on, they separated from each other. The chorus became a discordant argument made up of a single phrase. They bandied back and forth in different tones. The fuzziness began to lift from her mind. The crushing sensation disappeared as the press of bodies passed through her like water. She drew a deep breath of air, and as she exhaled her body flowed out with her breath. It became a shade. She drew more air into her mind. She exhaled, and some part of herself she’d never noticed before left her. Then it returned, buffeting her like the winds of a hurricane. She waded in sensations of important meaninglessness.

Then there was silence. Pounding vibrations shook her. Hatred rose in her. Hatred for the lessers. Then pain, pain and more hatred. Feelings she had no words for overwhelmed her. Her mind was too small. She had to reach out to the others. Connect to them.

And then she was back. The press of bodies was crushing her. Her breath came in gasps. But there was light! Light she could see with her eyes. It felt real. And everything that had just washed over her now felt cold, and dead. She became aware of her body again. Her arm ached, but she reached out for the light, and felt something clamp on to her hand and pull. She slid forward.

Jeanette choked on a lung full of air. Alger had her hand. His eyes were wide. He pulled, and she felt her other limbs untangling from the corpse creature. A wet sucking sensation began to pull her back, but Alger’s grip didn’t slacken. Once her other arm was free, she shoved against the creature too, inching her body free of its grip. When her hips slid free, the creature spat her onto the ground in a pool of sludge.

Alger dropped her hand, and leaped onto the offensive again. He plunged the blade deep into the gullet Jeanette had been spat from. He sliced into something fleshy before the gullet snapped closed on his arm. The corpse creature twisted. It flung Alger like a toy, slamming him into the cavern wall before spitting him out. He laid unmoving where he fell, gasping for breath. Jeanette scanned the ground for his sword, but it was gone.

A rapid clicking sounded above them, and Jeanette looked up. She saw Banros on a small catwalk, standing beside a spinning crank. With a great crash, the drawbridge fell open, exposing the path to freedom. Banros dropped from the catwalk, and landed feet-first on top of the corpse creature. Carried by the momentum of his fall, Banros’ knees bent, and he plunged his sword into the fleshy mass. Without pause, he rolled off its side and knelt beside Alger. A cascading scream bellowed from the many rotting heads.

“Can you move?” Banros asked Jeanette, even as he hefted the wounded soldier to his feet. Jeanette felt weak. Any other time she would have said she couldn’t…but she didn’t have a choice. She forced herself upright, and stumbled away with Banros and Alger beside her. The recovering corpse creature was only a few feet behind.

A sound caught in Jeanette’s ears. It was small next to the pounding of feet. The old chains were groaning, and the decaying wood was creaking. They were struggling under the weight of the corpse creature. They wouldn’t break. Not quite. Not in the two steps the creature would need to get back to solid ground. She turned.

Jeanette watched the monster’s weight come down on one of its forelimbs. She felt what she had felt before. A sensation rushing through her. A current of knowledge without meaning. And as it rushed outward she directed it. She curved herself towards one of the chains holding the bridge aloft. The chain snapped, and the bridge drooped. The creature’s foreleg reached out for solid ground, but the strain overwhelmed bridge. It collapsed. The corpse creature tumbled into the blackness below. Silent, until the faint thud which marked the end of its fall.

Jeanette stared after it in gape-mouthed astonishment over what she had done. Banros and Alger had made it halfway across the chamber before the sound of crashing bridge caught their attention. They rounded just in time to see the monster tumble into the crevice below. They shuffled back to the edge to stand beside Jeanette.

Banros broke the silence first with a forced, humorless laugh. It failed to take, and silence reigned for a minute longer before Alger said

“Are we safe?”

“Yeah.” Banros answered.

“How…” Alger began.

“It is the single luckiest event of our lives.” Banros interrupted. “Don’t question it or god might take it back.” his words hung in the air for several minutes before Alger spoke again.

“Seems a waste. All the trouble and no gold for our burdens.”

“Actually,” Banros said, grinning. “I managed to strap my bag to my back.” He turned to show the others his jerry-rigged backpack filled with gold. “It’s not what we thought we were going to get away with, but it’s not a bad haul.”

“We could always go back” Jeanette said. Her voice was ragged. “With the creature gone, we could take anything we wanted.”

“No.” said Alger. His tone was firm.

“Yeah.” Jeanette agreed. “I don’t want to go back either.”

“In fact,” Banros’ added, “I think we should leave immediately. There’s nothing in camp we need that much.” Jeanette and Alger both agreed.

Without a torch, the party had to navigate the passage to the surface by feel. Alger and Banros kept their spirits up by discussing how they’d spend their share.

Jeanette couldn’t think of anything but what the fuck it was she had done to that bridge.

The End.

Daughter of Tangled Corpses: Part 4

Discovering the drawbridge had renewed the trio’s dreams of fabulous wealth. Upon returning to camp they spent hours in excited conversation. Wild speculations of what was behind the door, and what they’d spend it on when they got it. The mysterious sound they’d all heard was conspicuously undiscussed. And, after a night of fitful sleep, they returned to the cellar, and the cavern beneath it.

Banros hefted his grapnel, standing at the ledge across from the drawbridge. He hurled it across the chasm, and it caught at the top of the drawbridge on the first throw. Alger and Jeanette shared an impressed look. Banros was apparently quite the expert. He tested the line, pulled it taut, and hammered it to the stone floor with a stake. A second rope he tied around his chest, just under his arms. He checked its security three times before handing the other end to Alger.

“If I fall, the pull will be sudden–” Banros began.

“I’m understanding.” Alger interrupted. Banros’ jaw clenched, and even in the torchlight Jeanette could see him turn red.

“If I fall to my death because your grip is too loose, the spell will kill you too!” he snarled at the soldier. Then, turning to Jeanette he added “Right?”

“It will.” she confirmed. Alger looked annoyed.

“I’m understanding.” Alger said again, with careful solemnity. He stepped forward to stand on the spike pinning the grapnel line. Banros gave the other man a curt nod, and knelt beside the rope. He wrapped his body around the rudimentary ‘bridge,’ clinging with arms and legs. He adjusted his grip a few times, then shuffled over the edge of the chasm on his back. The taut rope drooped, and the wood of the drawbridge creaked, but the rope held. Banros’ movements were slow. With crossed legs and white knuckles, he inched across the chasm.

He’d made it halfway across when Jeanette noticed his breathing quicken. It took her a moment more to notice the gradual slackening of the line he was clinging to.

“Alger! Hold fast, the–!” she shouted, before the rotten drawbridge plank gave way under the grapnel’s weight. Banros’ arms and legs lashed out for purchase, but there was none. His scream lasted only a moment before the second rope went taught. The sudden tightness around his chest knocked the wind out of him and cut his scream short. There was an ugly thud as Banros’ falling body swung into the side of the chasm.

“Pull me up-pull me up!” he sputtered. Alger and Jeanette heaved at the rope together. When Banros’ hands came in sight, Jeanette dove forward to help him the rest of the way. He rolled away from the chasm, onto his back, covering his face with both hands. The other two fell to sit on the ground beside him. All three were silent, save for their ragged breathing.

Banros held up his hands to look at them. Jeanette saw the last two fingers on his right hand were at incorrect angles.

“Gods” he wheezed.

Jeanette helped fashion a splint with torn cloth and a piece of the floor-testing stick. After a short rest, Banros was the first to stand back up.

“Torchlight’s burning. We need to try again.” he said.

