• Mature • [Endor] Buried Alive

[Vaughn]

79th of Ashan, 717
mid morning

After trials upon trials of riding, sometimes with doubled horses and little rest, Vaughn for one was glad that he didn't have to take much more time sitting in saddles.

They were finally here.

It had been a long ride to the Endor Mines. The group, made up almost entirely of Iron Hand with a couple extras, had made their way through the country of Rynmere, past the Burning Mountains through Warrick. At the north of Warrick they'd taken Hunter's Pass. From there on it had been further northward and a little to the east, mostly following the trade routes towards the Mines.

Malcolm was eager to catch a group of Qe'Dreki that had been rumored in these parts. That was all Vaughn knew about their mission, besides the Hand's secondary business: mining ore and perhaps smithing some armor.

Soon as the company dismounted they got to work.

They were most of them trained soldiers; they spent little time waffling around, leaving Vaughn to scamper after them pretending to know what to do. His father and the other leading officers gave their men just enough time to water and tend to horses, and then Vaughn and the rest were shunted down towards the Mines.

It was a whole yes-sir no-sir ordeal and had been for the entire trip. Vaughn didn't think he had ever been given so little time to piss in his life.

At the entrance of the Mines the group was given bandanas to cover their mouths and whatever tools they needed, along with large, heavy lanterns to light the way. These iron mines weren't nearly as bad as some, like coal, but there was still dust and grit down there and it was very dark between lit areas. Vaughn fell into step behind the person guiding them down, eager to be as far away from the smell of horses as he could possibly get. Stretching his legs as he went.

Down in the tunnels it was darker than he expected and colder somehow, sort of like a cave. It smelled like earth and stone and smoke. They seemed to walk forever, down deeper and deeper into the oppressive darkness, only for them to make one of many turns and keep going.

Every once and a while they passed a group of people working, some bound by chains. Lit from flickering lanterns and burning oil, the miners they glimpsed were impossible to read. Most if not all had their faces covered. Some looked over, but most just kept working. Keeping their heads down and faces turned away.

Eventually the Hand reached shaft bottom, or perhaps one of many such locations. Strangely it seemed to get warmer the deeper they went; warmer and wetter. Vaughn's boots felt like they might slip on the wet rock, if he wasn't careful. He kept a hand outstretched towards the wall.

Down here it was lit a little brighter and he looked around without much enthusiasm. Waiting for orders. Having never experienced a place like this, not even in captivity, he couldn't help but feel on edge. The closest he had come was the cave that he and his father had used to escape from the Faction. But that had not been a pleasant experience. He could feel himself sweating and tried not to breathe hard.

"Don't mine in that direction," their guide told them. Gesturing off to an area of tunnels to the right. "Had a cave-in down that way just the other day. We still haven't secured the area past a couple of extra supports. Best to leave it alone."

"A cave-in?" Vaughn asked. He couldn't help that his voice sounded breathless.

The man shook his head. "Lost a group of some twenty miners down that way."

"They died?"

"Dunno." The man shrugged. "They were buried and the tunnel became impassable. We haven't got the extra manpower to spare getting them out. And they were just a slave group." Shrugged again. "Might have even been Qe'Dreki." He seemed to sense the tenseness of the air. "It's hard to tell with that lot. Some go missing. They're hard to keep track of and not worth tracking down when they're gone. Not with the water to the east and north and mountains to the south."

"So you're just going to leave them there?" Vaughn definitely sounded breathless; breathless, and a little angry. He hated the Qe'Dreki but far as he knew most of the slaves here weren't rebels directly. They had been supporters or family or friends. He didn't know if anyone deserved to die starving and buried alive under rock.

But the guide only shrugged again. "Go take a look. I can't stop the Hand from stepping in but I'm telling you. It'll be hard to get anyone out. Not alive."

[Malcolm]

