The Oceans of Horror - Chapter 15

That deep dungeon was not like any other. Dabbing in black lore always produced odd foetors and otherworldly sounds. But the obscene rituals performed in there called forth even more abominable entities: the stench was nearly unbearable.

Corvinus wished he could say he never smelled that stench before, but that was not the case. Randolf and Dester were behind him in body and spirit. They all carried large curved knives to take care of the mundane threats, together with a full complement of potions, powders and incantations against the less physical ones. They made short work of the resurrecta sentinel posted at the entrance of the tunnel, before it could even make a sound.

Corvinus even had on him a tube-like slimbow. It was a lot less powerful than a full crossbow, but far more maneuverable and concealable. Only the best Dwarven blacksmiths could forge those; they were rare and coveted weapons among men. The men that fought dirty and without honor some would say. Corvinus thought honor didn’t matter when it came to taking down an evil, abominate cult that was threatening the whole World.

They also had small blind lanterns that produced just enough light to show the ground they were treading upon. Which was just as well, because one thing was to know what the bas-reliefs on the tunnel walls represented. Another thing was to actually see them.

They advanced more, slowly and carefully. They could now hear, faint in the distance, the horrible chanting of a blaspheme ritual of the Cult.

The ritual itself was only a small concern: they had been performing the same actions and sacrifices for centuries without effect. But the agents of the cult among Men were a concern; it was likely one or more assassins had been dispatched. Against Empress Monica herself. That made it personal too. He’d seen her grow in body and mind, from a curious child to a grown woman that learned terrible secrets. And not just that; she had pieced together a picture that several sorcerers before her were too scared to complete. And she had not lost her mind; at least not yet.

They could clearly hear the chanting now, but the words were garbled by the many echoes. It didn’t matter; they knew even too well the words in any case. They kept creeping forward in the hot, stuffy and smelly darkness.

Finally, the saw a faint light in the distance. The tunnel elbowed left, and the light of torches and fires reflected off the stone wall. Now they could smell also another odor, very much of this world, but not less revolting: the stench of burnt flesh.

They snuffed out and put down their lanterns in the faint reverberated light. Corvinus took out and checked his slimbow; the others grabbed their knives and prepared small satchels of blinding powders.

The last leg of the corridor was exposed, yes, but it was unlikely the necromancers would pay attention to that; their eyes would be fixed on the horrors on the altar.

“All ready?”, Corvinus whispered.

“Yes, sir.”, they replied in the same hushed tones.

Corvinus moved first. He was past his prime years, yes, but he kept in good shape and his lithe body was still quick and agile. With quiet, measured steps he reached the opening to the grand cavern of the ritual. He ignored the even too recognizable shape burning on the ominous altar and the four or five swarthy dancers; his eyes were on the Prime Necromancer when he shouldered the slimbow and took aim between the Necromancer’s shoulder blades. He stopped in his movement just for the blink of an eye, and let loose the pointed steel dart.

One of the half-naked, sweaty dancers maybe saw something and stopped in his gyrations. But it was too late; the dart buried itself to the feather into the target’s back. He stopped chanting with a gurgling sound and instinctively reached back with one hand.

The other revelers froze in their moves convulsive gyrations, confused. Corvinus was reloading when the satchels of blinding powders thrown by his mates were in flight; they ripped open releasing clouds of fine red dust. He let loose the second dart, but the necromancer was spinning around and the dart caught him in the shoulder, where it caused almost no harm.

It didn’t matter, they would finish the job with their blades. The three man were no hardened fighters, but learned enough to hold their own. The cultists had no visible weapons, neither there were resurrecta in sight. Corvinus dispatched two of them, and kept going for the Necromancer. He realized what was happening and was now trying to run… but men didn’t run very fast with a pierced lung. Corvinus gave it all he had, and reached the fleeing man to hack at his neck. Once, twice and the Necromancer fell. He began gurgling words in the ancient and terrible Akelon language.

“No, not this time!”, Corvinus yelled, and split the Necromancer’s skull in half with a mighty swing. Not without effort he freed the blade and stood there panting for a few moments. His stomach churned and his legs felt weak: he was no killer. But some things just had to be done.

He heard a commotion nearby and spun around holding the knife up in guard position. A crazed reveler was coming at a run and did not stop, impaling himself in the chest on the blade. Corvinus just had to push it in a little more to finish the job. He muttered a curse in disbelief. The looked around to take stock of the situation: Dester was wrestling on the ground with the last reveler left. Randolf had lost his blade and looked dazed; but then rushed to help his mate.

He pulled an ampoule out of his ample blouse pockets and squirted a liquid in his enemy’s eyes. The man screamed in pain and let go of Dester; for good measure Randolf also kicked him. Then Dester returned torch in hand and smashed the butt of the handle into the cultist’s ruined face. Then all went still; no more chants nor screams broke the underground silence. The men reunited near the Necromancer’s body.

“Are we still whole?”, Corvinus asked repressing the nausea and the shaking.

Dester’s face was reddened and starting to swell, while Randolf massaged his forearm. Yet, they both nodded.

