[Closed] The Return

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

2nd Loshis, 2719
THE DEEP | ENDLESS NIGHT

They were insane.

Clocking insane.

Athrym stared into the arched entrance of the catacombs, freed of its temporary stone doorway to allow the re-entry of their party. They were more prepared this time, and more accompanied. Aside from herself and Nauleth—local crazy and resident expert—they also had a host of Guardians who now wore what the blonde could only deem ceremonial armor. Glittering platinum and gold, embedded with gemstones and embossed with decorative filigree. Clearly, it was meant to offer them some sort of protection, but it was too delicate and too decorative.

It showed that Lomenak believed them, but then again not quite.

Along with the extra military power, the Matriarch had also included two of her best Living magisters to allow the Clean Air spells to be cast far more effectively and a theoretical professor to decipher the contents of the book. The Anaxi and the Gioran had been through seemingly endless conversations during their recovery, and invited into the Temple home of the Da Huanes themselves to discuss the book that had returned with them.

Oh yes, they had read the book, taken notes…but the thing still sat very safely and very securely in Lomenak’s personal chamber high within the Temple of Qrieth.

According to the text, so old it was written on thin leather, the curious vast crypt they had encroached in their last visit was just the tip of the iceberg. Not Aminark Giore, not even her Patriarch, instead a host of mages. The notes were difficult to decipher at that point, written in a language none could read. It appeared, in some fashion, like monite and yet it was not. Based on drawings and some guesswork, the professors of Qrieth deduced that these bodies had been laid like some sort of ritual. Much like the Watchers along the walls they were planning to pass along again. Skulls of passive priests guarding over the secrets of the Deep.

They had to return to the depths, and see if they could find further texts. Or anything that could help them decipher what they had found.

“So, we are to head down to this chamber where you saw the bodies, and here there is a set of doors, correct?” The professor that had joined them spoke fluent Estuan in a rich Gioran accent, though his tone was a little less formal. Citevian, the woman wore her pale white locks braided tightly away from her face and twisted into three tight buns along the back of her skull. Her eyes were almost rust colored, tinged rose, and her porcelain skin was gently lined with age. At least in her forties, the professor’s field was relatively weak, though it was definitely still there. She addressed Nauleth, though her gaze swept to Athrym as well, notebook in one hand and pencil in the other. A rough map was spread across the pages of her book, drawn up from the survivors accounts of the Deep layout and previous cartography attempts.

“And beyond those doors, apparently, this rift of—”

“And hatchers.” Athrym said suddenly, too loud in the low ceiling of the tunnel, her summer eyes dragging firmly away from the monite etched on the entrance to fixate on the woman with an icy irritation. Standing with her arms crossed, the blonde was dressed in silk blend women's white trousers and a long sleeved Anaxi style black blouse. Her own long hair was pulled into two braids, worn down against her shoulders, resting stark against the dark material.

“Don’t forget the hatchers Professor Eleini. Because they are real. And they are down there. And by His Eternal Grace we can only pray that they aren’t waiting for us beyond the Maw.” She spoke with a bitterness, angry at their return to the bowels of Qrieth. Frustrated that even now there was disbelief. They wouldn’t truly believe it unless they saw it with their own clocking eyes.

Idiots.

Snapping a harsh curse in Gioran, the younger woman turned away from the scholar, inhaling deeply and running a hand over her forehead.

“This is folly.” Athrym muttered, her field pulsing with jittering apprehension and streaked with rivulets of yellow fear. From her side, a small hand reached out, gently resting on her forearm.

“We must have faith in Imaan, Most Honored Ambassador.” Illustrious Peak said in her soft, comforting voice, trained in her short time in the Church of Imaan. Her skin shimmered in the torchlights, dusted with quartz powder, long straight pale hair hanging down in a curtain of white. She offered a small smile, ducking her head in a little bow.

“The Eternal Child will protect us, that I am sure of. You and Most Esteemed Siortanti did not die in the Deep, because Imaan willed you to return to us. Imaan sent the Daegerote to help you. To let you bring us the past, so we may prepare ourselves for the future.” The pale woman looked at the girl with her brow drawn. She couldn’t bring herself to speak ill towards the child, respectful of her position and her wisdom for her age. Instead, Athrym nodded in return, moving away to approach her fiance.