The Wolf of Krome

The ride had left Malcolm stiff in the legs, and his backside didn't feel much better. He climbed down from his horse, a black, wayward stallion that had been a real mission to break, and had even managed to scuff the leather of his boots on the odd occasion the animal had turned, mid-gallop, to bite him. He landed with a heavy thud, and strolled up to a tree, casual, until he was out of sight. It was only then he could buckle and find a place to sit and stretch, praying he hadn't done any permanent damage.
His boots came off and he wiggled his toes, glad for the fresh air that whipped through his damp socks. The order was given for the unit to take rest and catch their breath before they went into the cave, with time enough to drink, eat, and wash if need be. Malcolm chewed on a piece of cured meat, sandwiched between a piece of old bread he had folded in half. Everything tasted the same on the road, food brought little pleasure, used only as intended, as a fuel for their bodies that would keep them upright another day.
On his feet again, Malcolm relieved himself before returning to his horse to collect his weapons belt, a waterskin, and his own sash, something to keep the dust from his eyes and lungs.
“Moving on!” Benjamin gave the order under Malcolm’s direction, and the group moved into the mines.
Close to Violet and Zed, Malcolm offered a little forewarning before they stepped inside. “You won't like what you see,” he told them, “try not to let it follow you home.”
Inside the mines the slaves were treated poorly, most dressed in rags with holes in their shoes, if they were lucky enough to have shoes at all. They looked and smelled terrible, working day in and day out with little rest. This was where Rynmere sent its prisoners to die, some of them as young as nine. Malcolm didn't agree with it, but he was not the king and worked only to uphold the law, not rewrite it.
He stopped to let a young boy, who couldn't have been more than fourteen, drink from his waterskin. His feet were covered in sores, half rotten on account of the wet conditions they worked in. “what did you do?” he asked the boy.
“Stole a loaf of bread, Ser. It was this or my hand,” he said.
“How long is your sentence?”
“Three seasons, Ser.”
Malcolm got up off his knee and helped the boy to his feet. “When did you arrive?”
The boy scratched his head. “Just before Zi'da, Ser. They said we wouldn't survive Cylus.”
Malcolm called Kathryn aside and asked her to see to it that the prisoners papers were checked, and that any with sentences that were finished, be free to return with the knights the following day.
He continued down into the depths of the mine then, the smells and sounds causing his skin to crawl. Those who had seen the mines and committed a second crime, tended to choose the executioner’s axe over a return trip, but most weren't that lucky, most died here.
Equipt with a pickaxe in one hand and a lantern in the other, Malcolm followed the line his comrades had formed, with care, mindful of the slick stone beneath their feet. There wasn't a lot to see in the dark but more darkness, and the deeper they went, the more on edge the warden felt. He didn’t like the dark or confined spaces, second only to his fear of heights and flying.
Once they had reached the end of the shaft where the iron vein started, Malcolm hung up his light and couldn't help but overhear what their guide had just said. He noticed a familiar line tighten across his son’s cheek, the same that formed whenever Malcolm himself was angry. He closed his hand against Vaughn’s shoulder and waited for the guide to make his way back towards the surface before addressing the group.
“Change of plans. I know you're all exhausted after the journey here, and taking some ore was to be our reward for the long ride, but if we leave those people in there to die, slaves or not, we are not fit to call ourselves knights.”
He walked over to the collapsed mine-shaft then, and swung his pickaxe against the packed stone. There was enough room for six of them to swing at the blocked entrance, while the rest would be left to dragging away any rock they could loosen, something they could all take turns in doing. Determined, Malcolm set the pace, quickly breaking a sweat, the heat of the cave system this deep making it all the more trying.
“Put your backs into it!” He encouraged, and every now and then would listen to see if he could hear anyone on the other side.

[Violet]

The ride had been grueling as they pushed hard to make very short time in getting there. Though Violet was in good shape, it was still very hard on her legs to constantly squeeze against the sides of her horse to keep herself upright and in place in the saddle. She flexed her hands as she dropped the reins, her fingers and hands stiff from the constant clutch. She felt a sense of relief as she slid from the back of the horse and her boots met the ground. While the work they would be doing was hard labor, at least they wouldn’t be doing the same thing they had been doing.

Violet gave Malcolm a nod when they gathered up to enter the mines, knowing that she wouldn’t like what she saw. She took one of the cloths and tied it securely just beneath her eyes to help keep the dirt and the grime from her chest and nose. She was a knight and knew that this place was where prisoners were sent that they didn’t want anymore. This was where those with hardened hearts hoped that their prisoners would die. It was something she never could understand.

There was a blast of cool air when they first entered, and then the longer they descended, the warmer it got from the heat of the earth and the lack of good circulating air. They passed by people, sometimes even children, in rags and chains with sores and various untended injuries on their bodies. Some looked like their wounds were festering but still they worked as was expected of them. Violet watched Malcolm take aside a young boy and give him water, questioning his crime. All this for a loaf of bread? The thought sickened her.