Using a torch tied to the floor tester, Banros examined the drawbridge. He found the most reliable looking planks, and tossed the grapnel again. It missed, latching instead to a plank Banros’ didn’t trust. It took several more throws before Banros managed to hook a plank he trusted. With even more caution than the first time, Banros climbed out onto the rope again.

It was clear to Jeanette that the crossing was a strain. She worried he was too weak to make the transition from the hanging line to the top of the bridge. If he fell from that high, the safety line might still kill him.

He stopped moving as he reached the end of the rope, perhaps wondering the same thing. Jeanette wondered if perhaps she should shout some encouragement to get him moving. As she was trying to think of something good to shout, he lashed out with his uninjured hand. It clamped down on the edge of the bridge. His strength held as he pulled himself closer, and added his second hand to the first. He wiggled his elbows over the lip before releasing the rope with his legs. He let his body drop before pulling himself up, and swinging a leg over the edge to straddle it. It was too dark to be sure, but Jeanette could hear the grin on his face as he called down to them.

“I’m untying the safety rope, and tossing back the grapnel now, Alger. Pull them back up to your side! I’ll see about getting the bridge down so you can join me.”

“Be careful!” Alger warned, sounding nervous. The sound of Banros sliding down the other side of the drawbridge was his only reply. Then there was quiet.

“If what’s past the door kills him, do we die?” Alger asked.

“No,” Jeanette answered, starting to feel a little exasperated with maintaining this particular lie.

“Good.” Alger said

The two were saved from further smalltalk by the sound of a large crank. The bridge began to descend.

“That was fast.” Jeanette remarked, stepping back from the bridge to avoid getting caught beneath it. The chains thunked and the bridge came to a stop four inches from the edge of the precipice. Standing across it they saw Banros, surrounded on all sides by pale, gangly monsters.

Jeanette turned to run. She saw Alger already had his sword in hand, and ignored him. She set her eyes on the passage hidden in the darkness beyond. She made it a few steps before a dozen more of the creatures emerged from the darkness ahead of her. She reversed direction, tumbling to the ground, and scrambling back towards Alger.

None of the creatures moved, and Jeanette realized that they weren’t monsters at all. They were human, or at least something like it. They were pale, with wispy hair and hollow faces, but they were human. She could see them breathing, see the nervous glances they gave each other. She realized they were afraid to approach.

She also noticed that each one of them wore jewelry of gold, and gems. Any one of them was wearing enough wealth to make a Rotain noble jealous.

Beside Banros, one particularly saggy-skinned creature wheezed a command towards Alger and Jeanette.

“Do not struggle and we shall do no harm!” Jeanette’s eyes went wide. The saggy-skinned man was speaking Ancient Brimese. Alger raised his sword higher, panic in his eyes. Jeanette realized the words would sound like a spell to the soldier. She clasped a hand to Alger’s sword arm and forced him to lower it.

“Weapons down!” she called, loud enough for Banros to hear “They say they won’t hurt us.” Alger’s head turned towards her, a protest forming on his lips. She shook her head. “Keep calm. Don’t start anything.” she said. Alger sheathed his sword.

The ‘pale folk,’ as Jeanette dubbed them, pressed inwards. They were nervous. She noticed even the tallest of them was shorter than she was. Burly Alger would be a giant. She could understand their fear. The pale folk herded the three companions together. They tied their hands, and took their equipment. The torches were thrown into the chasm, leaving the party in total darkness. Pressed against one another by the shoving crowd, they stumbled through the black.

The pale folk moved without speaking. Their bare feet padded with hardly a sound, even in so many numbers. Jeanette was searching for some way to weasel away, when Banros’ spoke up.

“There is no unbreakable promise spell.” he said. Jeanette thought she detected grudging respect beneath the resignation in his voice.

“What!?” Alger gasped.

“There were too many of them. It would have been futile to try to save you. If we’d tried to fight we would have died.” Jeanette explained. “We weren’t abandoning you. We could have come back once we were able.” Banros snorted in forced amusement.

“You’re not my captive anymore. There’s no point in lying to me.” he said.

“The trick to being a good liar is commitment.” Jeanette replied.

“You bitch!” Alger shouted. His voice echoed through the caverns. Jeanette thought she heard a few of the soft footsteps around them stumble in fear. She wondered, too late, if they could have escaped just by yelling loud enough. The trio stopped speaking for a few yards before Banros’ again interrupted her thoughts.

“I just hope you have a better lie for the monsters.” he said.

A short distance further, the room grew brighter. Dim at first, but she could make out the shapes of the pale folk, tinged yellow by the light. They crowded around the captives. Jeanette thought their numbers had grown in the dark. Further into the cave complex, she saw that the light was emanating from channels on the wall. A few feet above her head. It was bright enough now for her to study her captors in detail.

A latticework of blue veins spread across the pale bodies, bulging beneath their skin. Their eyes were larger and more widely set than normal. There wasn’t a full set of teeth in the bunch. But more interesting than their commonalities, were their many differences. Every one had some deformity or blemish. She saw bulging foreheads, black rashes, noses with only a single nostril, crooked legs… There were as many deformities as there were pale folk. They may as well be monsters, Jeanette thought.

The mob entered a large chamber, and ushered the three prisoners to a stone column. Iron manacles replaced the rope bindings on the trio’s hands. Once they were secure, a ring formed around the party. Those in the rear pressed forward, while those in the front tried not to get too close.

A break in the crowd appeared, approaching the column. A decrepit pale-man emerged from the crowd. His skin sagged so much Jeanette thought it might fall off. She also noticed he wore twice as much gold as any of the others. He approached to within a few feet of Alger, studying him with his gaze. He moved between them, pausing before each of the three before moving to the next. Jeanette saw disgust in his eyes, and decided to break the silence.

“Are you the leader here?” she asked in Brimese. The old man’s eyes narrowed. With slow, deliberate movement, he turned away from Banros to examine Jeanette again.

“You speak the civilized tongue? You are no barbarian?” he asked. Jeanette had some trouble following the words—she hadn’t conversed in Brimese since childhood. It was a dead language; useful only to appear cultured or mystical.

“We are no barbarian” she replied. She hoped her broken syntax wasn’t too obvious. “We are not here to be cruel to you.”

“Why do you come here?” There was a threatening edge to the elderly pale-man’s words. Jeanette needed to say something interesting enough to keep his attention.

“I am Jeanette Malbrache Piiremus,” she began. “Descended of the Nobeli from many parents ago. I came on a pilgrimage to see the ruins of my ancestor’s homes.”

The old man moved his face close enough for Jeanette to smell his rancid, flaking skin. His eyes bore into hers. She suppressed the urge to crinkle her nose at the smell of his breath. Finally, he took several steps back. His face softened. Slightly.

“We also value the ancestors.” he said. “We descended from those who made their home above. I am Caller Eclesius. I speak for those now gathered here.”

“What’s he saying?” Banros asked.

“Quiet!” Jeanette spat at him in the common tongue. To the caller she asked, “The villa has lain abandoned for many hundreds of years. You stayed here all that time?”

“We must stay here!” he raised his voice with indignation. “The ancestors fled here to escape the barbarians, who overwhelm everything above! They command we maintain their vigil.” Eclesius paused. A strange, almost mischievous look filled his face.

“But you are of our people. You will remain here. With us. You will tell us of the world above. Perhaps with your knowledge, the ancestors will guide us to renewed prosperity!”

“Yes! I would be happy to tell you anything you want.” Jeanette replied. Eclesius then gestured to Banros and Alger.

“And who are these with you? They do not speak our tongue.”

“They are my servants.” Jeanette lied.