“You really want to do this Nauleth? After everything that happened, after everything that they don’t believe, you want to go back in there and seek death?” Her voice was quiet, just for their ears, whilst the others prepared to enter the depths.

[Nauleth Siordanti]

2nd of Loshis, 2719
BACK INTO THE DEEP, DEEP DARKNESS

Nauleth had only thrown up a handful of times today, and thus far, not once on the long, slow walk to the catacombs, surrounded by Guardians who looked like they were about to be in some mockery of the Saint Grumbles Day parade and by Giorans who'd not believed a word he and Athrym had said for days—no, weeks now! At least they'd brought better sorcery this time, though he'd assured them all that lighting wouldn't a problem with the batteries he'd designed and built as a way to keep from losing his clocking mind. He still felt ill, not out of nervousness but because it had been determined that whatever had bitten him down there in the Deep had been venomous, saliva full of some kind of rot that appeared to be particularly effective once in a galdor's veins.

Only, of course, that creature couldn't possibly have been a hatcher. By the Circle, how many clocking tall albino voices had tried their best to convince him otherwise? Practically all of Qrieth, he thought. But he knew what he'd seen down there.

He knew what had almost left his insides frozen in the Deep, far from home.

He knew hatchers were real.

He'd seen them, over and over, practically felt them, in his sleep. In what little he could sleep, anyway. Their claws and their wide maws. Their sounds. The strange sensation of their proximity, suffocating his own field like a candle scared away the dark.

The eldest Siordanti had fought—first for his life, then for his sanity. He'd fought to continue his research. He'd fought to get a glimpse of that book. He'd fought to keep his scars. He'd fought to use his arm at full capacity again, no matter how much his shoulder ached. He'd fought to return to the Deep to prove the truth of what he'd seen, of what he and Athrym had both seen. Well, others had seen it all, too, but no one else seemed willing to corroborate. Weeks of recovery had been spent obsessing over what had gone wrong, over what could be done better, much to the petite blonde's disapproval.

She'd attempted to dissuade him, desperate and afraid, but Nauleth was done being afraid by the time he could watch all of his fingers wiggle in turn. He'd been told how to behave and what to think for so clocking long in his life that he was quite good at resisting, at not buckling under pressure no matter how painful, but even his self-righteous, politician-bred spirit had nearly been broken over the past few weeks. Nearly, but not quite. Just like all those years ago when everyone had expected his backlash to break him entirely, the experience had simply been the right catalyst at the right time. It'd been a little less painful than that first trip to the Deep, but Nauleth Siordanti had brushed with death more times than the average galdor now (at least more times than the average non-exhibition league duelist).

With Kaelum's begruded help, he'd thrown himself into what he'd come to Gior to do in the first place—work. He revisited some of the electromagnetic science he'd brought into the physical conversation department of the University of Gior, letting the Da Huane's least favored son and belike sorcerer do most of the manual labor of building and testing while he did far too much of the thinking and talking, arm in a sling for most of it.

It was all he could do to keep from going mad, really.

But, standing here in front of the entrance to the Deep again, Naul wasn't sure he hadn't lost his mind. He busied himself explaining the batteries, the dry cells created by a stroke of pain-induced inspiration while unable to sleep for fear of more nightmares of the darkness he'd be delving back into again anyway. Instead of liquid, a thick paste of ammonium chloride with a hint of zinc chloride proved itself to carry a current through a manganese dioxide cathode. It was Kaelum's idea to use the zinc shell as both a casing and the anode, but it worked. It didn't provide much in the way of voltage, but they weren't out to get patents or win awards. He just wanted to make sure they could see in the Deep.

Building a series of them, enlisting the wary help of a few willing upper form Gioran physics students, the batteries provided enough electricity to power the glass-bulb lights Naul had strung together on wires. He'd have to fuse each string together the deeper they went, unsure of how far the current would carry, unsure of how many strings of lights each battery would support, and even unsure of how long each battery would last without magical assistance.

