Fireday, Desnus 6th, morning

Viore, Viktor, and Zhog made a supply run to Diamond Lake last night. We needed to descend the pit to reach the newly-exposed passages below, and it stood to reason that more swarms of insects might lie within. While we could easily outrun them on foot, that plan would only work so long as there was somewhere to run to. Climbing a rope didn’t qualify, and that meant we needed to be better prepared, both with the right spells and more fire. Specifically, more fire than we could get from oil that is typically used to light a lantern. For that, we turned to alchemist’s fire. It’s expensive, and it apparently turned some heads in town since normal people don’t buy so much of it at once, but it meant we all had something we could contribute.

We stood over the pit, and estimated it’s depth at about sixty feet. The shaft had suffered enough damage both from the collapse and the swarm of acid-spitting beetles that one could reasonably climb down it. We used a rope, anyway. It made the descent faster, easier, and safer. There’s no shame in not wanting to fall to your death.

We guessed that the chambers we explored yesterday had belonged to either the chief craftsman or the architect of this place. In the anteroom of that complex, the statues were carved as if in deference. In this anteroom, they androgynous figures were all glaring at us pejoratively. And from this, we guessed that this was the workers’ quarters, because people are pretty much the same everywhere, and if you have an ego big enough to carve stone worshippers to yourself then of course it’s big enough to carve a court of judgement for those that you think are beneath you.

We didn’t have to travel far before we heard the buzzing and chittering of thousands of insects. Though I was pleased to have been proven right, it would have been nice to have been wrong in just this once instance.

I have nothing against bugs. I recognize that they are part of the ecosystem, and fulfill important roles in nature. I do, however, draw the line at ones that are larger than me, swarming by the thousands, or trying to share my living space. The last one I solve more or less by paying a rent that most would consider exorbitant, and others might call criminal. Until yesterday, I had more or less considered the first two to be academic.

What causes insects to mass like this? I am no entomologist, but I bet that one answer is “lack of competition from an abundance of food”. In the other complex, we found a magic font of sorts that was continually producing an edible mush that both looked and smelled like gravy. The same thing was happening here, just on a larger scale, and the bugs had figured it out. I guess the folks that created this place forgot to turn all that off when they were done.

While the bugs were keeping themselves occupied, we explored the room across the hall. This one contained several stone slabs watched over by a large statue of muscular being wielding an enormous club, a long-desiccated corpse, and a giant beetle.

What was the beetle doing over here? Who knows. Maybe it was tired of the noise next door. Regardless of its reasoning, we killed it because it was a giant beetle, though not before it could spray me with acid because that is what I needed today.

The corpse was spread out on one of the slabs, and the slabs had the right size and shape to suggest a bed of some sort. Stone beds aren’t particularly comfortable, so they were probably topped with a softer mattress back when this place was in use. What that didn’t explain is why someone would lie down on one now, when it’s quite obviously just a stone slab. Whatever their thinking, they got bludgeoned to death for their trouble, assuming their shattered bones were an indicator of their fate. It’s the sort of stage picture that said “trap”.

We’ve gotten good at spotting these traps in advance, though admittedly we’ve been getting quite a few clues in the form of crushed and mangled bodies. It occurred to me that, perhaps, being the first person in line to explore an ancient burial cairn is maybe not the best idea. From what we’ve seen so far, it’s probably better to be fifth or sixth. Of course, two days ago we did deliberately walk into a trap that we even knew was a trap, but I like to think that we’ve learned a lot since then.

We found a ring on the corpse, and an insignia on their armor that matched the engraving on the ring. According to Viktor, this was the symbol of a group that called themselves the Seekers, which he described as an unscrupulous group of archaeologists and pseudo-historians who raided burial sites for their own gain. Which sounded an awful lot like what we were doing. I guess the difference there was that we weren’t pretending to be something more than just grave robbers. Not that this sounds any better, mind you, but honesty is important.

