studiobondurri Chapter 9: The thing that gurgles
Chapter 9: The thing that gurgles
Chapter 9: The thing that gurgles
~ [Shaushka] ~
Elf, Female, Classless Location: The Scorched Forest LEVEL: 04
A day has passed.
Shaushka still sits there, the never-ending rain pouring down over her head.
The elf remains disturbed in the murky wet that fills the night that never seems to end. Water drips into her somewhat agape mouth as she stares towards the sky, waiting for something to come.
She doesnt know what that thing is, exactly.
But it will be something.
Its been a while now since the crow left her behind, and she has just remained exactly where it left her.
Something flickers in the corner of her vision, magnified in the droplets of rain that streak down her open, unblinking eyes.
The elf slowly turns her head, staring at the oddity that is out of place in the gray, murky landscape.
In the forest sits a gray, overturned log, dead and hollow. It rests over there, beneath a decayed mound of rotting, freshly burnt wood in a twiggy, sharp-branched mound.
Inside of the nest, secure from the rain, is a little spark a small fire.
Ah mutters Shaushka, crawling through the mud on her hands and knees towards the thing.
She stares at the little fire that burns inside of the dead wood, protected from the rain inside of the hollow log that it eats away at, each second of its insatiable hunger bringing it closer to its own demise as it burns away its shelter, bit by bit.
Shaushka looks at the fire, dancing a beautiful dance inside of its home, and the fire looks at her, as fire is wont to do under normal circumstances. The two of them simply stare at each other one of them sitting in the rain and one of them sitting in the dry.
The fire spins around a little now and then, as wind from the heavy storm encroaches in on its shelter. Shaushka, with full eyes and an empty head, observes and learns, as the flames creep up the length of the log, moving along in a snaking trail that her eyes follow, sparks flying out every which way like colorful seeds that are yet to blossom.
~ [Seaman Minani-ni] ~
Vildt (Feline), Male, Master Sailor Location: High-seas of the great eastern ocean, The Abigalia LEVEL: 76
Foul weather, says the crewman, standing next to him. Minani-ni walks inside, squeezing out the water from his ears as the boat rocks beneath their feet. A storm that never stops.
Minani-ni looks at the old man. Its putting wind in our sails, replies the young man. Well be there soon at this pace.
The old seaman looks his way. Boy. The sea has never helped us. The sea hates us, he explains, his old, worn, leathery face marred by the passage of salt and wind. Shell never miss an opportunity to swallow you if she gets it.
Good thing its the wind helping us then and not the water, replies Minani-ni, tapping his head.
Pah, its not helping us, says the old man, looking back down at his mug, which is as worn and used as he is. Were spiraling around a whirlpool, says the man, looking at his sloshing drink. Were not being helped. Were being pulled in, he says, before taking a long drink and falling silent.
Minani-ni stares at him for a time and then nods, heading off to his bunk to rest for a few hours now that his watch has ended.
The ship rocks beneath their feet, the heavy-storm, now that he thinks about it, seeming almost too inviting as the armada surges towards the west.
~ [High King Mercator] ~
Human-Half-elf, Male, King Location: The Capital City, in the Distant North LEVEL: 100
So its all tumbling down? asks Mercator, sitting with his hands together as he looks at the map laid out over the table. It depicts the nation, precisely marking the birthing spot of the Demon-King. The courtiers responsible for it work vigorously with a team of advanced scryers to keep the map updated.
It is, my lord, replies a senior officer, pointing at the small figure of a cart atop the map. He runs a small rod along the way. The cart has begun in one of their most important primary nodes of trade and commerce and has now begun moving along the winding roads. Surrounding the little figure of a cart is a red thread, connected to a thin metal hoop, meant to influence the destructive radius of the Demon-Kings presence. Even if we are to assume that the cart stays on the roads at all times, says the man, as one of the artists comes over to widen the circle a little more, as the Demon-King apparently grows in strength in the distant south. The new edge of the ring bumps against a cluster of houses that had previously been just outside of it. The destruction is catastrophic.
The king thinks for a while and then looks over the map, following the direction the Demon-King is moving in.
The Bishop sent word of a hero-candidate, says the King. What of her?
A woman across the table flips through some notes. Triple-S rank adventurer Ruhr the river-sorceress seems to have garnered the gods favor, she explains. As far as we know, she went in immediate pursuit of the Demon-King.
Any news? he asks.
No, replies the woman, one of his advisers. There has been no word since they entered the castle, and theres no sign of the carnival slowing down.
I see replies the king as his eyes wander over the map.
The artist returns and widens the circle again another tiny bit by adding some more wire to it. A small model of a tower gets knocked down.
Our neighbors to the east?
She nods, looking at another document. Their ships are already in movement, replies the woman. We might assume theyre here to fight the crisis, but
But? asks King Mercator.
We cant be certain, she replies. The scryers report a sizable number, a full armada. Its enough to stage an invasion of the continent.
Someone clears their throat, his adviser on foreign relations. If I may, I hardly suspect the Vildt would invade us at a time like this, he explains. There was no sign of any such desire before this crisis. The Vildt ambassador stands next to him. A man with canine ears.