Soon they reached the shaft end where the veins were, though they were informed about a cave in. Violet had been moments away from asking if they could go after the trapped miners when Malcolm announced their change of plans. Pleased with this, Violet moved to the back to let those with more muscle than her swing at the rocks. As the rocks began falling, she started gathering them up and hauling them away to a pile. The first few hauls left small cuts across her palms, but she paid them no mind. They needed to get to these people before they suffocated.

[Zedarius]

They'd set out early in the trials, before the suns could reach their full height. His steed trotted along below him, keeping pace with the other knights and their entourage. The ride to Endor was supposed to be quiet and easy, Lord Malcolm had said. And for the most part, it was. The rest of the knights stuck in close groups, making jokes and talking shop as they rode. Zedarius remained in the rear of the procession, contented in his silence as they rode. He kept his piercing gaze on the backs of the other knights, though he rode beside Vakhanor. Few times did he break his silence, and in those few, it was only to talk to the fellow smith.

"You're a smith, eh? Myself as well. Nowhere near as skilled, from what I am told."

Zedarius smiled genuinely, allowing himself some levity in the situation. His stomach had been in knots for trials, and he hated the thought of leaving Odessa alone in her state. But still, he'd been called to mission, and he could not go back on his word. A knight must always be vigilant, and so he was. He had kissed Odessa before he left, swearing that he'd return before she could start to show.

He hadn't told Lord Malcolm. He hadn't found the time as the group began preparing for their travels. Between commanding the group and leading the procession, the Wolf of Krome had enough on his plate, and did not need to shoulder Zedarius' woes as well. And, if Zedarius were being honest with himself, he did not want Malcolm to send him home. There was a good chance the man would understand his trepidation at leaving his pregnant wife. Zedarius would never admit it to anyone, not even himself, but the trip afforded him the opportunity to clear his head and think about what this child meant to Odessa and he.

And so he rode, alternating between bouts of introspective silence and making small talk with the smith, Vakhanor. The trip took longer than he'd anticipated, but he was soon dismounted and standing in front of the entrance of the Endor Mines.

Never in his life had he seen the mines, outside or in. As a child, it was always a bit of an urban legend to the children of the Settlements. 'If you're naughty, the Lord'll send you to the mines in Endor. You don't want to be there,' old wives would say. They'd threaten to send misbehaving children to the 'Mines o' Endor', speaking about the place as if it were some horrendous prison. And all his life, he'd operated under the assumption that the tales were just that: tales. He would have never thought that he would see children with festering wounds on their feet, made worse by the disgusting rot that accompanied wet conditions and open wounds. He never thought he'd be exposed to so callous a temperament that a man would allow any person to die, whether they were slave, or noble, or whatever. Heat rushed to his cheeks.

And so he stayed silent as they trekked through the mines, making sure to remain at the end of the party. Sheathed at his hip swung his sword, and on his back his shield. But looped through his belt on the opposite hip was a heavy pickaxe, iron head gleaming from the intense polish the knight gave it early in the trial. He knew that they would need picks to mine the ore, but now, they served a different purpose. They would dig those slaves out, and for the first time since the ride, Zedarius felt useful. He slid the axe from the makeshift leather loop on his hip and set to work.

Massive arms used to swinging hammers swung instead the pick, cracking the flattened side hard into a gap between two large rocks. Using the handle as a fulcrum, he shoved with all his might and weight, and shifted one of the larger pieces. Though it did not do much, it allowed Zedarius to move into the gap provided by the shift, and allowed him even more leverage. In only a few bits, he'd moved one of the pieces. There were still an innumerable amount of boulders to move, but that was the first for Zedarius. In his eyes, he was moving towards his goal.

And once again, his mind wandered to his pregnant "wife". He was simultaneously overjoyed and terrified at the prospect of her producing life in her womb. Since he'd known her, Zedarius had wanted to begin a family with her, and now he was going to have his chance. But he also knew Odessa, and he knew how scared she was, even if she would pretend otherwise. He could feel the shaking in her slight hands and watched as her chest heaved in panic. Despite his own terror, he had to be the solid rock. He would support her, no matter how scared he was, because that was his duty to her.

And with that thought, he broke another rock with the pick, shoving its bulky weight to the side that he could continue to clear. The mindless labor was perfect for him... Exactly what he needed.

[Vakhanor]

Difficult couldn't even begin to cover it. The journey to Endor had been one thing after another and Irony was as beautiful as she was a git. Neither an esteemed rider nor an animal man Vakhanor struggled to keep up with the rest of the group as they rode steadily through the grasslands, toward the Burning Mountains. A strong western wind blew from the peaks and they urged the horses along the jagged roads, adamant to reach the pass before nightfall. With each passing break the air grew heavier and the pungent aroma of dozens of sweating men and woman, followed by the stench of horse grew slowly less recognisable as time went on.