He'd written instructions in his sloppy, hurried way—having been forced to become right-handed almost a decade ago and never quite recovering his penmanship after that fateful day on the Lawn. Each battery would be coupled together as needed, supplying power to the lights and freeing all of their party from needing to cast spells to see, especially considering making sure everyone could breath was magically taxing enough. He'd also given instructions on barrier spells and what to expect from what he remembered of how either the rift or the hatchers seemed to weaken and warp his spellcasting, but he was quite sure no one listened. Not even Kaelum believed him when he spoke of the strange effects everything seemed to have had, dampening his abilities—

He heard the word bodies and felt another wave of nausea crawl through him, stepping away from the blonde Da Huane who'd offered to keep watch over their collaborative project more willingly than he'd offered to keep watch over the Anaxi and his fiancé (though, of course, Kaelum had just not wanted to reveal the extent his personal investment in their friendship). No one needed to know that he actually cared whether the foolish ginger professor lived or died.

Nauleth fussed with his coat, rearranging the weight of all the carefully wrapped wires and bulbs he carried with him and feeling the tension in his shoulder when he raised his arm. For a moment, all he could hear was his pulse pounding in his ears, here beneath the mountains of Gior. He opened his mouth, ready to speak to the other professor, to address the matter of the rifts, to mention that the bodies weren't their only obstacles—

Hatchers were, yes.

His gold-rimmed gaze slid toward Athrym, but his expression barely remained calm. Something about her tone made his chest ache and his knees feel weak; the reminder of shared pain reminding him of how she'd begged him to call the whole thing off,

"I—"

Blinking at Illustrious Peak in all her etherial, childish glory, it was difficult to wrap his mind around how many skulls of children just like her they'd be walking past in just a short amount of time.

"The rift and—"

The talk of Imaan's protection was difficult to object to, for Naul truly hoped it was the case.

"But the—"

He couldn't say the word. He couldn't say hatchers out loud. Not without throwing up again. He tried, honestly, he really did, but the Anaxi professor was overrun by vowel-filled, imposing accents and so much formal talk that he tasted bile. That's all these Giorans seemed to be, really: talk and disbelief.

The distressed face of his intended was looking expectantly at him suddenly, demanding his focus, and her whispered words almost were almost missed above the roar of too many thoughts writhing through the back of his mind,

"Yes." He murmured, meeting her verdant gaze, aware of how much he missed green growing things when staring back at her, "We know what to expect this time. We have to go back there. We're the only ones who can show them what we saw so that everyone knows the dangers are real. We're more prepared and—"

We won't die, he wanted to say, but he couldn't say that either.

He didn't want to be buried a liar, not that anyone would ever find his body this time should they be overrun.

"We're not seeking death. We're seeking the truth. Please. We need to do this, and I need you with me." Naul licked chapped lips, throat suddenly dry with his heart stuck up against it, "We've fought too hard to back down now."

Kaelum finished connecting the first strand of lights to the battery and the small, luminous bulbs flared to life in the eldest Siordanti's hands,

"See. We can do this." He didn't smile. He'd already made very secret plans with the petite blonde to cut all of their Giorian prison guards (for they were only glorified escorts, barely even protectors, obviously) as a loss and escape should they find themselves in danger, the pair of them having gone over several scenarios in private nights before.

Stepping closer, trembling free hand coming to rest against the small of her back, he paused to pray in silence, to himself, to Alioe and all the Circle, to any god willing to listen, begging to not just make it back down there but also to make it out alive. Less bloodied would be nice, of course, but at this point? He wasn't sure he cared. He just wanted the reality they'd witnessed to be seen, to be known.

Exhaling shakily, he straightened and raised his voice, speaking up to the group without concern that he wasn't the one in charge, that he was just some lowly Anaxi (and a man at that) in the company of too many tall, matriarchal Gioran doubters, "Let's go then."

He knew what was waiting down there, and he wasn't ready. He just couldn't stand still anymore.

Attempting to take a step forward as if to emphasize his point, the ginger sorcerer was forced to pause and vomit one last time, just barely missing the terribly impractical-looking shoes of Professor Eleini.

THIS ISN'T BRUNNHOLD ANYMORE, ERSEHAT, AND YOU'RE NOT GOING HOME.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

5th Ophus, 2718
THE DEEP | MID MORNING

We're more prepared and—"

We will die, she wanted to say in the gap, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

Nauleth continued, pleading his case—their case—to her, with words that she knew made sense but were so clocking frightening. Athrym Bruthgrave, ice-queen half-breed, not afraid of anything when it came to magic or school or intimidating taller Gioran counterparts was very much afraid of the darkness that seemed to swallow even the lights of their torches as they prepared for the journey.

She was afraid, because they all should be, and they weren’t.

