Category: Books

Is it a trap?

Room-with-door two was also a crypt, only this one was… not quite filled up, yet. There was a pile of scraps and dust on the floor in the rough shape of a body, and — dammit, dammit, dammit — the unmistakable glint of gold mixed in with the junk. Oh, and a half-opened sarcophagus. Just in case it wasn’t entirely obvious something seriously weird had happened here.

Gregor assessed his options. Still no smell of evil or moral decay, which was good — but there was definitely a lingering aura of eldritch, which might be bad. There was no reasonable or unreasonable way that pile of detritus could form into a shambler, which was really good. Then again, specters didn’t need to be corporeal to hurt you. And specters just loved to haunt foci like (he peered down) amulets. They’d also get upset if you ignored them, so he’d have to do something. Assuming that one of them was haunting this place, obviously.

What decided him in the end was the way the detritus was positioned; if you squinted only a little, you could see an outstretched hand reaching towards the open sarcophagus. “Were you trying to get in there?” he asked the hopefully-empty crypt, just in case it wasn’t actually empty. “Well. I’m going to assume you were, all right? So, I’ll get you back in there, don’t worry. I’m being respectful! I’ll get as much of you as I can!”

Exploration!

Some people might think that the smart thing would be to leave, but Gregor knew that was nonsense. The most dangerous thing in the world was a closed door, if you didn’t know what was on the other side. When it was bad, you always found out at the worst possible time. And if it wasn’t bad, why not open it? Besides, the door wasn’t even locked! Well, not really. Ten seconds with a lockpick had it yawning open, and not into a stygian darkness. There were the unmistakable faint glow of lightstones on the other side.

Gregor almost whistled. Elf-iron and lightstones weren’t cheap these days. There was probably all sorts of portable loot lying around, including the lightstones themselves if they were small enough.

The lights were dim, but shone brightly enough to reveal a large square room, with two doorless rooms to his left, and two with doors on his right, plus an altar set into a recess opposite him. Gregor froze when he saw the altar, watching it like a bird watches a snake, and for the same reason. After a minute, he relaxed. No miasma, no ghostskulls, not even a purple-black glow, he thought. It’s probably safe.

Man, Gregor is gonna hate me before I’m done.

Gregor glumly considered his options. On the one hand: he could stay above-ground. It was dark, windy, uncanny, and there wasn’t anything resembling shelter, but he could sleep up here, sort of. It wouldn’t be a damned hole in the ground.

The problem was, it was a nice hole in the ground. It was circular, and lined with bricks; in fact, it was the first human-built thing he’d seen in a while, honestly. There was even a ladder made out of elf-iron (the part of Gregor that never passed up a chance to make easy money noted idly that there was always a market for the stuff). Judging from the rock he’d thrown in, there was a stone or brick floor below, and it wasn’t far down at all.

It’s an old cellar, he decided. There must have been a house here, once, and this is all that’s left. The air coming from it was clean, with no smell of musk or slime, and there was definitely no miasma of evil. Still, it was a dark hole in the ground, and those weren’t always the best places to be —

Above, the bumpy sky he’d been trying to ignore for the last half hour finally decided to stop rumbling and get on with tonight’s thunderstorming. That decided it for him. There wasn’t a reek of stagnant water, so whatever was down there had drains, at least. He’d have a better chance of getting drier than he would out here. And who knew? There might even be supplies. Even a rusty knife would be a better one than the one he didn’t have now.