They eventually made camp inside one of the caves carved in the side of the mountain. Morale was high and the majority of the group sat together to feast and celebrate their easy journey, thankful for the rest; while Vakh strayed from the gathering and scanned the rocky landscapes. Hidden in the shadow of the firelight Vakhanor remained along the edges of camp, vigilant for anything that might return seeking to reclaim its home. Intimidated by his brooding silence, few chose to disturb the smith in the times when he appeared to be busy - even Violet. Distance was a barrier between them he was growing to enjoy, he had opened his heart to accept the girl and had been afraid. Afraid that whatever lingered at the back of her beautiful mind was only out to coax him then turn him out into the dust, just as Elyna did...

At the first light of the rising Dawn the party started to move again, carrying on through the rocky slopes of the mountains. For trials they wandered, for trials Irony tested her rider's patience and by the time they finally arrived in Endor, Vakh was exhausted.

"You're a smith, eh? Myself as well. Nowhere near as skilled, from what I am told." Zedarius made an attempt at small talk.

Humbled Vakhanor granted the man a tired smile "For almost twenty arcs now. Taught by the taskmaster before me," he said, casually training attention on the road ahead "I've still a great deal to learn."

Other than the occasional request for help with some, he had spoken very little. Friends were something of a difficult thing to come by for the half-blood among the travelling companions. Zedarius was probably the closest thing to an ally he had among any of the small clan of noble knights, bound by duty and honour despite being a different breed to the man entirely.

"I'm sure I could even learn a thing or two from you," the smith attempted conversation.

Malcolm called the group to halt and the party dismounted, they had reached their destination: The Mine of Morgdouhn - home to dark spirits of Rynmere, or so it was said. Housewives and husbands warned their children away from the mines.

'Bi cahrful i' ye wan tae bi guin ther," Oberyk had warned, "Fer arcs men 'av bin dying down ther. W'er 'tis from magic, ahr fro' tha doost gaverin belo'. B'ware tha spirits n tha creatures tha prawhl in tha dahrk.'

Heeding his master's warning, Vakhanor was cautious as he followed. Shallow repetitions of the knights' clanging footfalls echoed through the caverns, each step heavy against the dry earth beneath their feet. Rocks crumbled from the disturbance of the rough ridges, the dust stinging Vakhanor's eyes as the small party carried on through deeper into the pit of the earth's belly. Down, down, down deeper beneath the crust and into darkness they tread, lead by the dim flicker of distant torches.

Clang, Clang, Clang... The familiar ring of iron cast its weight upon stone.

Each slave dare cast them a sideways glance at the risk of their taskmasters giving them another lashing. An eerie gloom lingered in the air that grew thicker with their descent. Silent, Vakhanor prowled behind the group like a dog on high alert waiting for something to strike out. Unlike his company, the smith did not trust the guide and used chalk to mark the direction from whence they came at every opportunity.

"They died?"

Vaughn's conversation with the assigned guide had caught is attention, they were talking of the Qe'dreki. Unsettled by what he learned of the origins of many of the slavers the smith went into his pack to light one of his own torches. Always the heroes Vaughn and Malcolm saw to it to try lifting the rocks without taking a moment to survey the terrain that surrounded them.

"Put your backs into it!" he heard Malcolm shout.

"We could just be making this worse," he warned Malcolm, studying the way in which the rocks fell. If they applied too much pressure in the wrong place the cave might continue falling in on them. Stepping up the plate Vakhanor carefully placed his feet between the gaps of the rocks in an attempt to climb to the top of the pile until he came to where the hole didn't look like it were going to collapse "Up here."

Vakh lodged his torch between a crack in the rocks and started to help crack into some of the heavier boulders, whilst doing what he could to help the other men. Sweat covered his brow as the fatigue from the breaks of riding began catching up with him. Boulder by boulder they chipped at the wall of stone, passing the rocks and shouting out warnings when the party behind needed to dodge out of the way.

What had even happened down here? If there was an earthquake there should have been more collapsed tunnels. An uneasiness churned in Vakh's stomach. Reeeeeeeeek!...a distant shriek reverberated off the cavern walls, sounding from the tunnels below.