“I just—” The blonde almost whined, glancing down as Kaelum connected the string of bulbs to the ingenious battery Naul had designed, watching them ping to life in his arms. It would have been, in any other setting, absolutely amazing and incredible and worthy of smiles and celebration.

Here, Athrym just saw the guiding lights of their doom.

He stepped closer, hand on the small of her back, and the Gioran took the brief moment to breathe. To remind herself of their private promises to each other. If things went wrong—when things went wrong—it was the two of them. No waiting, no holding back. They had a plan, and it would be executed to their safety.

It was time.

The Anaxi suggested they go, and promptly vomited nearly on the tall professors shoes. She stepped back, rust eyes on the man with a curved brow.

“Wonderful.” She spoke blandly, before moving to join the group as they moved towards the gaping maw of the deep. Athrym almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

A theoretical professor, two Living mages, a host of Guardians in costume armor, a priest, a Da Huane, an Anaxi and an Ambassador.

Against a host of hatchers.

It was ridiculous.

Still, she forced her feet to move, following the party into the depths beside Nauleth. The Guardians were the first and last in, flanking the group as the scientific mages connected the lights to the wall with little metal stakes hammered into natural cracks or nooks. They passed by the skulls once again, and Athrym refused to look at them. What once had seemed so normal and so natural, so historically important, now gave her a shuddering sickening feeling.

“Imaan bless those souls who were chosen for such an honored task.” Illustrious Peak said softly, bowing her head and giving a small prayer to the Watchers on the wall. The blonde bit her tongue.

How many children had been honored to give their life for that? How many had gone willingly, and how many had cried for their mothers? How many had Aminark Giore set to their death. Her stomach churned again, nearly wanting to match the red heads reaction in the entrance.

On they went, through the tunnels and the antechambers, down the stairs deeper and deeper into the catacombs. The mages cast their spells and the lights were hung. Professor Eleuni marveled at the distance they traveled, commending Nauls’ ingenuity. She scribbled in her book and referenced their maps, talking in Gioran to her Living counterparts about the carvings on the wall and the roof. Athrym slowed in the antechamber, staring at what she had always imagined to be a fox on the roof.

“Nauleth,” She said quietly to get his attention, keeping her eyes on the roof, feeling the dread in her stomach seeming into her field.

“It’s a hatcher.” The word was more of a whisper than anything else, as though the realization was too much for her voice to bear. She felt a sense of anxiousness grip her chest, breathing a little too fast and tears stinging her eyes.

“I cannot do this. They knew. They knew about the hatchers. Why did we not see this before? These…the walls. The watchers…they are warnings. They are signs. We did not see.” Panic was thick in her throat, and her field drew tightly with flares of yellow. This was a mistake, the very surrounds screamed at them.

Turn back.

“No. They were to watch over Aminark’s journey to Imaan. You see things that are not there, Ambassador.” The Professor said bluntly, catching her words in the rounded room. Athrym glanced at her, the yellow flaring with red of rage.

“You have no idea what you speak of, Professor. You—”

“We should pray, Athrym. It will ease your mind.” The younger girl said gently, coming up beside her, placing a hand on her arm with a soothing smile.

“It will not.” She growled, angry at them all now. Angry at Nauleth. This was stupid. They were stupid all of them.

[Nauleth Siordanti]

2nd of Loshis, 2719
BACK INTO THE DEEP, DEEP DARKNESS

The eldest Siordanti had faced death before, twice now, perhaps more if any of his nastier duels ever could be considered reaching close. The near-death of his backlash paled in comparison to near-death by hatchers in the dark, it was true, but if Nauleth was at all afraid of his heart finally stopping for good and his body becoming a corpse, it was difficult to tell by his pale, freckled, well-carved face in this moment. Of course he was clocking terrified—he'd not learned his true name, he'd not had any spells published, he'd not been given his seat on the Board, and he'd not married the petite platinum-haired creature in front of him, begging him with her verdant gaze to change his clocking mind.

He couldn't.

He simply couldn't walk away from this, no matter how dangerous. Drawn to knowledge and truth as if they were forbidden flames held out over the endless abyss that the Maw must have really been, the Anaxi professor simply couldn't let it all go without seeing it one more time.

What if—

What if it had all been a hallucination? What if it hadn't been hatchers? What if they'd imagined Daegerote, high on oxygen deprivation and practically unconscious from blood loss?

