The Wayward Witch Chronicles

West gathered with the others under the bright stars of the moonless night, peering down the gaping maw of the newly-opened passage underground. The air from within slipped by, cold and crisp against the summer night.

“Well done, Vera!” Roman clapped the scholar’s shoulder and examined the entryway with pride. “Your research was spot on, as always.”

“Yes, sir,” Vera answered, blushing. Straightening out hairs blown out of order by the gusts of the gateway’s opening, Vera moved ahead toward the door.

West began to follow, but Roman waved him off. "One moment, Investigator, let Vera take a look first."

"What's she lookin' fer?"

"Anything odd," Roman said. "We're dealing with Zorroceans, after all, it's not unlikely that there should be traps."

"Aye, well." West thought it was a bit silly. If a door requiring a secret ritual to open were trapped, it should have been disarmed when they proved their credentials. But they'd need to be cautious later on, so West wasn't going to interfere if this got them into the right mindset.

Vera took a careful pass over the entryway, touching a few curious spots, before nodding back to Roman. The noble proceeded in, and West and Vera fell in line.

Irregular gray marble blocks, polished to a flawless shine, gleamed in the entryway. They fit together in a design best described as a pleasant chaos on the entryway’s floors, walls, and ceiling. Squared pillars stretched between ceiling and floor on both sides of the room, and sets of low stone benches lined the walls. The air was slightly musty, but not stale. After all, Zorrocean engineering, developed for the underground, never overlooked ventilation.

Set at regular intervals in the ceiling, mysterious lights tinted the room with a gentle glow. Vera clucked at them with interest, then determined they were only a commonplace enchantment and moved on. At the far end, a staircase dropped off into the earth.

“Seems a wee bit plain,” West muttered.

“Pardon?” Roman asked, but Vera nodded unhappy agreement.

West indicated the unadorned halls. “Fer bein’ the home of a gem-hoardin’ cult. Seems like there’d be some ornamentation up front here, a show o’ wealth,” West said. “Nae to mention, a couple o’ folks guardin’ it. Where’s the welcomin’ committee?”

“Hiding,” Vera suggested, “or preparing an ambush. There’re probably better defenses further on, so they’ll wait for us to come to them…?” From the lingering question in her voice, West thought that she had also been expecting more.

“Hm. There’s no particular signs of disuse,” Roman noted, examining the corners of the room and the stairwell ahead. “No dust, no spiderwebs– the inn in town was more a mess, really. And this stonework certainly seems Zorrocean, there’s no mistaking that. I do believe we’re in the right place. Vera?”

"Well...." The longer she thought it over, the more Vera fidgeted. She eased over to the doorway, putting her hands on the stonework and inspecting it. West tensed, but thankfully, she was not fool enough to step inside. “Unnatural,” she said, scratching at it with her thumbnail. “Brought the stone in. Treated with something….”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing, sir. Just noticing aloud.” The scholar stepped back, pondering.

“Does it fit what we know?” Roman asked, the delay wearing on his patience.

“Think so….” Vera sounded more sure. “The stone’s the same as the ruin walls, just treated differently. Clan picked the ruins because there was lots of imported marble already. Shaped the blocks, treated them alchemically, used them to line their new home.”

A question burned like an ember in West’s mind. “Why go through the trouble? Relocatin’ here out of all places. What did they come here fer?”

Vera shrugged. “Driven out of the Rockhearth. Needed a solution until they found better, I guess.”

“You guess? Lass, dinnae ye think that’s a wee bit too important to only be guessin’ at? Whatever we’re gonna find here is gonna depend on what they came here fer.”

“No records. Guesswork’s all we got until we look.” The lack of information didn’t seem to weigh on her. Her bland tone poorly disguised the excitement in her face. “Whenever you’re ready, sir.”

West grimaced. “Roman, are ye sure about this? It’s nae too late to turn away.”

“Aren’t you planning to go in regardless, Investigator?” Roman asked dourly. “You have your job to do, and we have ours. Trust that we’re as serious about ours as you, and let’s get a move on.”

The Investigator searched, hoping, for any sign of doubt. “Nae point in arguin’ it, then,” he concluded with a grimace. “Jes’ best we keep close together from here on out, aye?”

“Agreed. Just one moment before we start off.” The swordsman produced a sizable bale of twine from his pack and tied a loop around one of the bench legs. "It's a simple trick. Time-honored, really, but too often ignored. We won't be losing our way." Roman hooked the string on his belt in such a way that the spool was free to spin.

West felt a muscle jump in his cheek. “Aye, and anythin’ followin’ behind us won’t be losin’ us, either.”