We still had to deal with the bugs, so we dealt with the bugs. The less said about that, the better. It was gross, and it smelled terrible, but through the cleansing power of fire we emerged victorious. Unlike the three additional Seekers whose remains we found in the sludge.

We followed the hall to stairs that descended into a flooded chamber. I think it’s reasonable to assume that people who worshipped the Wind Dukes would not voluntarily submerge themselves in water, so this must have happened sometime after the tomb was built. That didn’t change the fact that none of us could breathe under water. That meant holding our breath and swimming.

Snagsby and I volunteered to scout it out. I left my armor on because I wasn’t worried about sinking to the floor—I wanted to walk along the bottom, not swim—and I didn’t want to be defenseless while I was under. It’s a lot easier to fight underwater when you have sure footing, and being weighed down to the bottom helps with that. Swinging a weapon while swimming is a good way to spin out of control.

Step one, was entering the water. That’s when the water attacked.

I swear, I am not making this up. Something that looked like nothing surged at me, and then water erupted from the water. You wouldn’t think that you could fight water, but it turns out that you can. At least, you can when it’s an elemental. And as a bonus, there’s no mess to clean up afterwards, because it’s water.

With that out of the way, we tried this again. Snagsby and I each took a side of the chamber, which looked like some sort of communal shower, and walked the perimeter, swapping at the far end. There was a small room connecting on either side, and as I passed one I got chills as I sensed a malicious presence. A presence that seemed to be aware of us, because it was on the move.

We emerged from the water and discussed our strategy: make it come to us.

Back in the water we went, this time with more support. I crept around one side as the other half of the group took the other. I could feel the presence moving, and then I caught a glimpse of it around one of the pillars: a walking corpse with pale flesh and sharp teeth.

Ghoul.

I motioned for the others to retreat. I wasn’t worried about myself, but a ghoul’s touch paralyzes and that would be a death sentence here. They needed to know what we were up against. And then it came at me, and raked my flesh before ducking out of sight.

We backed up to the stairs, and I told everyone what I saw. Then it was back in the water with a new strategy: corner it and take it down. We advanced cautiously in a pincer formation, and when Viore caught sight of it he signaled its location. Slowly, we converged on it, and trapped it between us. There was nowhere for it to go, and in a matter of moments we cut it down.

It was wearing a ring with the insignia of the Seekers. So that would be Seeker corpse number five. This venture did not go well for them.

With the ghoul gone, we searched the rooms and found, among other things, Seeker corpse number six, and our missing red lantern.

We climbed back up to the main hall and hung the lantern on its chain. Confident that this would disarm the wind trap, we ascended the blue alcove, and approached the giant face carved in the wall. This time, the mouth opened like an iris, and we stepped through.

It led to a long, dark room with narrow plank suspended above a sea of metal balls, each about the size of an orange. We couldn’t see the floor, so we had no idea how deep it was, but it didn’t really matter. Like so many things we have run into here, this had “trap” written on it and no one thought performing on the balance beam was a good idea. I could just picture us trying to maintain our footing on that thing while dodging metal balls being flung around from who-knows-where.

We heard a young child’s giddy laughter from somewhere in the room. While we searched for its source, the voice said, “You didn’t die!”

I couldn’t see where it was coming from, so I just answered to the air. “We didn’t. Others that came before us cleared the way, and so we lived where they died.”

“They sure did,” it answered.

“You didn’t die, either,” I replied, without thinking. I still couldn’t determine where the voice was coming from, and maybe that should have been a clue. “Or, did you?” I added, my voice trailing off as I realized how stupid that was.

No reply. I must have really touched a nerve.

None of us felt like falling to our deaths, so we ignored the beam and climbed down into the pit. The balls were not easy to walk across, but it was a stable enough surface. Or at least, it was, until the balls started shifting. Something was moving around beneath our feet. I had just called out a warning when a large, pallid worm erupted from the the pit. It was covered in slime, and had a mouth with hooked jaws that was surrounded by a mass of tentacles. A grick.