Vakhanor halted, his eyes flickering over to Violet with a touch of concern before leering out into the darkness as he wondered what thing lurked in the under-dark; separated by nothing but a single, closed off shaft that had a sign that read 'restricted.'

Whatever that was, they were not alone.

[Vaughn]

It was not pleasant work after so long on the road but his father was right: there was no way Vaughn would leave these people here to die. Slaves or not. Qe'Dreki or not. He wasn't even sure he would have left Yoreth Blackwood, though he might have been tempted.

The only problem was his whole body hurt.

Using a hammer or a pickaxe was very different than riding a horse, and Vaughn ached from his back to his calves as he got to work. Even his shoulders felt sort of stiff as he, lined up next to Malcolm and Vakhanor and Zedarius, took a pick and started to swing. But there was nothing for it but to do. Soon enough he fell into a rhythm, stubbornly trying to pace his father, and it got easier as he went. Smithing was not so very different than mining, not in mechanics at least.

He worked mindlessly for a time, sweating and cursing the neverending pile of heavy rocks to break and lift, working where Vakhanor had pointed though he didn't know if the smith had any true knowledge when it came to cave-ins. Still. At the top seemed better than at the bottom and he swung and chipped away at the smaller rocks, letting the strength of Zed catch the big ones and passing back what he could to Violet. There was little talk, and then a moment of complete and utter silence when something from beyond the rock pile made a loud screech. Another followed not soon after.

Only the second wasn't just loud. It was earsplitting.

All around them, full moments after the sound had ended, the rock began slowly at first and then building upon waves to tremble. "Shit shit shit," Vaughn said, "Back away!" before there was a crash and tumble of moving rock. He leapt from the pile just in time.

Dust enveloped them, and "Shit," Vaughn coughed out, one more time as the lanterns flickered and grew dim from soot. Then he gagged. He tore the bandana from his face just in case he might vomit, but soon enough his stomach settled into an uneasy truce. A smell of putrefaction surrounded them along with the cloud of dust, warm and instantly recognizable: the smell of human waste. He gagged again before he got himself fully under control.

"Human stench is a good thing, right?" he eventually coughed out, trying and not trying to be funny. It meant they were close. They had to be close.

Eventually the dust settled as much as it would and it was safe enough to go back and and look at what had become of the rock wall. New cracks, dangerous looking, had formed on the ceiling and down one wall, and the pile of rock they had been working on had been partially decimated. Rocks scattered the ground in chips and pieces, some as large as half a man and some as small as a thumb. Dust and grit still hung in the air, but at least it was clear enough to see what had happened.

Cautiously Vaughn moved forward, the bandana once more pressed to his face, to check the cave-in. Wincing as the smell of sewage burnt his eyes. "There's a small hole!" he said, excitedly, and tried to remember not to take too big a breath.

Before anyone could stop him he'd put his head through. "Get me a lantern," he said, and then, unthinking, accidentally leaned his full weight against the remainder of the fallen rocks.

At once he started to slide and then, rubble shifting around him, he went entirely through. Soon as he hit solid floor he curled into a ball and put his hands over his head, covered in dust and expecting the whole tunnel to come down on him. A couple pieces of stone the size of fists hit him, battering at the unprotected parts of his body. He would have bruises tomorrow. But he wasn't buried and soon enough he sat up.

He glanced back at the wall, terrified that it had collapsed again behind him, but for now it held. The hole he had gone through was now big enough to fit a person if they tucked in their stomach, and he coughed some more in the cloud and gave a thumbs up to let the others know he was uninjured. He stood and started to brush himself off. Looking around for the bandana but he had lost it in the dark.

Someone, maybe Benjamin, handed him a lantern through the hole and he held it forward, peering around and feeling chills shoot up and down his entire body, all at once remembering the sound that had caused the second collapse. It was wetter on this side of the cave-in, the air noticeably moist and rank, and dew collected upon his skin and hair like sweat. Every breath felt thick. The moisture caught in the back of his throat and for a moment he felt dizzy. His lips were numb.

He turned with the lantern and saw, a short ways down the tunnel, a human figure. From this distance he couldn't tell if they were dead or alive. They laid still on the ground.

Off Topic

Cool monster idea ya'lls:

The screeching was from these enormous colonies of cute lil glow worms that secrete a poison into still bodies of water. The trapped miners found such a source of water (perhaps through another cave-in which lead to an actual cavern) and drank it. The worms' toxin effectively gives a person sleep paralysis. They can't move but they are aware and feel terror. The worms' screeching disorients them further. Then the worms crawl down and feast on the still, live bodies. Yum yum.