“Shall we proceed?”, he continued looking at the dead body. The revelers were no problem; he’d make sure that the local authorities would get tipped and take care of the problem.

But the Necromancer was a different matter, and his body had to be destroyed in a way that did not allow another one of them to resurrect it. And if he had any ampoules of reductions, those had to be dispersed too – unless they were extremely valuable.

They easily found the evocation and reduction room a short distance down a side corridor. It was even more repulsive and stinking; its walls and floor were covered in esoteric formulas, symbols and pentagrams. There was a big lead basin with a plugged hole at the bottom and ominous stains on it.

But they did not use the basin; they sprinkled the Kabbal powder on the body and recited the reduction spell. Over and over, until One responded and the Necromancer turned into a pint of thick dirty fluid. They washed it away with clean, fresh rainwater. There was just one empty ampule on an ancient wooden rack: it must have contained the Resurrecta at the entrance.

There was also another full ampule with a label covered in archaic symbols: it appeared to contain the reduction of an ancestor of the Necromancer. Foul breed, they did not deserve to exist polluting the World. The three men disposed of it as well, then walked back in silence. Dester’s face was now visibly swollen and bruised, but he carried on stoically.

“We performed a great service to this World tonight. Now we can rest. We shall meet again tomorrow at sunset in our usual place and survey what other news our friends will bring.”

There were many more men in the cult, but on the other hand Corvinus did not have only two friends. They’d just cut off the head of the monster; others would take care of the body that was still thrashing about.

They split, the two younger men going to one inn where they pretended to be onto a toponomastic search – that sounded rather outlandish, yet even farmers could figure out enough of it not to suspect the men were using the word as a ruse. And Randolf was truly into toponomastics.

Corvinus alone went to the other inn, where he pretended to be an alkemister scouting the woods for interesting natural substances. And that wasn’t completely untrue either. He pretended not to know the other two in public in any case.

Corvinus put his stinky clothes in a duffel bag, washed, wore a well-worn pijamas and despite the horrors he witnessed, slept well that night. He lingered in bed dozing on and off longer then usual, until past mid-morning. He leisurely put on clean clothes and walked a couple blocks to the post station.

There were a few locals milling about in front and inside the office. He met Dester walking out, but they only exchanged a brief knowing look. Corvinus was always courteous and polite, almost chivalrous, but his lugubrious appearance did not quite endear people. Which was fine with him.

“Goodday Mr Lopez, any missives for me?”

“Ah, Master Corvinus.”, Lopez replied not so jovial, “A little while ago a postman arrived with a personal letter.”

A young man rose from his seat in a corner. He looked tired, and a little confused. He wore the uniform of the Secuenda Postal Service.

“Master Corvinus?”

In Chapter 16 of The Oceans of Horror, we discover that even in this world, Dwarves and Elves are no friends.

And taste in distilled spirits is a subjective matter.

#oceansofhorror

“I am.”

“Master Whipple sent this, for you personally.”

Corvinus extended his hand, and the postman gave him the letter.

“You did a good job, young man.”

“The sender insisted it was never left unguarded and delivered only to you in person. I did not even sleep to deliver it safely to you, sir.”

No, he didn’t. Whipple was not the man who’d attract attention like that. Corvinus sighed inwardly, then fished out of his pocket a silver half-dragon: a generous tip indeed.

“Now return to your duties.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

Corvinus put the letter in his leather sling bag as it were just a trifle, and walked to the saloon to have a late breakfast of steak, pickles, and a glass of wine. The food was not bad for a place of that class, but he wasn’t there on a culinary adventure. He wanted to keep up with the village chatter. It seemed that nobody had got wind yet of the massacre in the Necromancer’s cave. That was no surprise; the villagers avoided those few decaying huts and stone circle atop the distant hill not because they had any idea of what was truly happening, but because they regarded it as a haunted and/or insalubrious place.

But it was about time to leave town. With the last coach to Arenoz. So he returned to his room, and at last set to read Whipple’s letter. The visible seals were intact. And the secret ones too. He cut open the envelope, and found in it a coded letter. It seemed to be about botanicals, but applying the proper key Corvinus could read how Whipple and his posse removed another cult coven. Sadly, the old Schmidt was killed in the attack. And if that wasn’t enough, assassins were on the move. More dangerous ones than they thought of.

Corvinus put the letter away, and started penning one of his own. It was coded as well and superficially it read like an uncle reconnecting with his niece, now an adult woman in a high place. In reality, it was a stark warning about a mortal threat.

He packed his luggage – yes, there were a few specimens of plant he was not familiar with – and headed for the main square to wait for the coach. He’d send the letter from a the way station were they’d stop for the night; knowing how the postal services worked, there was no benefit in sending the letter earlier but from a more out of the way village.

He did not like that; he truly wanted to warn Monica as soon as possible. Yet there was nothing more he could do. At least he knew she was in the hands of her own loyal and capable Empress Guards.

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In Chapter 16 of The Oceans of Horror, we discover that even in this world, Dwarves and Elves are no friends.

And taste in distilled spirits is a subjective matter.

#oceansofhorror