“Are they, then, loyal servants of Brim?”

“Yes! They are.” Jeanette put on a large smile and nodded. She hoped the others would take her lead, which they did.

“Then all three of you shall become one with us!” Eclesius cried with a celebratory raising of his arms. The crowd behind him began murmuring.

“How do we become one with you?” Jeanette asked. She tried to sound as pleased as the Caller did. The way he was phrasing things worried her.

“It is as you said. We have been one people for many hundreds of years. The ancestors will not allow us to return to the surface to seek fellowship. And you are only the third to come to us in our long history.” Eclesius explained. “No one now standing in this hall is not sibling, or cousin; parent or child to everyone else. Our bodies grow weaker with each generation. But you, and your loyal servants, shall give new life to our community!”

Jeanette began shaking her head, even as the excited throng removed the group’s manacles.

“No, um, we can’t…” Her voice was soft, and trailed off without finishing the objection.

“It is a joyous occasion, Jeanette of Malbrache” Eclesius said. The merriment in his voice didn’t mask the sternness of the command. “You and your companions will add your blood to ours and all will grow stronger for it.”

—

Jeanette lay awake long after everyone else had fallen into exhausted sleep. The pale folk seemed to trust her. At least enough that they hadn’t restrained her. Their inexperience with outsiders was to her benefit. Gingerly, she stepped over the hairless, mushy bodies that surrounded her. She’d suffered through the retch-inducing series of mutated partners with stoicism. But she didn’t intend to be around long enough to suffer through it a second time.

She gathered her personal effects and crept out into the main cavern. It was tempting to make a break for it. But she didn’t want to leave empty handed. The pale folk had separated her from Banros and Alger, but she’d need their help. She followed the lighted corridors, peeking into each of the small chambers she passed. Most housed a few sleeping pale folk. Others were empty, most likely the homes of those she’d left back in her chambers. Or those she expected to find in the chambers of her companions.

Sure enough, she soon found a chamber with two dozen sleeping women in it. Jeanette left her boots outside, and tied her skirts up around her waist. Every step had to be planned. It was a careful, tip-toeing dance. When she reached the bed she found Banros, fast asleep. There was a woman’s leg across his knees.

With the lightest touch she could manage, Jeanette shifted the woman’s leg aside. She knelt beside the bed, and placed a hand of Banros’ mouth. Jeanette paused, unsure how to wake the man without waking the woman as well. She tapped her hand against his cheek, but he only flinched and continued to doze. She rapped her knuckles hard against his forehead, careful not to shake the bed. Banros’ eyes snapped open. He glanced around in fear, then saw Jeanette, and gave her a slight nod. She released him, and together they tiptoed back out of the room.

They stalked the halls until they found Alger. Jeanette let Banros wake him while she stood watch. Reunited, Jeanette led the others to the center of three adjacent empty rooms. She’d noted it as a place they could talk without disturbing anyone nearby.

“If’n the whole lot of them are asleep, no need to talk! We run for the exit.” Alger insisted “We’d be far past camp ‘afore the soggy fucks knew we’d gone!”

“What about the gold?” Jeanette and Banros asked in unison. They looked at each other, then both turned to Alger. He looked ready to hit them.

“Hear me out.” Jeanette said. “I saw maybe a dozen rooms along this passage with between one and four pale folk each. If we work together, and work quiet, we can have a whole room dead before they make a sound. With all the gold the ‘soggy fucks’ wear, we’ll have more than we can carry!”

“It’s a solid plan, Soldier.” Banros said. “At most we’ll be here an extra three quarters of an hour.”

“Fine.” Alger conceded after a resigned silence. “Plenty time to get caught in, but we’ll do it. But I’ll kill you both before I fuck another sogg.”

The three moved first to the central cavern where they’d been prisoner. The chamber was well lit, and there were no guards. Their equipment was still laying against the wall where it had been thrown.

“These soggs are too trusting.” Banros whispered. His voice was jovial as he tied his short sword to his belt, and clasped his dirk. “Let’s go kill them and get rich.”

The process wasn’t any more difficult than Jeanette had predicted. The pitiful less-than-humans snored loudly and slept deeply. In most rooms, the three of them were enough to kill everyone simultaneously. In the rooms with too many soggs, they kept their murders quiet. Nobody ever woke up, and they were able to finish off the rest without worry.

And the riches! They filled sacks with golden rings, elaborate neck pieces, bejeweled headdresses, and fanciful brooches. Each corpse they made yielded new treasures. After a dozen rooms, all three held hefty sacks over their shoulder. They jingled and jangled with wealth as they walked. As the group crept, tinkling, from their final kill, Alger remained steadfastly silent. But Banros and Jeanette were giddy. They made ridiculous grinning faces at one another. It was hard to restrain giggles as they moved to the passage leading to the drawbridge.

Their merriment vanished as they turned the corner. An incriminating clatter echoed from their dropped booty. The three companions stared at the creature which towered between them and freedom.

Unlike before, there could be no chance this monster was human.

Daughter of Tangled Corpses: Part 3

Banros led the trio south, away from the sea, and civilization. They kept off the roads at first, but after three days there were no more roads to keep off of. Or, if there were, they were ancient things. Too overgrown to make travel any easier. Stretching only a few miles, before disappearing again beneath centuries of shifting dirt.

Jeanette had considered abandoning Banros the moment they were clear of the city. Unfortunately, she’d succeeded in convincing Alger he would die if he broke his word. Much as Jeanette hated the savage soldier, she didn’t want to leave him behind. His brute strength was too useful in traveling the wilds. But neither did she want to put the idea in his head that her spells could be fake. Besides, Banros wasn’t wrong in thinking there might be booty in the ruins.

The wealthy and powerful of Brim had crafted sprawling miniature cities for themselves. They competed with one another to build in the most far-flung, exotic locals. Then, as their empire collapsed, they all fled back to their homeland. Now, without Brimese infrastructure, the wilderness had reclaimed much that had once been civilization. And for anyone skilled enough, and lucky enough, there was treasure for the taking.

If this worked out, Jeanette would have enough money to get herself out of the country. Back to Rotain. Once she was home, she knew how to disappear. With the booty from a city-villa, she could live in luxury as her memory faded from Pestor Ulric’s mind. And even if they found nothing, a few weeks in the wilderness would let her trail grow cold.

The travel was hard going. Banros was a better hunter than either Jeanette or Alger—though not by much. Jeanette envied the other two their sensible clothes. She’d never had a chance to change her gown. It was so tattered and wet with muck that she might as well be naked for all the warmth it provided. All three were in a sorry state by the time Banros called out:

“There she is!”

Weariness forgotten, Jeanette surged up the hill they were climbing, Alger on her heels. At the peak, she studied the valley below. What had once been the grounds was now obstructed by dense growth. But a handful of red roofs stuck out in the foliage. As they studied at the valley below, details began to take shape. There were dozens of small clearings, and structures with collapsed, or moss-covered roofs. Banros’ map was in his hands, and he flicked his eyes between it, and the scene before them.

“That large empty space is probably the southern courtyard. While that one beyond it should be the reflecting pool, I think. I don’t see the temple dome at all…”

“Prolly fell in.” Alger said. “Domes fall in easy.” Banros was too engrossed in his survey to hear the soldier.

“Those trees over there look different. That probably used to be the orchard…” he continued.

Jeanette’s attention trailed off. She’d known the ruins would be large. Villa-cities needed to be. They housed all the comforts their masters would find in a bustling metropolis. But this was a palace beyond her imagining. Even at a glance, it was clear that the outer edges were miles apart. The sheer presence of it was overwhelming. She felt small.