I'd imagine some of the slaves have been partially 'et but others are still alive, just paralyzed. Also the air is thick with moisture from having been trapped in the tunnel after the cave-in, and from the heat. Some of the worms' poison is in the moisture in the air. If you breathe it you get real scared real fast and also start to feel numb and tingly and maybe a little uncoordinated.

Everybody have fun hehehe

[Malcolm]

The Wolf of Krome

The order was given and soon they all fell in line, pickaxes cutting through part of the cave in, before Vakhanor spoke up. Some of the men slowed in their work, and others stopped completely, staring at the smith and then at the task ahead of them. Malcolm paused, looked about the cave in the dim light their torches provided them, and got back to work. It wasn't Vakhanor then, but a hair-raising screech that saw them halt, hands thrown up to protect their ears.
“What the heck was that?” Someone called from the back, a voice that sounded like Benjamin’s”
“Not sure I want to find out,” Malcolm murmured.
There followed the sound of iron against rock once more and Malcolm turned about to see that the men had returned to the task at hand, working their way through the rock to try and recover the lost slaves.
“They might not even be alive,” Benjamin said to Malcolm, keeping his voice low.
“I'd still rather be sure,” Malcolm told the man, and got back to work.
A few more strokes with the axe, and the whole cave rumbled, signalling the start of another cave in. From the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Vaughn jump back as he warned the others with a shout, and out of instinct, Malcolm reached for the man closest to him, and heaved him backwards out of the path of the falling rock. This just so happened to be Zedarius, who had been quiet for a lot of the trip, or more so than usual.
The warden turned his head away from the cloud of dust that hit them, putting out a few of their torches and casting the cave into darkness for a moment. Other members of the faction stepped forward with their torches, relighting those that had gone out and checking quickly that everyone was accounted for and uninjured. Malcolm held his sash close to his mouth and nose, taking shallow breaths behind the cover of his hand until the dust had settled.
“Is everyone all right?” he asked, checking with the captains who were in charge of keeping count of their men.
“All accounted for, Ser.”
Malcolm’s next thought was to go to his son, but when he looked around, he couldn't see the man anyway. “Vaughn?” The name was a whisper on his lips, eyes still searching the cave frantically until he spotted him, venturing towards a small opening between the tightly compacted rocks.
It was then the smell hit him like a heatwave, causing the warden to take a few steps backwards. He had known the smell of death on the air before, but this was different, mixed with a scent that assaulted the senses, causing him to throw the back of his hand up against his mouth as he almost lost the little breakfast he had managed to force down this morning before they set off to ride the last part of the journey.
“Vaughn!” he warned, but it was too late, and seconds later the man was gone, disappeared through the crack in the cave in.
Benjamin ran forward with a lantern and passed it to the newest Skyrider to join their ranks, calling out to make sure he was okay. Malcolm nudged past him and tightened his bandana, scarcely able to keep his eyes open with the heat and smell that hit him.
“Careful!” Benjamin said, but Malcolm would be anything but if it meant insuring his son was safe.
He crawled into the hole, turning back to accept a torch and bring some more light to the darkened area. The walls were slick with water, though Malcolm couldn't help but feel as if they had just stepped into the mouth of some foul creature. Vaughn had spotted a figure in the dark, and Malcolm bent to make sure his son was all right before offering to venture forward on his behalf. He walked up the slight incline to where the figure was sat, propped against the wall of the cave with claw like fingers, clutching invisible stones against his legs.
Malcolm lowered the torch and stepped back with a start. He hadn't yelped, but every muscle in his body had gone rigid at the sight of the dead man, who stared back at him with black, hollow eye sockets, his features frozen in terror, with something moving below his shirt. Malcolm dreaded to think what it was, but needed to know what they were up against. He drew his longsword and lifted the dead man's shirt as a torrent of live, glowing worms poured out of the hole in his gut and spilled onto his trousers.
The warden stepped away and put his hand out against the opposite wall as his breakfast threatened once more to resurface. His upper body heaved, and the sound he made was dry. “Shit.”
Benjamin hurried into the cave to take a look for himself and took a few slow steps backwards, fingers closed in his dirty blonde hair. “May the sisters be kind,” he said. “Dead,” Benjamin spoke up so that those who hadn't entered the cave, or weren't brave enough to, knew what was going on. “Dead and full of worms.”
“Start looking for the others,” Malcolm finally spoke. “Try not to touch anything, and keep your mouths covered.”