Roman smiled. “Well. The sooner they catch up, the sooner we can be rid of them.”

“I dinnae suppose ye think yer bein’ a wee bit arrogant there, do ye?”

The noble chuckled, a sound far too likable for his attitude. “It’s only arrogance if you can't back your words with action. I am far more worried about attacks we might not expect. On which note, Vera– how does it look?”

“Clean so far.” While Roman had set up the string, Vera had begun an examination of the stairway. “Nothing to trip, no pressure plates. But sir.” The discomfort twisting her lips was hard to overlook. “Pretty sure I’m outmatched here.”

“How do you mean?”

Vera gestured at the walls. “The way this place is built. No way to see if something’s irregular, because there’re no regular patterns. Short of testing every tile, couldn’t tell if there’s a trigger. Zorrocean engineering isn’t easy to spot if you aren’t supposed to find it, even for Zorroc.”

“Hm.” After consideration, Roman shrugged, and proceeded through the stairwell. Vera flinched around the eyes, but when nothing happened, exhaled quiet relief. Two steps down, Roman turned and smiled. “Vera, I’m certain we can depend on your instincts. We’ll be a little more cautious, take it a bit slower. Now, if you’ll please?” He indicated the pathway ahead.

“Yes, sir,” Vera said, eyes crinkling with a true happiness as she hustled back to the front and led the way down the stairs.

Less enthusiastically, West followed behind. Roman could be quite motivating when he wanted to, but he’d also completely dismissed Vera’s evaluation in his impatience. West would need to be extra cautious to make up for it.

The egress of the stairway came into sight, but the short hall it exited into led to another flight of stairs, and then another. The third flight opened into a long hall with high ceilings– more than comfortable for the tallest of peoples, luxurious by the standards of the short, stout Zorroceans. Zorrocean structures were rare this far from the Rockhearth, but West had seen enough to know that this one was meant to dazzle its visitors. Archways divided the hall into three portions, each opening into a wider area. They stood currently in a splendid room, with two cascading waterfalls on either wall, and long tables and impressive stone thrones at each.

“Nae a speck o’ dirt to be seen,” West noted, puzzled. “Mebbe seems like somethin’ oughta have been tracked in, if there are folks goin’ about here on the day to day?”

“Maybe they don’t care for dirt.” Roman examined one of the waterfalls. Its water was cool as a mountain spring, and the glassy material behind it had absorbed soft whorls of color, like opal or mother-of-pearl. The gentle run of its water was the first sound they’d heard in the halls besides their own footsteps and voices.

“Have ye ever known a Zorroc to be shy of a bit o’ dirt?”

“Well, these aren’t your typical Zorroceans, are they?” Leaving the waterfall behind, Roman reasoned, “They turned to alchemy so that they wouldn’t have to spend their days mining for the gems they craved. They might have more attuned sensibilities to raw earth than your average Zorroc.”

“Clear,” Vera called, focused on the walls of the hallway ahead. Roman and West followed after her slowly as she examined every few blocks for signs of deception.

“That may be,” West conceded, “but still. If it weren’t fer the lights and the water, there’s no sign that anyone’s livin’ here at all. The whole place could’ve been sealed up tight and never got a mess made.”

Roman shook his head. “And the adventurers that came here before us? Not a footprint to be found, Investigator. You think they cleaned up after themselves before disappearing?”

“Nae that, lad, but I’m jes’ not convinced that what we’ll find here has anythin’ to do with Zorroceans.”

Roman shrugged, continuing on through the next series of halls. Each passage was much like the first, with mastercrafted stone benches and some sort of statuary or other display of artistry, but no sign of occupation. At each new room, West anticipated ambush, but none ever came. Vera, likewise, searched diligently for some expected trap or hazard, and turned up nothing.

Finally, they came to a small, unassuming passage. On the floor, a pattern inlaid in opalescent gem broke up the jumbled monotony of tiles, the delicate gems forming a symbol like a dagger bursting from an orb. “There! That’s from the books!” Vera jabbed a finger at it in excitement. “It’s their symbol, the Tooth of Vaari.”

She smiled. The symbol must have renewed her faith in their information. Even West had to admit, it seemed likely. Still, he kept appropriately cautious.

This marked the end of the hallways, at least. Instead of an open passage at hall’s end inviting them further into the depths, there was an awesomely proportioned door. Its carvings were intricate but meaningless, neither runic nor illustrative, but fascinating by their sheer geometric complexity.

“Well, we’ve finally gotten somewhere,” Roman noted. His voice took on a hushed quality, as though uncertain whether they might be overheard by something beyond the door. “Vera?”