Once the initial rush of excitement wore off, the three made camp. Jeanette suggested setting up below, in one of the buildings with an intact roof. But the other two overruled her, opting instead for a flat patch of earth back down the hill. Out of sight of the ruins. Banros and Alger were willing to brave the ghosts and hexes in daylight. They didn’t intend to be anywhere near the ruins in the dark. Jeanette wanted to argue the point, but held her tongue. A little discomfort was a worthwhile exchange to maintain the fiction that magic was a fearsome thing.

The next morning they ventured back up the hill, and down into the ruins. Banros cut a long branch from a tree, and shaved it of excess growth. Before entering each building, Jeanette made a show of declaring it free of curses. Then Banros thumped the floors and ceiling with his awkward device. The precaution saved them from two floors that collapsed into the cellars below.

The party first searched through several of the small, outlying buildings. When those proved devoid of valuables, Banros cut across the grounds. They passed a dozen smaller buildings as he led the group to where the temple ought to be. The dome had collapsed, as Alger predicted. But the walls were intact enough to protect the interior form shifting dirt. The trio spent hours excavating fallen stones, uncovering the temple’s altar, and vestibule. Both were intact, but neither contained anything more valuable than painted pottery fragments. The tile mosaic built into the floor could have been worth a fortune. But there was no way to move it without an army of workmen, carts, and horses. The mood was somber as the three marched back to camp.

A few modest discoveries did little to raise their spirits over the next two days. A torn painting, a set of bent silverware, and a gold-hemmed robe weren’t worthless. But after twelve days of grueling travel, several more of searching, and another long journey back ahead of them, these otherwise decent treasures felt like a pittance.

On the fourth day the party ventured into the cellar beneath the kitchens. Each carried a rudimentary torch Banros had taught them to make the night before. As their search dragged on, the men’s fear of ghosts and curses had subsided. They wandered freely within sight of each other, kicking debris and old furniture aside. They scanned for anything that glittered in the torchlight. At this point, Jeanette would have gotten excited over a bit of colorful fabric.

“A floor-door!” Alger called, breaking the morose silence that had settled over the group. It was the only thing any of them had found that day. He clasped trapdoor’s heavy iron ring and heaved. The door creaked, but held shut.

“Locked.” he grunted. Banros came over and crouched to take a closer look, lowering his torch to the floor.

“No keyhole, or any latch on this side. It’s probably barred from below.”

“Foolheaded way to make a door.” Alger said.

“It’s likely an escape route.” Jeanette replied “Below is a tunnel a half mile or so long. It would lead to a cave or a tree hollow that lets out into the woods.” Banros stood, and shook his head.

“If it’s an escape tunnel, they would keep it open until they needed it. And they’d only need it if they were attacked. We haven’t seen any signs of violence here. Not so much as a discarded weapon, or a singed roof.” he said.

“Better to open and see than sit and guess while the torches burn.” Alger said. “We searched a smithy yesterday. It had pry bars and hammers a-plenty. In a quarter hour we can have the floor-door open. Lock or no.”

The three went to the smithy together, and retrieved the tools. It took no time at all to pry and smash apart the old door, revealing a heavy iron bar on the other side. It was simple enough to slide the bar out of place, and it fell to the ground below with a loud clatter.

There were no steps, just a straight passage leading down. Banros dropped his torch. It landed 17 feet below in a narrow, natural cavern, with a sandy floor. Beside it were the fallen door bar, and a wooden ladder that had fallen flat.

“C’mon, witch. We’ll lower you and you can put up the ladder.” Banros said.

“Fuck no you’re not lowering me into that hole.” Jeanette replied, indignant. “You go.”

“You’re the lightest one. It makes sense for you to go first, since we’ll need to lower you by hand.” Banros said.

“That ladder is an ancient wreck! What happens when it collapses before I can come back up?”Jeanette asked.

“You’re pretty light yourself” said Alger, gesturing his head towards Banros.

“I thought you two had to have my back.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to get ourselves killed on your whims!” Jeanette said, with defensive swiftness.

“Fine. Lower me.” said Banros with exaggerated resignation. “At least I know you can’t leave me if the ladder breaks.”

Jeanette and Alger knelt by the pit and each clasped one of Banros’ hands in theirs. They lowered themselves until they were lying on their stomachs. Arms dangling through the doorway. Jeanette tried not to look as though she was struggling to keep her grip. Once they’d lowered Banros as far as they could, he called up.

“Alright…let me go!” They both did. The fall was longer than Jeanette would have guessed. Even in sand, the thump of his body hitting the ground was ugly.

“You are good?” Alger called.

“Fine” came Banros’ testy reply. “My fucking feet and ass hurt, but nothing broke.”

“Raise up the ladder then!” shouted Alger.

It was awkward. The ladder was large and heavy, and the corridor below was narrow. Maneuvering it into position and hefting it up took Banros several minutes. Alger spent that time shouting unhelpful instructions down to his struggling companion. Once it was finally raised, Alger descended cautiously. The last thing they needed was to destroy their only way out of the hole.

When Jeanette reached the bottom, Banros was pacing. He strode around the ladder with his torch, with one hand on the wall.

“There’s only one path forward.” he said once he’d made a full circuit. He handed his torch to Alger. “I’ll stay in front testing the ground and looking for holes. Alger, you keep that light high and make sure I can see where I’m going. And both of you, keep your eyes peeled.”

Jeanette chafed at being given orders, but held her tongue. The plan kept Banros out in front. That was fine with her.

Nooks and crevices filled the passage walls, some large enough to hide a grown man. But the path forward was narrow. Broad shouldered Alger had to twist himself to avoid knocking elbows against the stone. By contrast, the floor was more or less even, excepting a few gentle slopes. The journey was not difficult. But Jeanette felt a growing sense of disquiet as the passage went on.

She could sense the others’ growing tension as well. They’d expected the passage to be less than a mile long, yet it seemed endless. Jeanette wished she’d thought to count her paces. At least then they would know how far they’d traveled already. She was certain it was more than a mile now. Their torchlight illuminated the cramped surroundings well enough. But that only made the darkness, extending before and behind them, feel more dangerous. They moved in silence.

Jeanette’s feet were sore by the time the narrow passage began to widen. The ceiling rose first, moving beyond torchlight as they proceeded further. Only a few dozen steps after they lost sight of it, the walls opened up into a larger cavern. Blackness surrounded their little circle of light. The walls and ceiling were beyond the reach of their torches. Only the floor, and the wall they’d just emerged from were visible.

Without a word, Barnos turned left and continued forward. He kept one hand on the only wall they could see. Jeanette counted this time, reaching 122 paces before the wall made an abrupt turn. Banros’ turned with it and continued to lead the others forward. Jeanette couldn’t help but glance into the vast expanse of blackness to their right. Only children are afraid of the dark, she reminded herself.

“Gods-!” Banros gasped just as Jeanette counted 169 paces. It was the first any of them had spoken since entering the passage. Alger and Jeanette jumped back with a start. When Banros didn’t explain himself, Jeanette hissed at him.

“’Gods’ yourself, asshole! Spit it out! What’s worth scaring me half to death with your shouting?”

“Give me a torch.” Banros commanded, ignoring the complaint. He held his hand back towards Alger without even looking. His eyes were fixed on something three paces in front of him. Tired of Banros dismissive attitude, Jeanette stepped around Alger and marched forward. She stopped short and scrambled back when she saw the pit Banros was standing at the edge of.