[Violet]

Violet had taken keen notice of Vakhanor’s ever-growing distance from her, and she silently wondered if she had somehow offended him. It wasn’t the time or the place to be concerned with such things, but she was bothered by it nonetheless. Still, she noticed as he occasionally gave her a glance as if checking to be sure she was ok. She would have given him a weak smile, unsure what else to do, if her face hadn’t been covered from beneath her eyes down with the bandana. She couldn’t risk pulling it off and inhaling the harmful clouds of dust and debris nor could she likely deal with the stench.

Vakhanor had questioned Malcolm’s plan- a rather bold move for someone in his position- and though it gave some of the other men and even Malcolm pause, the work continued. Rocks were picked and flat out busted and more and more were piling up quicker than her and the others could carry. She doubled up her pace and tried to goad the others into doing the same. Sweat had already broken out at the base of neck, was dripping down her back, and beading on her arms and legs. She took a moment’s pause to wrap up the braid she had pulled her hair into and stick it in a haphazard bun to keep her neck cooler.

They were making progress though there was truly no telling how much rock lay between them and the miners, dead or alive, that had been trapped by the cave in. Suddenly there was a shift in the rock and the cave shuddered, bringing with it a much smaller cave in. Violet had stumbled backwards and nearly fell, narrowly dodging a boulder that rolled past her. A sharp end clipped her leg, just a small gash, and a bit of blood oozed out.

When she looked up she realized Vaughn was gone and that Benjamin had disappeared as well with Malcolm climbing through the precarious and small hole at the top. An almost unbearable stench wafted over her as she approached the opening in the piled rocks. She wasn’t about to let Malcolm venture through there without her. Quickly wrapping some cloth around her lightly scratched and bleeding hands, she pushed up with her legs and climbed up to the hole, slipping in with more ease than the men due to her smaller frame.

A dry heave assaulted her instantly at the smell of death and something worse. She had stooped in a dark corner for a moment to compose herself. When she rose, she followed the lantern lights and came up in time to see Malcolm lifting the man’s shirt with a sword and seeing a gush of them pour out from insides and into his lap. They were glowing and something about them was unnatural. She bent down and skewered one with a dagger. It twitched and died on her blade and oozed an odd substance. “Ser,” she pressed, not daring to use his first name in formal company. “I don’t… I don’t think these are natural. Not like your ordinary maggots anyway.”

She let the worm drop off the tip of her blade, and though it may have seemed cruel, she wiped the slime on the dead man’s shirt. She didn’t want to risk getting whatever it was on her should it be caustic or poisonous. After sheathing her dagger, she noticed that Vaughn had seemed to have lost his bandana. She fished one out. It was a little damp but it would be better than nothing. She offered it to him. “Here Vaughn. I think it’s important you wear one.”

[Zedarius]

The work was grueling, mindless labor that allowed the group plenty of grunts and would supply them all with an excess of aches. But for each stone that was moved, Zedarius gained a sliver of hope. Each stone was one step closer to finding the cave-in, and rescuing those who could be rescued.

But how many could be rescued, truly? How many died in the cave in? How many would they find among the shattered rubble? Would he catch a skull on the end of his pick? Each question flew before his mind, taking its toll and then rushing away to allow another deluge of questions. All he could do was move the stone, and then move another, and another. But nothing in his life could have prepared him for the screech that ricocheted across the stones, reverberating in his ribcage.

It cut through his reverie, and then everything that had seemed mired in slow-motion suddenly sped up, the world coming back into full movement faster than he anticipated. And suddenly, as if he were seeing it for the first time, everything settled in in front of the knight. Zed's eyes cast around, and he realized how damp and disgusting the cave was, moisture in the air clinging to their skin and armor and hair. His focus jumped to the stones, massive and heavy and immovable. Then the people, pushing further into the cave to find the lost slaves... And Zedarius knew, in his heart, that he was scared.

It never occurred to him that the sudden influx of apprehension could have been anything but himself. The floodgates of his emotion had been exploding open and flooding his life, and this was no different. As he watched everyone else begin to enter the hole they'd opened, Zed saw them donning masks and bandanas over their faces. Zed didn't bring a bandana, or really anything else to cover his face. Mechanically, he slipped the pick back into the leather loop on his belt. He ruffled through his pack and grabbed a black shirt, gripping it between two massive hands. A quick tug and the fabric tore free, and he wrapped it around his face. It wasn't as effective as it could be, but it was something. And with that, he followed them into the breach.