What if they'd been wrong this whole time?

No. He refused to believe it; the venom that had lingered in his veins and slowed his recovery, made everything more painful, was more than enough evidence for him. The scars he'd refused to have entirely erased from his shoulder were all the lingering proof he needed.

"I know, Athrym." He muttered, not wanting to dismiss her but unable to continue to have the same clocking useless conversation over and over and over again when it changed nothing, when it was certainly never going to dissuade him. Illuminated by the glow of his own careful invention, Naul glanced down at the batteries, fingers curling for a moment into the thick coat the petite blonde wore. He and Kaelum had come up with the design—more powerful than the upright voltic pile, these batteries were laid on their sides, dry cells, and produced a charge whose length of use he'd not had time to finish testing. So he made several, aware that the deeper they traveled toward the Maw, the more lights each battery would be forced to power,

"You will need to splice them together in a chain as the lights grow dim, as each battery can't bear the whole load alone. We cannot be allowed to be in darkness." He ordered firmly, words in Gioran sticking to the back of his throat, tongue dragging along the roof of his mouth despite all the vowels, "We cannot see the truth without these lights."

His knees felt weak the moment he stepped away, confidence left somewhere in the threshold, fear sinking heavily into his empty gut. Their path to destruction looked like some night out at the Viendan opera—glittering quartz and flimsy, gilded ceremonial armor.

No one would sing for them.

He knew.

No one would speak their names again, should they fail.

The ginger professor couldn't bring himself to look at the skulls this time. He stared at the back of Illustrious Peak's albino head instead, aware of the passive child's age, aware of the children who'd been murdered for the lie that they were somehow creating some kind of sacred protection. He couldn't wrap his mind around such madness, both because he had siblings and taught children as well as because he realized anything he thought he knew about galdorkind and passives had already been turned upside down since he'd first step foot on Gior's rocky soil. Nothing made sense anymore, this much he'd accepted making these arrangements, but—

Alioe, have mercy. Surely, this wasn't something the Circle gods had ever demanded—had they?

He turned his attention to the wired lights, gloved hands carefully inspecting the work of his assistants as they walked. His name whispered surprised him and he tensed, glancing up at the shifting of Athrym's bright eyes, the unmistakable shape of the creature that had tried so desperately to rend him from his own body staring down at them. His stomach churned, bitter bile pooling in his throat. His face twisted into some unrecognizable expression of anger and fear, right side before the left, and he spit on the ground.

"We will do this." He whispered back, reaching to steady his pale fiancé as much as he reached to steady himself. Naul opened his mouth to say something else, but Professor Eleuni interrupted him. He bristled protectively, the continued denial of their experiences, burned into their memories and carved into flesh as they were, horribly infuriating. He felt the colorshift in Athrym's field and was too aware than some of her fearful anger was just as meant for him as it was every ignorant Gioran trapped in this cold, stale place with them,

"Save it." He growled, low and threatening, ignoring the glare cast in his direction, "Save your breath. All of you. We will need that air soon enough, and I can't stand you all wasting it in disbelief. You can keep clocking hoping this is all a delusion, but if I pray at all, it's that the Circle enlightens you in the most painful way possible."

Naul's eyes narrowed and his scowl deepened, gold-rimmed eyes darting away from everyone as he shouldered past, jostling toward a position closer to the front, letting the last of his glance linger on Athrym. His face softened then, just slightly, and he shook his head. Surely, surely, she understood the why somehow. Unwilling to look at anyone as they made their way downward, he turned away with reluctance, hovering just within range of her field, even if his own was a heavy mess, a star slowly collapsing in on itself. He chose to look at the carvings instead of back at his fiancé, to pay more attention to all that these tall, ignorant statues' ancestors had written on the wall in warning ages ago for signs that perhaps there was something he was missing, something he'd missed the first time.

He knew what was waiting.

He knew what he would see, eventually, and the dark red stains of the trail he'd made in his own blood would eventually be all the confirmation he needed that he wasn't mad.

It had all happened.

It may all happen again, but this time, this time, he was ready. He'd done more than merely improve upon previous batteries during his recovery, but he'd come up with a plan to use that charge in self defense. Untested, just like everything else.

THIS ISN'T BRUNNHOLD ANYMORE, ERSEHAT, AND YOU'RE NOT GOING HOME.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

5th Ophus, 2718
THE DEEP | MID MORNING

"Save it."