Two gricks, in fact, one smaller than the other. Both were angry and attacked immediately, and they were surprisingly difficult to kill. My blade practically bounced off the big one, and Sera was not faring any better. Zhog was carrying the enchanted sword we found down below, but he got hurt bad and had to retreat before he could really put it to use. Only Viktor, with his wand that fires magical bolts of force, was reliably having an effect .

Zhog had dropped the sword where I could pick it up, so I did, and that turned the tide. Unlike our other weapons, this one was cutting into the gricks with ease, and while I didn’t care for fighting so close to my opponent, I prefer it to dying. Which is where this was headed otherwise.

When we were done and the gricks were dead, the ghostly figure of a young boy, barely a teenager if that, appeared before us. His neck had clearly been broken, which was probably a clue about how he had died. Before I could say anything, he rushed towards me and then the world went dark.

When I came to, the ghost of the boy hung in the air before me. I glared at him malevolently.

“Don’t. Ever. Do. That. Again.”

I had been violated and I was livid. It didn’t matter that there was nothing I could do, that I likely couldn’t back up any threat with action so there was no point in issuing one, but it had to be said. Dead or not. Too young to understand or not. It had to be said. Not just for his benefit, but for mine. My friends needed to know where this line sat. Not because I thought they might cross it, but because someone else might. This thing we were signing on for? It wouldn’t work if we didn’t understand one another. If we didn’t know and respect each others’ boundaries. If we based our relationships on assumption. Sure, this was one that they could guess, but better to take the guesswork out of it.

Speaking of my friends, they filled me in on what I missed. The ghost was formerly one Alastor Land, who wandered in here over thirty years ago after running away from his family. Amazingly, he made it quite far on his own before the cairn claimed his life, and his spirit was unable to move on. He believes that’s because his remains must be laid to rest with the family he left behind, and so he made a deal with us: we bury him, and he will open the final chamber, whose only latch is on the other side of the door.

While I would prefer not to bargain with someone who used my body without permission, I didn’t see much choice in the matter. Not one that would see this matter to the end, anyway. So I agreed.

Reluctantly.

I fumed all the way back to the house.

Fireday, Desnus 6th, evening

We held a small burial service for Masi.

I attended her funeral years ago. I sat in uncomfortable silence while I listened to the service— there wasn’t a burial because there was nothing to bury—and the eulogies from some of her friends. None of those were Night Walkers, the only ones who know what she had really done the night she disappeared. Not that anyone would have let one of us stand up there and speak.

Most everyone knew that we were all tied up in it together. We were those kids to them. Those kids who spent years recklessly flaunting the dangers of the wilderness and of the night, and it had finally caught up to them and gotten one killed. To many of them, and to her parents especially, we were to blame for her death. They weren’t entirely wrong about that, but they weren’t necessarily right about it, either. It also begged the question of where they were before, and why they intervened back when it could have made a difference? They were questions no one asked, because the answers were uncomfortably pejorative. It was easier to just pass on blame.

Even my own parents had been shockingly negligent in those years. Maybe it was a form of denial, or willful ignorance. There’s this malaise that drapes over the town, one that you don’t realize is there until you’re gone, and it presses you down and makes it hard to fight inertia. So if your kids found a way to cope with it on their own, then why not leave them be? Let them be kids. So long as no one was getting hurt.

Which is exactly what happened. Even here, that’s too much to ignore.

So here I was, again, at a service for her. A burial this time. For remains, all we had was her old bed roll, but it was hers and it would fill that role. Symbols are important, in life, in magic, in the divine. They allow ideas to stand for things, and for things to stand for ideas. Without symbols, we are literally connected only to ourselves, anchored to nothing. So Masi’s pack stood in for her, and it carried her life with it. The girl who owned the ned roll, who wore it, who had friends that had always known her with it, that traveled with it into the wild. We weren’t just burying it, but also the idea of Masildi, the traveler, the explorer, the friend, and the life she had lived.

I hoped it was enough. It had to be enough.