The grubs were everywhere, disgusting and wriggling. He drew his sword, though he did not have much room to wield it should he have to. Everything seemed more surreal, as if the air on his skin was made of fire and the sounds of the dripping water were a rushing waterfall. His eyes darted around, and he found that as he did, the previous image blurred into the new one. He gritted his teeth and took a breath, trying to steady himself, but wasn't quite sure why he was acting as he was. He bent his knees a bit to examine the worms, and nearly threw up in his makeshift air-filter. Instead, though, he steeled himself to the worms and the smell of rot, and continued on. The little maggots were in some of the bodies, and he could see them wriggling under their skin.

He wasn't used to the feeling of terror that nestled in his belly. He feared, sure, but never like this. He was a knight, and he was trained to be prepared for these situations, but this time, something was different. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, each running down a track outlined by the previous bead of sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel each hair on his arms as it moved against the stagnant air.

It's because I may die here this trial. I may die, and leave behind the love of my life... and my unborn child. As the thought entered his mind, panic seared his insides. He looked around, locating Malcolm quickly. With a voice that was usually deeper than a mine, Zedarius hailed him. This time, his voice was barely more than the loud squeak of a mouse.

"Ser Malcolm? Something is amiss--" And then the edges of his vision went black as the terror-toxin invaded him even more fully. He stumbled to a knee and heaved, barely able to control himself.

[Vakhanor]

Rocks crumbled away from the earth and Vakhanor almost didn't escape the thick of it. Pushing back against the earth, the smith launched himself away from the tumbling rocks, lunging onto the earth in the hope of escaping a larger boulder that almost collapsed on him. Laid out, smack onto his torso Vakh recovered himself and crouched in a position, ready to run… when in stopped.

Disturbed particles of dust floated in the air and with their disturbance also came the strong, bitteesweet waft of shit and rotting flesh. Lifting his eyes to the entrance of a darker cave, Vakhanor proceeded behind the group with the same caution he had in the beginning, the things lurking down there were clearly hungry for something and from what he could tell, human was on the menu. He watched, and waited for the others to test the waters. Vakh did not know mines well, but from his brief experience that day he could see the earth was unpredictable and that there was still the possibility that the cave could fall in on itself.

Wordlessly Vakh peered through and imitated the others. Whatever was in that cave, it became clear to him they were conscientious of breathing something in. Ripping a rag from his bag, Vakh tied together two pieces of and cast them around the lower portion of his face. He still had to carry a torch and mark the way through. Holding the cloth wasn't an option, so he improvised and finally followed through to the tunnel.

Drip… drip… drip.

The repetitive drone of dripping water echoed in the distance. And somewhere deep within the eerie silence of the deep, infested darkness the origin of that loud shriek lingered. Vakhanor’s attention trained on the shapes in the pitch black, waiting for the shadows to move and from somewhere in the shadows he could see the brief blink of two small, beady, sinister and colourless eyes staring back at him. A feeling of dread overcame Vakhanor as he realised that whatever lay down here, lurking was now able to escape. However easy the journey had been down into the mine, he could tell the journey back would be a hell of a lot harder. Somebody needed to watch the entrance.

Drifting beside the group, the smith kept a distance between himself and the object of the party’s attention. Laid dead on the floor the putrid, half eaten corpse of what appeared to have once been a humanoid. If starvation hadn't killed it, something else had. Vakhanor lifted his torch to the edge of the cave where carefully began to study the rocks. Human claw marks scattered were scattered across the surface. He chalked in a star next to them. The miner must have been running from something.

“Mal. Order a few of your men to stay behind,” he advised, backing away to turn his attention back to the threat of the dark “Something is lurking in the shadoes and we don't want whatever is down here getting out.”

A loud clash of metal hit the ground, ringing off the walls as Zedarius fell to his knees. That was the alarm bell and muffled shrieks of excitement chorused from the creatures of the under dark. They knew the party were here. “Shit,” the smith swore quietly beneath the cloth and grabbed the man by the arm, lifting him back onto his feet.

“Here,” the smith placed the chalk in his pocket and buried into his pack to offer a clean rag. Vakhanor often carried such things in multiple supply just in case he ended up smithing, or running.

“I don't think these are natural. Not like our ordinary maggots anyway.”

He heard Violet assess and he looked back at her, wishing he had been a little less distant with her over these past trials. A flicker of guilt played across his face and he turned away, again. He didn't have time to be vulnerable right now, none of them did.