It was 15′ across. On the other side was a sheer wall, rising beyond torchlight. Jeanette lowered herself, and crawled forward. She didn’t trust her own balance near the precipice. Banros tossed his torch into the chasm. It spun, and the light flickered in the rushing black air. It bounced off the far wall, then the near one, before coming to rest as a pinprick of light in the black.

All three spent a quiet moment peering over the chasm at the spec of light. Then, with no other choices to pick from, they turned to walk along the chasm’s edge. Though they kept a good for or five feet of distance from it. Just as Jeanette reached 122 paces for a second time, Banros stopped again. He didn’t make a sound, and Jeanette moved forward to see what had stopped them this time. She stared at the ground for long seconds before realizing Banros was looking out. Across the chasm. She followed his gaze to the sheer wall on the other side. And to the door built into it.

It was a drawbridge. Struts near the top held it aloft with heavy chains. The door blocked their view of whatever passage lay beyond it. But there was a three or four foot gap at the top. Banros was the first to speak.

“Our torches are low and we don’t have the equipment to get across. I’ve got a rope and grapnel in camp. We’ll come back tomorrow.” He grabbed the torch from Alger’s hand, turned away from the drawbridge. He marched straight through the darkness in the center of the cavern. Sure enough, the passage they’d entered from was directly across from the bridge. They set a brisk pace. Jeanette had just counted 231 steps on the way back when they heard a noise. A tinkling of chains, followed by a resounding thud from the room they’d just left.

Jeanette and Alger’s first instinct was to flee. But Banros had been in front, and the passageway was too narrow to get by him. He ushered them back to the cavern. Alger, thinking himself bound to protect the Banros, allowed himself to be moved. Jeanette did the same. But she managed to wriggle herself to the rear before reaching the cavern.

Banros sprinted and the others sprinted after him. They made a terrible racket which echoed as they entered the larger chamber. The group slowed to a stop at the chasm and found…nothing. The drawbridge was up. A brisk walk zig-zagging through the black cavern revealed nothing different.

“The torches are going out.” Jeanette reminded Banros. “We need to go.”

Grudgingly, Banros broke off the search. They made a brisk pace down the corridor. Only a flicker of light from a single torch remained when they reached the ladder. As they clambered out, they discovered it was long past nightfall.

The trio fled back to their camp with all haste.

Daughter of Tangled Corpses: Part 2

Jeanette gnawed at the overcooked rabbit Alger had caught.

“It’s terrible,” she said.

“Whine when you catch food by your lonesome, bitch.” the soldier replied. Jeanette’s alchemical trickery had stopped him from killing her. But it didn’t force him to like her much.

And that’s just fine, Jeanette thought. Aloud she said “I’m paying you, aren’t I?”

“Not yet. And you paid only for a sword-hand. Not for a cook.” Everything Alger said was calm and contemptuous. Jeanette might have liked him more if he sounded half as frustrated as she was. She returned to the task of digesting the gamey supper he’d caught. Bad as it was, it was the first thing they’d managed to eat since midday yesterday. And Jeanette had to admit, she would have been worse off without the nasty brute.

Which didn’t mean she wouldn’t kill him eventually. The Xulcam pollen made him forget the savage beating he’d given her. But she never would. The worst of her injuries were only now fading. But there would be scars to keep her memory fresh.

And he’ll pay for each one, tenfold. Jeanette vowed. She tossed the bone she’d been gnawing on into the fire. It sizzled. She rose to her feet.

“We need to get into town. We need hot food and a soft bed.”

“You want hot food and a soft bed.” the stoic soldier corrected.

“Need it or want it, we’re going go get it” she snapped. He stayed silent, chewing at his meat. He picked a bone clean before offering a reply.

“If the money for those things is in your pocket, why’m I not paid yet?” he asked.

“60 gold crowns is a small fortune. I’m talking about five sheckles of food and cloth.”

“Do you have the sum of that?” he asked, in a patronizing tone. Jeanette rolled her eyes. The dolt’s superior attitude made her want to kill him all the more. She strained to keep her voice even.

“Two days back we passed a road going into Nulara right? One the locals use for trade?”

“Yarb, we did that. ”

“You’re a soldier. Don’t tell me you’ve never turned bandit when your pay was late.” His eyes narrowed as he caught on to her plan. He didn’t seem to like it.

“Yarb, but with ten and more men to my right and left. Not just a sword and a witch.” Jeanette counted the note of testiness rising in his voice as a small victory.

“So we stalk some trader until they make camp, then slit their throats at night. The road is at least a three day journey, they’ll need to make camp.”

“And what of your wantedness? You get nabbed for some coin, and I don’t get paid.”

“Getting ‘nabbed’ would be worse for me than it would be for you. But it won’t happen. Even if Ulric sent word this far, I’m hardly the only Nobeli woman in Lauglen.” Alger stared at her, unconvinced, so she continued.

“We’ll stick to the dregs, and I’ll scrounge cloth for a bonnet to hide my hair. We can get a good rest and be gone before anyone realizes we were ever there. If anything it’s your cloak and armor we ought to worry about. If you’re marked as a deserter by now, it’s a dead giveaway.”

Alger just grunted and reached for the last piece of rabbit. Jeanette could see him mulling over what she’d said as he chewed at the gamey meat. Finally he muttered:

“Awright”

—

Jeanette opened her eyes. All she saw was black. Her temples throbbed against a rope tied tight around her head. It was hard to breathe. Her mouth was dry–filled with rags. She tried moving, but the the rub of ropes on her arms and legs left no room for it. She could feel her pulse quicken in her temples as the reality of her situation set in. She had apparently been very wrong about how recognizable she was. And about how badly Pestor Ulric wanted her dead.

As her heartbeat throbbed faster, her wiggling became more spastic. Each failed attempt to escape the ropes increased her mounting hopelessness. She tried to clear her thoughts. Panicking will only hurt you she told herself. But whomever had done the ropes knew what they were doing. She tried to take deep, calming breaths. But the gag restricting her breathing only fueled her panic. She was on the verge of screaming when she heard a hand on a doorknob. She went completely limp, doing her best imitation of unconsciousness.

“You’re not fooling anyone, witch.” Came a man’s voice a moment later, accompanied by a sharp kick to her thigh. Caught, Jeanette tried to rise to a sitting position. She forced herself to be calm. The man had a Lauglen accent. Whatever trouble she was in, she wasn’t back with the army. Yet.

“Hrmmn nm muuuh!” Jeanette knew he wouldn’t understand her. She didn’t even actually say anything—but how else to get his attention? There was a pause before he responded.

“Rewards almost the same if you’re dead, which you will be if you scream.” She felt hands at the back of her neck fiddling with a knot. The rope slackened, and she spat it out, along with a soiled rag. She enjoyed several deep breaths.

“I can pay you.” she croaked through dry lips. The offer sounded weak even to her. She wasn’t surprised to hear her captor chortling.

“First, no you can’t. You barely had any coin on you. And if you were rich or powerful back in Rotain, then the army wouldn’t have a 300 crown bounty on your ass.” Jeanette winced, hoping Alger wasn’t in the same room. The promise of 300 crowns would overwhelm the paltry charms of the Xulcam pollen.

“Second, even if you could pay more, I’ve already sent a runner to your Governor. Ten thousand crowns wouldn’t be enough to save me if I let you go. I’d be dead just as surely as you’re gonna to be. No dice.”

Jeanette searched for anything she might offer in exchange for freedom. There was nothing. No bargain would get her out of this. She would have to escape. She needed to be easy, calm, and friendly. She needed to create opportunities, which might become cracks she could wriggle out of.

