Almalexia. (arithmeticks) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-04-16 18:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, almalexia lliryn |
Who: Almalexia, npcs.
What: Training. (Narrative)
Where: Necrohol, lower levels.
When: Today.
Rating: PG-13, some violence and blood, undead.
10:45 a.m. Entrance to Catacombs. The late morning sun was brilliant in the sky, casting a peaceful warmth over the city, and over too, this place designed to hold its dead. A gated, guarded near-official district of itself, populated by solemn gravestones, granite tombs and an imposing number of mausoleums--of plots of unmarked dirt, where the beggars and the lowly numbers rested bereft of worldly name. The Necrohol of Emillion, this city within a city, was entrusted to the care of the Holy Church. Knights in gleaming armor and rood-marked surcoats, priests and mages with holy talismans 'round their neck, each taking rounds to keep vigil over the deceased. A bearded man sat at the unadorned entrance to the lower levels, a knight sworn to holy vows such as the rest, and he let the sun comfort him with its warmth, and he filled his lungs with the mercifully clean air afforded topside. He glanced up as three others approached, taking his time in standing, one hand on the back of his own sore neck, for oh how did everything ache at that moment. The knight thought only of hot meals and a warm bed, less so on the goings-on of these others here. Father Albrecht approached, dismissing the knight with a wave of his hand, and the knight quickly obliged the order. He was tall and broad of shoulder, his seasoned features weathered by age and heavy obligation. "Here, both of you listen. Especially you, apprentice, today's duties will require all of your attention." Lex turned her gaze from the man leaving, who was not tired enough to wink at her as he passed, and afforded the priest her attention as told. The knight accompanying them was by far the most outwardly comfortable of the three, as if he'd done these rounds enough times before, and took it all with a grand amount of patience. "Don't do anything unless you're told. Watch what I do and listen when we give you a command, by Faram, I know you can manage as much. And try not to be clever. These are delicate matters and you know not the dangers lurking below. We are understood, apprentice?" "Yes, Father." The priest gave both her and the knight a wary glance, before nodding his head and taking the lead down the stairs. "Then follow." The stairs leading below were narrow, as were the halls following, lit by ensconced torches and shimmering magicite affixed to each way-point, for these tunnels of crypts were ancient, cavernous, and hardly less than treacherous to the ignorant who might be unfortunate enough to wander through alone. Generations of priests had dug down deep below, quarrying stone and constructing the lower areas of what would in modern day become the Necrohol. The walls were adorned with faded murals, illustrating years and years of history, and Lex tried not to let her attention wander to their possible meanings, of the wonder of seeing such things firsthand, recalling the stern orders of her superior only minutes before. He was not a priest to jest, after all. The first door they approached was an immovable slab of stone, the image of saints carved in its ancient crumbling face. Father Albrecht raised his arm to touch it, and in doing so, summoned forth the magic of the sigil holding it. The symbols appeared in glowing white, turning in a puzzle from left to right as the priest moved his hand to unlock it. The stone shuddered and moved, allowing further passage. Again, the knight looked nonplussed, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Lex was following and paying attention. She frowned back at him and was sure to keep pace as they moved. "Not all rest soundly down here," the knight said, trying to be amiable perhaps. He gestured to the walls of narrow tombs with his gauntleted hand, his other hand keeping rest on the pommel of his sword. "Mist from the earth bleeds into much this far below, tainting the flesh. Nay, even the souls of us sinners are at risk down here, girl, so tempted are they to remain." "I'm aware," Lex responded neutrally, trying not to show much argument. But it tempted her, as it always did, even if they were in the midst of some danger. "You'll see what I mean." The knight shrugged in his plate armor. "That's enough, the both of you. We're not here to make conversation, we're here to do Faram's work." "Yes, Father," responded his subordinates. The knight was not incorrect. Souls greedy for that they were denied, inhabiting a decaying body tainted by magics of darkness, they lingered in this place in need of Deliverance. Something moved, there, where the flickering of torchlight couldn't reach, something that once had been a man but was now but bone and leathery hide, its lost eyes casting an unearthly blue flame in their stead. The creature saw them approach, and it hungered for that which it lacked. Memory was lost to it, humanity all gone save for some base instinct and hunger--a chance to continue even after death. But this particular undead did not move with strength, or speed, and Lex kept back as she was told and watched. The knight unsheathed his sword, and with holy magics the blade filled the passage with light, His Light, carving soul from tainted flesh as it met its target. Lex watched the knight drag the body back into its crypt, her arms crossed cautiously over her chest and without any words. The air was dank and stale down here, and she could smell the bodies, the decay. There was urge to turn away, to be ill, and a natural fear creeping up her spine at the sight. She'd never witnessed a cleansing of the undead before. It was likely she wouldn't forget it either. Everything was worse the further down they traveled. From room to room, floor to floor, the priest unlocked each sigil and allowed them deeper into the bowels of the Necrohol. Centuries worth of dead were here, and the crumbling shrines to saints the priests had built to honor them. Lex was told to light candles at each, and the three of them said the rights they had memorized. Several places they couldn't enter, some being reconstructed and some simply in too much a state of disrepair, but the hours passed and with each did Lex grow more unsure of herself. So it was when she met with her first otherworldly phantom. Even if she were a full-fledged arithmetician, Lex barely had time to concentrate on a spell as it was, let alone procure an involved calculation. The ghostly specter moved with unnatural speed throughout the room, flickering in and out of the air at malicious will. The knight spat an oath at the evil thing, his once impeccable armor now sullied with crimson beads of blood. He knelt on the catacomb floor, sword raised defensively and waiting for the phantom to strike at him again. Her superior, Father Albrecht, told her to hide somewhere as he cast Holy. It shrieked and writhed like a paper ornament in the wind, filling the room with dark power, causing those living to scramble away from its attack. But running from the dark was a flimsy, futile venture, and Lex herself was backed into a corner, hand clutching at her own shoulder while blood pooled between her fingers. She concentrated on the healing spell, on stitching up the wound before she became disabled, unable to do more than keep herself alive. Lex had no weapon like the knight, only her light casting staff, and she had not the experience of the priest, whose chant echoed off the walls with each spell summoned. Light and darkness warred against one another, violently, and as Lex tried to reach out and cast her own spell of Holy, everything in her vision blurred to nothing. She woke outside. The knight was carrying her out, and as quickly as she realized what was happening, Lex squirmed out of his grasp with embarrassment and indignation. "I'm fine," she said, her robes stained with dried blood. "Sure you are," he replied with a weary chuckle, still apparently in good humor despite their trials down below. "Go report to Father Carnell," the priest ordered, already moving far ahead of them. Even he was tired of the whole scenario, it appeared, wanting nothing more to do with the city of the dead. "We'll discuss this event on the morrow." Lex shuffled behind the knight as he walked, feeling acutely the familiar sting of being a novice. Of knowing little of battle, and of having to rely on brutes to carry her out of danger. Today had been, in her estimation, nothing more than a disaster. |