The slowly panicking Gioran kept her eyes on her fiance, listening as he berated the fools around them, but still willing to press on for the greater good or whatever it was that drove him. His face softened, though it was sad, and Athrym knew he was disappointed by her. How desperately she wanted to stand by his side in this, resolute and unwavering, but by the Gods she was afraid—so desperately afraid.

“Pray with me, Athrym, even if only for my own sake.” The girl said quietly beside her as Nauleth turned to study the carvings, tugging on her arm gently with a meaningful look on her face. The older girl blinked, looking at the passive properly, taking a moment to see past the fresh face of a pre-destined path. A face that knew her time would come in less than ten years.

“I am sorry, Illustrious Peak. Yes, let us pray.” The blonde said quietly, allowing her hands to be drawn into the younger Giorans and closing her eyes. The pale girl spoke in their native tongue, beseeching Imaan to watch over and guide their path and to bring them courage in the darkness. Even if the words felt hollow to her, Athrym felt herself calm a little, as though just the act of prayer was enough to centre her for the moment, field brushing against the maelstrom that was the Anaxi’s. His power was so much greater than hers, in a different way. So much more prepared than hers could ever be for a fight.

At least she could try and keep their insides on the inside, when the inevitable struck.

Exhaling, she opened her summer gaze to look up at the eleven year old, offering a slow small bow.

“I am alright, Priestess.” Illustrious Peak squeezed her hands, smiling, before turning to follow the others out of the antechamber into the dark.

Moving to catch up with Nauleth, the petite Gioran carefully watched her step as they moved forward onto what seemed like an endless staircase down into the bowels of Gior. She walked close to the wall, eyes on the stone ground, following in silence of fear and thought.

“By the Eternal.” A voice said behind them, low and uncharacteristically surprised. Athrym blinked, pausing her steps to turn slightly and look back. The severe looking professor was frowning at the ground beneath them, and for a moment the blonde couldn’t understand. She too, looked down again, and made a sound something close to a sharp laugh.

“Oh, do not be afraid Most Esteemed Eleini. That is merely the place where we could move forward no further, our magics spent and Mister Siordanti’s blood soaking into the pores of the rock. That you walk over, is nothing but the moment that I was certain death would take us. If you pay attention, you can follow the trail all the way to the bottom. A permanent stain of galdori life-force.” Her tone was almost matter of fact, almost whimsical were it not for the flare of anger in her field and the sneer on her face. Athrym looked at Naul and raised her hand to wave at the darkness before them.

“Most Esteemed Siortanti, shall we press on?” Moving ahead, staying with her partner, Athrym simmered as they decended towards the vastness that was The Maw.

“Fools. Only now, do they start to see the truth we have been saying for so long now. Only when it is perhaps too late.” She slowed, recognizing the area they had stepped into, her aura close and green eyes scanning the darkness as though searching for something.

The Maw.

It’s vast depths and width expanded before the party like some great mouth opening up to swallow them, so sudden in its appearance at the end of the stairs that it was very possible to trip over the guide rope and plummet to your death if you weren’t careful. Athrym moved towards the rope, looking down and to the left and the right, before stepping back and shivering.

“What do you seek, Most Honored Ambassador?” The Priestess asked quietly, looking between Naul and the blonde with her own quick mind. The short woman merely shook her head, meeting the Anaxi’s gaze.

“I am…it does not matter.” She said, watching as the Professor and the entourage of guardians and assistants moved to join them.

“This is the place you claim to have seen the Daegerote, is it not?” The Citevan asked sharply, notebook in hand and sharpened pencil at the ready. Her gaze swept around the vast area, any sort of awe long since desensitized by living a long life underground. Athrym nodded, arms around herself and green eyes looking around.

“Yes but not right away. Only after the hatchers came. Nauleth forced one over the side, here. And this is where one…it’s teeth…I had to…” The stained rock on the pathway came with visions of opened flesh and oozing blood and pulling it all together with the mona. The toxic filth that had been squeezed out of muscle and skin, slightly green and vivacious. The woman closed her eyes, frowning, holding herself tightly.

“The Daegerote saved us. I think.” Opening her eyes, she looked at Nauleth, should he add to the conversation, before glancing to the left. Down there, in the darkness, was the Crypt and beyond that the doors that they should never have opened.