“Yes, sir.” The scholar approached the door with soft steps, searching high and low, picking over minute details, testing for anything out-of-place that might suggest a trigger. At one point, she waved Roman to her aid in inspecting the top, getting a leg up on his folded hands to complete her examination.

“All clear,” she murmured, stepping slowly and quietly down. “No traps. No lock, even. Unless it’s barred on the other side, it should be wide open.”

“Right. Let’s pop it open and give it a look, then.” Roman tested one of the door’s large hanging handles with a gentle rattle, and then pulled. The door swung open a few centimeters without scrape or squeak, revealing a darkened room beyond.

Roman glanced through the crack, sword at the ready. "Strange." It was the only room they'd seen that wasn't lit, and the thin light from the hall faded shortly into the thick darkness. Peeking around the swordsman, West got an impression of a flat stone stretch, some polished pillars– beyond that, only the faint sense of a room wide and tall.

"Vera, what can you see?" Roman kept his voice quiet, barely more than a whisper. As he stepped back, the scholar moved forward, her bright eyes piercing through the darkness.

"Not much," she answered, leaning in so her soft voice could be heard. Glamori eyes could see through darkness better than either of her human companions’, but with nearly no light, she still seemed to struggle to pick out details. "No movement, no signs of life. No light anywhere in there. Some odd shapes."

"Recommendations?"

Vera put her hand on the door. "Need a closer look. Permission to go ahead?"

West interrupted. "Isnae that a wee bit risky, goin' on yer own?"

"Just a few steps. Just to see from a different angle."

Roman glanced at the Investigator, already anticipating an objection. West sighed. "If she stays close, we can help if anythin' goes wrong. Seems safe enough, so long as we dinnae let in so much light as to draw attention. Assumin’ we havenae already drawn attention from anythin' lurkin’ about.”

“If anything’s here, Vera’s our best chance to see it before it sees us,” Roman whispered, to West’s agreeing grunt. "Go on, Vera, but keep quiet. We'll be right here."

“Right, sir.” Easing her way to the door, Vera bypassed the handle, instead wedging two fingers into the crack and pulling. The hinges swung smoothly, dead silent. Vera opened it only just as far as she had to, then slipped inside.

West did his best to listen for any signs of distress from the room while also keeping a careful eye behind them. With only two paths open to them, an ambush from behind would drive them ahead into unknown danger.

Vera reappeared at the door. “Can't see far without more light,” she whispered. “The room’s semi-circular. Stairs down the center, goes down as far as I can see. There’s some sort of terracing, benches.”

“Sort of a gathering room, maybe?” Roman said. “Damn, we need more information. You haven’t seen anything dangerous, heard any noises?”

“No, sir.”

“Hm.” Roman thought it over. “In that case, we can open up the doors and let some more light in, and maybe you can see better.”

“Sounds better than goin’ in there blind,” West nodded.

“Just keep on your guard. All because we haven’t seen anything yet, doesn’t mean there’s nothing in there,” Roman warned, getting a hold of a handle. “Ready?”

“Yessir,” Vera murmured. West nodded, keeping his eyes moving from the door to the passage behind them.

Roman pulled the door open, first one end, then the other. “I see shapes a ways down,” Vera whispered. “Too hard to see from here.” Without waiting for an order, she moved forward.

West felt his skin prickle where the stagnant air bled through the open door, and he restrained himself from calling her back. Something was amiss here.

Approaching the stairs, Vera was quiet– but not utterly silent. The room amplified every small sound so that even the faint shuffle of footsteps on the stairs bounced back. Roman whispered after her– "Can't you walk more softly?"– but his words echoed back, louder than any noise Vera had made.

"Well, on the bright side," West said, "if there happened to be anythin' in there with her, we'd probably have heard somethin' by now."

Roman picked his thumbnail against the strap of his shield. "True enough. At ease, Vera. Why don't you give us a bit of light in there?"

"Copy, sir." West heard as Vera fumbled with her wand case, drawing a gold-tipped branch. "Blazes," she commanded, and a blossom-shaped light powerful enough to fill the cavernous room lifted from the wand, suspended midair.

Which let her see, for the first time, the dozens of human shapes waiting in the darkness with her.

Roman's sword hissed. West nearly sprang through the door there and then, but Vera was already flying at a dead run back up the stairs, the branch-wand held in her mouth and an ominous obsidian spike drawn from her case. But nothing followed her– not a single movement at all. Nearing the doorway, Vera whipped around to face the things sharing the room with her. They remained unmoved and unmoving.

"Gods, they're corpses," Roman breathed.