“Can…can you at least bring me—us, my friend and I—some food? The army’s at least a few days out. We’ll need to eat if you don’t want to hand over a pair of corpses.” Again, the man paused before responding. Either he was slow in the head, or he was being much too cautious.

“Yeah, alright. I think there’s some old mash out in the other room.”

Jeanette heard him moving, the opening and closing of a door, and the turning of a lock. A few seconds later the sounds repeated in reverse. If he locked the door just to walk across a room, when she was already bound, then he wasn’t slow. He was cautious.

Hands freed her arms from their binding, and removed her blindfold. He could have made her eat blind. That small mercy would at least give Jeanette a chance to examine her surroundings. She saw a cold bowl of beige gruel on the floor near her, Alger was a few feet away, still unconscious. There was blood on his temples. She guessed he’d put up more of a fight than she had.

She reached out for the bowl, knowing better than to push her luck asking for a spoon. She dug into the mash with her fingers. A few mouthfuls in, she looked up at her captor.

“Thank you…um”

“Banros” he replied, after another pause.

“Thank you, Banros.” She returned to her food, glancing around the room between scoops. She tried to look curious, rather than calculating. He was watching her. They weren’t in a proper cell for prisoners. It was clear the room had another purpose most of the time. A rudimentary office, free of adornment save for a large map hanging on the wall. It was printed on a yellowing vellum. She could tell at a glance that it was an older artifact than she’d expect to find in a place like this.

looks like a Brimese map. A Nobeli villa-city, right?” She kept her eyes on the map, avoiding the temptation to look at his reaction. He waited so long to reply that she began to wonder if he’d actually heard her at all.

“Finish eating.” He said. He was trying to sound stern, but Jeanette caught the shift in his tone. His curiosity was at odds with his better judgement.

“I’m Nobeli, you know. My mother’s line traces back to the heyday of the Brimese Empire. It’s where my magic comes from.” This was true, as far as she knew. At the least, it had always helped to enhance her mysterious image.

“Last chance to be eat.” Banros said. He was definitely interested. Jeanette didn’t know why, but it was a crack in her cage. She returned to her food. She needed to pique his curiosity further, without pushing him too far. As she tried to suss out her next move, he saved her the trouble.

“They said you were a witch, but if you’re so damn magical why are you tied up on my floor?”

“It’s a subtle thing.” Jeanette said. “You’re smart enough to know old stories exaggerate.” His eyes flared, and Jeanette knew she’d misstepped before he spoke.

“Don’t patronize me.” he said, his voice steely. “You’re done eating, and when my runner gets back in a few days, I’m turning you over to the army. That’s it.”

Jeanette opened her mouth to smooth things over, but he was already shoving rags into it. The knots he tied on her arms felt even tighter than before. He left in a hurry, and the door lock sounded behind him. Whether through kindness or carelessness, he’d left her eyes uncovered. That was something.

Jeanette weighed her options. It was clear that the map was important to Banros. It was also clear that he thought she might have some value with regard to it. It wasn’t clear what that value might be. But, given another opportunity, she might work his interest into an advantage. If she made her captivity too difficult, then preventing her escape would distract him. That would limit her opportunities to talk to him.

She had a few days at least. Long enough to try talking a few more times. If that didn’t work, she could always try to escape later.

She spied a mouldering pile of hay in the corner. With the little mobility she had, she scooted closer until she could roll onto it. Once she got used to the smell, she drifted to sleep.

—

“Wake up!” The harsh whisper cut through Jeanette’s light doze. It felt like she’d been asleep for hours, but she didn’t feel any better for the rest. The room was dark, but enough light was visible under the doorway that the sun must be up.

“You living?” the voice came again. Alger had managed to work the gag out of his mouth. She tried to shush him, but all she could produce was a vague “Phuuuph!” which didn’t seem to have any impact on the soldier.

“Work it off, it’s not hard!” he hissed across the black room. Jeanette began to work against the gag with her lips and tongue. She slid the ropes over her lower lip inch-by-inch. After long minutes, the ropes fell to hang loose around her neck. She coughed the rags out of her mouth. Her throat was painfully dry.

“Be quiet!” she spat at Alger. He ignored her.

“Listen, we’re not in army hands yet. But soon enough we will. We gotta get to running.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“You’re in ropes, I’m in rusty irons. Army has better gear. Now you wiggle free, can you magic my locks?”

“No.”

“Then find the damned key! Ropes is easy. Then I’ll–” the pair’s whispered argument fell silent as footsteps sounded outside. A moment later the lock turned, and Banros entered again, holding a steaming bowl.

“Got your gags free, huh?” he said with unsettling cheerfulness. “That’s always a hard hole to keep plugged.” He set the bowl down in front of Jeanette, and fished a spoon out of his pocket. Hot mash, with an egg. Jeanette forced her face to remain neutral. Her captor’s sudden kindness meant he’d decided Jeanette had some power. She needed to figure out just how much power she had.

Jeanette stared Banros in the eye. Alger looked between them, confused about what he’d missed. The room was quiet.

“So,” Banros spoke first “you know something about my map. I can make sure you have a bed and some hot food for the next few days. Much better than sleeping on the floor and eating the scraps we remember to toss you.” Jeanette let her captor’s offer hang in the air while she mulled over how to proceed.

“Could you give this food to my companion?” Jeanette nodded towards Alger. “I’m still full from last night.” Banros looked confused, but picked up the bowl and set it before the soldier. Hands still bound, Alger burried his face into the bowl without shame.

“Thanks.” Jeanette said, careful not to sound grateful. He needed to know that she wouldn’t be persuaded with creature comforts. And it didn’t hurt to show Alger a little loyalty. He might come in handy during an escape.

“What do you know about your map?” Jeanette asked.

“I know it’s a Brimese ruin. I know around about where to find it. And I suspect there’s a fair amount of booty to plunder from it.” Banros replied.

“Then what do you need from me? Loot it.”

“I need to know what hexes might be on a place like that, and how to ward them away.”

Jeanette had no idea, but answered anyway.

“There’s no such thing as a standard set of protective hexes. I’d have to be there, sense them for myself.”

“I can’t do that.” Banros replied, frustration evident in his voice. “You can help me and these last few days will be comfortable, or you can be coy and miserable.”

“I don’t know why you think I can tell you so much just from looking at a map. There’s nothing I can tell you without being there.”

Before the last words had left her mouth, Banros leaped to his feet and threw his stool at the wall. It struck a few feet from her head, and bounced onto the floor with a clatter. His face was flush with rage, and Jeanette saw a knife in his hand that hadn’t been there before.

“Don’t fuck with me, witch! You know you aren’t worth much more alive than dead. So here’s the deal: you tell me how to avoid the ghosts in that place or I gut you here and now and save the army the trouble!”

Jeanette couldn’t help squirming away in fear. She was helpless. If he was going to kill her, she was already dead. She was already spinning together some hokey bullshit in her head. Something to satisfy his curiosity and get him away from her. She stopped herself. Satisfying him would get her nothing. The worst he could do now would be to kill her a few days earlier than she was scheduled to die anyway. And if Banros killed her, at least her death would include a lot less torture. She had nothing to lose.

“Why are you so scared of thousand year old wizard tricks?” Jeanette asked, refusing to brace herself against the blow that was sure to follow. It surprised her when, instead, the anger drained from Banros’ face. He slumped into a nearby chair, and rubbed his forehead with his free hand.