And the hatchers.

[Nauleth Siordanti]

2nd of Loshis, 2719
BACK INTO THE DEEP, DEEP DARKNESS

Nauleth wasn't invited to join the passive child-turned-priestess, Layanak's daughter, in prayer, but he also didn't feel the need to call attention to his quiet, private and rather personal devotion to the gods. He could pray in his head while he sorted strands of wire, aware that all of his work was a silent testimony to his more than merely obligatory faith in greater powers. What he didn't show by speaking, he showed by doing—his magical and intellectual accomplishments glorifying offerings to the unseen Circle. The need to show off one's faith like the elaborate veils of the Everine and the sparkling quartz of Imaan's children seemed to pale in comparison to actual sweat and blood, anyway.

Though, perhaps down here, dizzy with adrenaline and chilled by the sweat trapped beneath layers that were supposed to be keeping him warm even if they couldn't keep him from being afraid, the ginger professor would've gladly taken an offer to bleed less and recite rote prayers he'd learned as a child over and over again more.

Especially once they set off walking, down into the deepest, darkest depths beneath Qrieth. The sights were familiar, burned into Naul's memory more by pain than curious explanation, and when they made their way toward the stairs that led down further into the Maw itself, he didn't need to be reminded of what was waiting for him there—

If anything, he tried not to look down at the dribbles that already marked the floor once he'd been found with Athrym, her hands desperately attempting to hold in the flow of his life. But once the petite blonde practically snorted her disgust at the need to point out the thicker, messier, very obvious frozen pool of his blood further ahead, the eldest Siordanti couldn't help it.

He looked. Stared, maybe. A hand trailed away from still holding a few wires, drifting up not toward his face at the wave of nausea that flooded his cheeks with bitter liquid but instead to dig the heel of his palm against his shoulder. Hidden beneath the warm clothing were scars he'd begged, delirious but fervent, to keep etched into his freckled skin. Naul visibly paled, practically green for a moment, and inhaled the stale air sharply, quite confident he could smell the metallic tang of what part of himself he'd left forever painted on the carved stone at his feet,

"Godsdamnit."

He grunted, growled, or mostly whined. It was all he could do not to vomit on Professor Eleuni who stood too damn close to him. Narrowing his eyes at his fiancé who he was sure was both begging him to turn around and challenging him to keep going in the same cloud of breath, his expression curled into a lopsided sneer, looking away from her to the others, "I—"

Blue-green eyes snapped back to the memorial of his last visit, gloved fingers curled tightly into the collar of his coat, digging against stiff flesh apparently weakened further by a venom no one understood. He hesitated, swallowing thickly, tasting bile, finally—perhaps for the first time in days—second-guessing himself here, now, with all of these doubting, high-ranking Giorans staring at him, analyzing his expression, his tone of voice, his very existence as both a weak example of an already unfavored masculine form as well as an unimpressive sample of the Anaxi population.

He'd perhaps not lived up to the promises made from the relative safety of Brunnhold's red stone fortress walls, no matter how worn down that famous old stone had become over the centuries.

Nauleth clenched his jaw and slowly pried his numb fingers away from his coat, nodding his head to indicate he, indeed, wanted to keep going, "—yes. There's no empirical proof without a willingness to follow through." Totally telling himself that, repeating it in his head in the same way the bass of his voice bounced around the hollow darkness, attempting to mock him, he straightened and made to continue their careful pace. Perhaps he even looked longingly into the black the same as Athrym, hoping in some unspoken, almost childish way for Daegerote to rise from the depths of the Maw in fiery glory and maybe, just maybe, consume some of these clocking ignorant erseholes.

No, wait. Eating them would've certainly ruined the chance to rub the truth in their pale, stoic faces.

The ginger professor was looking forward to that part, almost in spite of the very high possibility for his own demise this second time around.

Blinking, he realized that the his pale, petite fiancé was explaining things for the ten thousandth time, and he attempted to pull himself back into focus, towards purpose.

"Strangely enough," Naul spoke matter of factly, as if everyone present totally believed any iota of their harrowing misadventure, of his near death, "I never expected mythic beasts to be at odds with each other. That said, Daegerote perhaps made the choice to come to our aid. The real question, I suppose, is why hatchers hate us so much."[/b]

He thumbed his nose at the Professor with the most condescending of glares before nestling into his hood and gathering his field taut and vigilant around him, one foot in front of the other down the stairs he'd once been sure he was going to die on. He didn't then. He wasn't about to now.