“It’s not me. I’ve been to the place before, years ago. Way out in the lowland woods, where nobodys been since the Brim left. Untouched. Probably filled with the kind of loot you could live on the rest of your life. I’d risk ghosts and curses for that. But my boys won’t, and I won’t risk it alone. I thought if I could get some specifics from you then maybe…to hell with it.” He stood and made for the exit.

“Wait!” Alger burst out, speaking for the first time since Banros entered. “We’ll go with you. Watch your back.” he looked to Jeanette for support.

“Absolutely.” she said. Banros paused halfway through the door, but didn’t look back.

“You’d stab me in the back the minute we were out of the city.” he said. Alger winced, and Jeanette thought that had likely been exactly what he was planning. She hurried to pick up the slack.

“I can cast the unbreakable promise spell! We’ll bind ourselves to you.” Now Banros did turn around. He stepped back into the room and closed the door halfway behind him.

“Once cast, we would die if we betrayed you.” Jeanette continued.

“You can’t escape a few ropes and a locked door, but I should trust my life to your witchery?” Banros asked.

“I told you. It’s a subtle thing.” Jeanette replied. “But promises are sacred, they already have a bit of magic about them. There’s an ancient ritual which strengthens that magic. Makes it deadly to the oath breaker. We’d waste away in a few days if we betrayed the conditions of the promise.” Banros’ silence was encouraging.

“There’s still the Governor and his army.” Banros rejoined after a moment “Somebody will get the blame for your escape. I’ve got no intention of being too busy running for my life to spend my money in comfort.”

“Who’s the easy ones for the Gov’ to blame?” Alger asked, “A man already far away? A man for whom a new hunt must begin? OR, your cowardly fellows who will be right here for the hanging?”

Banros gave Alger a serious look, then peeked back into the room beyond the door. He closed it.

“How do we cast the spell?” Banros asked.

“A candle and a copper coin.” Jeanette said. “And we’ll both need our hands and legs free.” Banros quickly found both nearby, and freed his new allies. Jeanette fussed over the precise way the other two should stand, and how they should hold their hands. While, in her head, she worked out the performance of this “Spell.”

She put the coin on the back of the Banros’ left hand, and stacked her’s and Alger’s hands atop that. With her right, she held the candle a foot beneath their stacked limbs. Banros winced as the heat from the tiny flame burned him.

“The magic must burn through us, do not pull away!” she insisted. Distracting pain always made spells feel more solemn.

Jeanette muttered a poem in Brimese that she’d learned as a child. It was about a little girl who danced too wildly, broke a sacred vessel, and became cursed with two left feet. But to people who’d never learned the ancient tongue, it sounded portentous. After two lines of the poem she said in the common tongue:

“Alger and Jeanette do solemnly swear to assist and protect the coinbearer, Banros, on his journey to seek wealth in the homes of the long dead!” She then pressed all three hands down hard, extinguishing the candle’s flame. Banros, burned by the wax, gritted profanities through his teeth and dropped the coin. Jeanette retrieved it, and held it out to him.

“So long as you hold this coin, we must abide by our promise, or we will die.”

Banros, shaking his hand to soothe the burn, stared at the coin. There was fear in his eyes. With a trembling hand, he reached for the coin as though it might shatter like glass. He hefted it in his burned palm.

“It’s cool.” he murmured. “It feels heavier.” Jeanette resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the awe in his voice.

“Wait for me here.” Banros said, sliding the coin into a pocket inside his vest. “I’ll get your things and make sure the coast is clear, then we’ll be on our way.”

Daughter of Tangled Corpses: Part 1

In late 2014 I wrote a short fiction series for a website that no longer exists. At present, the story hasn’t been available anywhere for several years, and since the rights have long since reverted back to me, I thought I’d take the opportunity to commission some new art for each of the 5 chapters, and republish them here on Papers & Pencils.

The site will be updating daily until the story is complete, so be sure to check back! I hope you enjoy The Daughter of Tangled Corpses.

At best, Jeanette had maybe ten minutes before the messenger’s body was discovered. She tumbled through the hole she’d slashed in the back of her tent, and into the mud. She forced herself to her feet and pulled her skirts up for a sprint to the edge of camp. The scene she’d left behind wasn’t hard to interpret. When Governor Ulric was told, he’d order her immediate execution. Of course, he’d been planning to do that anyway. He just hadn’t expected her to figure it out in advance.

Her tent was near the war camp’s edge. A fortuitous effect of being the Governor’s secret shame. Unfortunately that edge was also the furthest from the camp’s single gate. Without fleeing through an entire camp of soldiers–who may already be in a mood to burn her alive — escape would mean climbing the wall.

She clung to her skirts, struggling not to drop her book or her knife as she fled through the ankle-deep mud and driving rain. Ahead she saw a guard patrolling the inside of the palisade. He looked at her with curiosity. Good, she thought. He didn’t know Jeanette was the scapegoat yet. His confusion made it easy for her to throw herself against his chest—knife first. As he fell she managed to plunge the knife into him four more times, and he had the courtesy to die quietly.

Rising, she dropped her skirts and sheathed her still bloody knife. She checked her book’s clasp, took it in both hands, and heaved it over the palisade. As she watched it tumble over the wall’s spires, she was already bunching up her gown to loop between her legs, and tie together in the front. The wall was more than twice her own height. She didn’t have time to waste.

She tried, first, to find hand and foot holds in the wall to climb with, but she couldn’t even get both feet off the ground. Fuck I am going to die, she thought as she spun around, looking for anything that could help her get over. There was a trio of barrels nearby, but stacking them would be a feat of strength beyond her ability. Her eyes fell on the dead guard’s spear. She grabbed it, and hurled it into the wood of the palisade, where it stuck. With great effort she rolled one of the barrels through the mud, and turned it upright. If she could get a leg-up from the spear, she should be able to reach the top. She climbed onto the barrel, but the moment her weight touched the spear it dislodged, and she careened down to land on the dead man below.

Growling, she hefted the spear and climbed back atop barrel. The angle was awkward, but she thrust the spear in, careful to keep the tip horizontal and angled downwards between two of the palisade’s trunks. Hopping down, she rolled another barrel over near the end of the spear, aware of every lengthy second the process took. She used the dead man’s helmet to hammer the butt of the spear in as hard as she could. After a few good blows, she heard cries of alarm in the tent she’d fled from. No more time. No more chances.

She sprinted for the wall, leaping up to the barrel and clambering to her feet. She raised a leg to rest gently on the spear. She paused for a deep breath, then hurled herself forwards and upwards against the unstable foothold. The spear drooped, but she kept her momentum. In the space of a heartbeat her hands were clasping at the pointed tops of the palisade trunks as the spear fell away beneath her.

The muddy schlupping of running feet drew closer. Fear pumped through her, fueling her straining arms which otherwise would have given out already. She swung a leg over the wall, and heaved her body up to straddle it with a defiant howl. Just as she balanced herself, an arrow flew from below and struck her just above the left elbow. It pierced through the meat and stuck into a bit of stomach flab.

She allowed herself to fall, limp, off the outside of the wall. The wet thunk of her body crashing into the mud didn’t sound half as bad as it felt. For a moment she lay still, blinking away the rain that pelted her face. She knew she wasn’t free, but it was hard to justify anything other then lying still. She could hear Urlic’s voice now, shouting for his men to get a ladder, and sending word for soldiers to move around outside the wall.

His voice was angry. He said something about ‘avenging fallen comrades.’ Jeanette felt some satisfaction knowing she’d judged him correctly. He did intend to scapegoat her as a witch for his disastrous defeat on the field today. As though it were her fault her palm reading had been accurate enough one time to convince him to plan wars around her vague chicanery.