THIS ISN'T BRUNNHOLD ANYMORE, ERSEHAT, AND YOU'RE NOT GOING HOME.

[Athrym Bruthgrave]

5th Ophus, 2718
THE DEEP | MID MORNING

The professor had learned her lesson the first time, moving to take a good few steps back from the Anaxi with a decidedly horrified face as Nauleth looked almost green, a slight sneer on her lip. Athrym watched the Anaxi as he too looked into the depths of the Maw, as though by the will of the mona the Daegerote would appear and give validation to their words.

Nothing but the pitch black of the Deep stared back at them all.

“If the legends are true, Hatchers do not hate galdori, Most Esteemed Siordanti. They feed off them.” Eleini said matter of factly, before her tone took on the barest hint of amusement, so subtle that only a Gioran or one versed in Gioran mannerisms would pick up on it.

“At least, that is the story that mothers tell their children to keep way ward youngsters out of places that do not concern them.” Following the younger blonde’s line of sight, the professor gestured with her pencil down the dark walkway.

“And that way. Is that the anti-chamber you spoke of?” The Bruthgrave heir nodded, summer gaze fixed into the distance, almost able to make out the huge arched entranceway that led into the eerie crypt. Images and sounds flashed in her mind, the screams of the others and the unnatural warmth of the red haired galdori’s blood on her hands. Blinking, Athrym tore her attention back to the others.

“That is the tomb we entered and found the book that you refuse to return to us, bound in the hands of a decayed stranger.” Her gaze drifted to the DaHuane, the priestess and the Guardians. A hand gestured at the entrance.

“Your sister Braeth lies in there. Go, lead us to her. You will see the proof of our words soon enough, and Imaan save us. May all the Gods save us.” The woman said in a broken voice, resigned to their fate now they were so close to where it had all happened. As the procession passed her, Athrym came in step with Nauleth, shivering though not cold. Silently, she drew her field in, collecting her thoughts and clearing her mind as best she could. If they were to enter into their demise, the blonde wanted to be sure she went down fighting.

As a group, they would cross through the arched doorway, revealing the tomb of long ago. Like before, there were nine alters carved with unrecognizable monite, and a top of them were the mummified bodies of ancient Giorans. Professor Eleini moved to the first alter, running her fingers over the monite with a sort of awe.

“This is not like any monite I have read before. It is…it feels…different.” Tearing a page from her note book, Eleini placed it on the monite and rubbed her pencil over the top, taking a sample of the script and tucking it into her satchel. Frowning, she looked over the corpses.

“They look like priests. Aminark’s convoy perhaps.” Athrym didn’t bother to answer the woman, her summer eyes on the large carved door beyond the crypt. It was still open, just enough for them to slip through. Somehow, perhaps, she’d expected it to be closed. Her breathing felt tighter in her chest.

“Nauleth.” She whispered, fear gripping her body as others wandered through the alters. The child priestess stopped at the larger body in the centre, running her hands lightly over decorated finery, frowning a little as she brushed a scratchy curl of parchment tucked under air dried fingers. She tugged, carefully extracting the scroll from the body and moving to unroll it a little, before putting it away in her own bag.

“Most Exalted Da Huane, Most Honored Siordanti, there is something here.” One of the Guardian’s called from the doorway, her voice echoing loudly in the almost deafening silence of the room, pale eyes looking for Kalum. If they would approach, her hand would gestured to the floor, pointing out the decayed body with the missing arm. Her head tilted, and her field flexed for a moment.

“Do you feel it, that…tugging? I feel it, in my field.” She said with a frown, one brow arched. The air coming from the door felt slightly warmer, and for a minute Athrym was certain she saw the swirl of a faint mist in the air. But then it was gone, nothing more than a trick of the lights.

“Is this not enough proof of our story? Surely you’ve seen enough!” The Ambassador said with a slight plead in her voice, not willing to get any closer to the doorway with its carved—hatchers, they were absolutely hatchers.

Hundreds of them, carved into the stone, twisted and twined together with long necks and legs.

Snarling, ready to leap from the doors and tear them limb from limb.

Athrym shivered again, hold her hands at the ready to cast at any moment.