She was still lying in the mud. You’re going to die, she chided. She forced her body to roll, to get her hands under herself. She heaved against the ground, pulling her feet under her and stumbling away from the wall. Ignoring the pain, she willed herself to run for the distant tree line. Scapegoat or not, she’d be the one that was set on fire. She would not be set on fire.

Her vision of the trees wavered and she stumbled. Her head was pounding and bile was rising in her throat, but she forced it down. She kept running, focusing on the trees, and doing her best not to trip over her own feet. Blood from her side ran down to her hip, its warmth contrasting with the chill of the hard-falling rain. But still she pumped her legs, each step taking her closer to the tree line. An arrow struck the ground a few feet from her, and she realized she’d heard at least a half dozen others falling around her already.

She tried zig-zagging to make the archer’s task harder, but she already felt as though she was moving slower than normal. Like running in a dream. She settled on a beeline for the trees. The trees would save her. They were thick. Arrows couldn’t get her there.

Soldiers could, though.

The falling arrows were close around now. Even with the dark and rain, the growing number of archers climbing the walls made it ever more likely one would hit. Only a few yards more. One struck the shaft of the arrow still embedded in her arm, causing it to twinge. She lurched, and opened her mouth to scream, but had no breath to do it with.

And then she was among the trees. Jeanette felt as though she was suddenly moving faster as their trunks whipped past her on either side. She couldn’t see more than a few steps ahead. She stopped running for a moment to break the shaft of the arrow in her arm. The last thing she needed was to impale herself by slamming it into a tree.

She needed to rest. She had no time. She starting running again.

She had no idea where she was, but angled her flight away from where she’d entered the woods. They’d search for her everywhere, but there was no point making it easy for them by continuing to run in a straight line.

There were shouting voices behind her, but they sounded distant. Relief began to creep into her mind. No! she thought, clamping down on that relief. You are almost certainly going to die tonight. Whatever slim chance of survival you’ve got relies on NOT GETTING SLOPPY.

She forced her legs to keep pumping up and down for what felt like hours, hoping all the while that she wasn’t running back towards camp. The black sky denied her any lights to guide herself by. Occasionally she heard men or horses. She knew she was never more than a throw of the dice away from being caught and dragged to her death.

Her legs finally gave out beneath her, and she tumbled onto her face. She scrambled back up with her hands and legs, but the world swam around her and she collapsed again. Her body could not flee any longer. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to lose consciousness. She looked around for some place to hide, and saw an upturned tree with a hollow of dirt beneath it. She dragged her body towards it, unable even to crawl now without stumbling. She wriggled into it, curling herself into a ball for warmth. There was a sharp pain on her thigh. She craned her head to find a rabbit biting at her in defense of its hovel.

With her last ounce of strength she took hold of the animal and broke its neck before falling into deep unconsciousness.

—

I didn’t bleed to death, Jeanette thought, as a fuzzy semblance of wakefulness returned to her. She squinted against the intrusion of the bright midday light. Apparently they didn’t find me, either. That’s two strokes of luck I’ll have to pay for eventually. Though, the clear and sunny day and her long sleep went some way towards paying that debt. They’d have resumed the search hours ago, and if they got close she’d be easy to spot.

She struggled to pull herself out of the cramped hovel, beset by every ache she’d earned the night before. The most pressing among them was the cavernous ache in her stomach which demanded she find food. She tried to push it down, focusing instead on her arrow wound.

The gouge in her torso where the arrow had gone through wasn’t all that bad. It hurt when she poked it, but she had bruises that hurt more. Which, she hoped, meant the wound was shallow enough to ignore. Her arm was in much worse shape. It was pale, and felt like pins and needles when she tried to move it. The blood around the holes was crusty and dark.

She untied her gown from around her waist, and fumbled to get her knife into her off-hand. She had to cut her dress up to the knees before getting a strip of cloth that wasn’t caked with mud. Makeshift bandage at the ready, she gave the arrowhead a gentle test tug, and felt the meat of her arm painfully tugged with it. This was going to hurt a lot.

She yanked hard, and the arrow shaft tore its way out of her arm, releasing a fresh gout of blood. She wrapped the bandage, careful to place the cleanest spots she could over the wound’s two openings. The pins and needles in her arm got worse as blood dribbled down to her elbow. She was relieved as it slowed, then finally stopped. She tied off the bandage to keep pressure on.

Climbing to her feet, Jeanette assessed her surroundings. The trees were close about her, which was good. So long as she didn’t make any noise, search parties would need to get close before they could spot her. Doesn’t mean I can sit still, though, she thought. Without landmarks, she couldn’t be sure just what direction the camp was in. She did remember the tree she’d hidden under had been on her right last night. So, if she stood with the hollow to her right and walked in that direction, it ought to be away from camp. She checked to make sure she had her knife and her book with her, and–

Fuck.

Jeanette dug her fingers into her brow, and groaned, despite the need for quiet. She didn’t have her book. She’d had it when she left the tent, but didn’t remember picking it up after falling over the wall. She knew she hadn’t been holding it during her mad dash across the field. She pounded her fists into her forehead. That had been it. The book was her one real source of magic. The one thing she could turn to when her parlor tricks didn’t cut it.

A metallic thunk and a blow that sent her sprawling flat on her face cut Jeanette’s recrimination short. She spun onto her back to see a soldier rearing his leg back to deliver a savage kick to her bruised right thigh. She yelped in pain and tried to roll away, to get to her feet, to run again. Before she even got her knee under herself he’d stepped forward and kicked again. She collapsed into a fetal ball.

“That’s sixty gold crowns for me, witch!” the man cheered, slurring his words over an ugly accent. He bent to roll her over, but Jeanette lashed out with her arms and legs like a cornered animal, catching him above the eye with her foot. He stumbled back, but didn’t fall. She scrambled to her feet and ran. He heavy footsteps were at her back in an instant. Before she’d covered five yards he slammed his body into hers, crushing her against a nearby tree. She fell again, feeling as though every bone she had was broken.

“I’d dash your brains here if it’s my choosing,” he snarled, kneeling on her back as he secured her arms. “But Governer Ulric wants you burned crisp for all to see, so you’ll live ’til I’ve been paid!” Wriggling in panic, Jeanette managed to free her good hand. She dove for one of the pouches on her belt, praying its contents hadn’t been ruined by the rain. The Soldier clasped her shoulder and flipped her over. His fist rose to deliver a punch, but went limp as the yellow powder she threw struck his face. His eyes became glassy and unfocused. She tried to speak, but could only gurgle for long terrifying seconds before finally croaking out

“You helped me escape because you don’t want any harm to come to me!”

She lay still, staring up at him in silence. The pollen of the Xulcam flower was a hit-and-miss. But he didn’t look too smart. If it was working, his mind and memories would be folding over on themselves. Trying to accommodate the new information. If it wasn’t working, he’d probably go crazy and beat her to death. As the silence stretched on, she was very aware of the buzzing in her ears, and the narrowing field of vision from her swelling eye. She tasted blood.

Then the soldier was rising to his feet, and helping her onto her’s.

“You’ve been beat harsh! Did you catch the way he went running?” he asked. Jeanette shook her head, too taken aback to trust herself speaking.

“We’d better get out of here before he gets back, though.” she said. “He’s likely to bring a dozen horsemen with him.”

“Yarb, true. Nothing can harm you if I want the 60 gold crowns you owe me!” he answered. She nodded, and the pair began to move off.

As she limped along beside him, Jeanette allowed herself a small, painful, grin.