The woman sets down her papers, placing her hands on the table. Perhaps they subscribe to the philosophy of never letting a crisis go to waste? she suggests. My lord, I realize the threat of the Demon-King is immediate, but we must take measures to ensure the safety of the exterior as well.
Nonsense! says the first man, as the carriage is pushed a few nudges forward along the map. We must focus ALL of our immediate resources on the Demon-King, he notes. And if the Vildt are willing to also throw themselves into the meat-grinder, the better it is for us.
And if they arent? asks the woman. What if we move our forces to engage the carriage and leave the capital defenseless?
The man points at the map. The capital is already as good as defenseless against the Demon-King! he argues. The carriage is moving towards the north, towards us, and hes gaining momentum, everyone can see that! He turns his head, looking at the sitting king. My lord! We must invest our full resources into stopping the Demon-King before he reaches the capital! The Vildt ambassador next to him nods. He is permitted to be present but not allowed to speak.
We can simply put up a barrier, like they did in the South, argues the woman.
As if he couldnt break that! argues the man. The South only survived because he paid them no further notice.
King Mercator shakes his head. Enough. He looks at the scryers. Are we able to view the inside of the Demon-Kings castle yet?
No, my lord, replies the chief scryer, still holding his freshly bandaged over eye. His presence is too powerful for us to squeeze past.
And the ships? he asks.
The scryer shakes his head. The Vildt arent interrupting us from doing so. We have full view in and around the fleet, explains the man. They are flying flags of peace time.
King Mercator thinks, staring out of the window at the storm that never stops.
It is true that every willing man and woman stepping up to help fight the Demon-King is a badly desired resource. But at the same time, letting the soldiers of a foreign nation set foothold on the soil in such a sizable number, even if to allegedly fight the one-hundred year crisis, will have repercussions.
What happens if they win?
What happens if the Demon-King is defeated?
Who is to say that the Vildt army will just pack up and head home again? Theyre already here, after all, nested inside of the bosom of his weakened nation, having strolled in past every wall and armament with the roads paved for them to march all the way through.
The storm persists at sea? asks King Mercator.
Yes, my lord, replies the chief scryer.
King Mercator nods, seeing no other way. They need their help, but they also cant allow an immaculate host of the enemys soldiers to just land on the continent in such numbers. A compromise has to be found.
He nods, rising to his feet as he looks at his military adviser. Send out a team, he instructs. Sink half of them. Make it look like the storms work.
You cant! A commotion erupts at the table. This is an act of war! barks the ambassador, breaking his silence.
King Mercator nods his head, and a pair of guards walk in, dragging the ambassador away.
When the rest of the ships arrive, welcome them with supplies and medical aid. He looks back down to the table, watching as the artists adjust the map, moving the cart just a little further, just a little closer towards the greatest concentration of population in the nation the capital. Form a new regiment out of our highest leveled soldiers and send them to meet the Demon-King, he orders. Attach them to the Churchs crusade.
He narrows his eyes, watching as the areas of the map where the Demon-King has already been become painted gray to signify the desolace left behind, the creeping blob that inches its way towards him, moment by moment.
~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~
Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-Kings Castle, Floor Eleven LEVEL: 95
Ruhr hides beneath a small table with only room for two, as loud, thunderous steps reverberate through the floorboards outside. She clutches an old, ratty owl-doll to herself, hoping that she doesnt get found.
The steps grow louder and louder, the old table almost rattling with every thud as he shuffles along, shambling down the corridor. There is a loud belching sound. The acrid smell of his breath, while not able to travel all the way down to her, is present enough in her memory that she can smell it nonetheless. It smells like vomit and burnt fabric.
Its steps vanish away after a moment, and she quietly comes out of her hiding spot, creeping through the tiny kitchenette to carefully look down the corridor after him.
The creature is gone.
Ruhr looks down at herself.
She has no way to fight it off. All she can do is hide and run. But hiding doesnt always work. The woman lifts her gaze, her ratty, unbrushed blue hair sticking to her body. Running doesnt always work either. After all, where is she supposed to run to?
Their house is only this. Theres the corridor, the room, and the kitchenette.
But for some reason, despite her not remembering it ever being there, theres now a door across from the kitchen.
Heavy shadows linger in the room. Dusty particulate floats around the air, suspended in the gray, loveless light that comes in through the windows as if she and they were both trapped in time.
This is a memory of her childhood.
Sort of. She is still in her body, but everything has become giant. The tables, the doors, the cabinets. Every piece of furniture and every segment of the house has been unnaturally scaled up to match the proportions they once had back then.
Psst says a voice from the side. Ruhr jumps, clutching her owl-doll as she looks at the voice. Theres another member of their group, a man. Hes hiding in the kitchen too. He looks out from behind a box. Is it safe? he whispers. Ruhr nods, and he comes out of hiding.
Come on, mutters Ruhr and runs out into the corridor, reaching up to grab the handle of the new door that was never there in the past. She rises up to the tips of her toes, just barely managing to grab it. The man gives her a boost, and she reaches out, pushing it open.
The mystery-door swings open with a quiet creaking, revealing the exact same hallway that theyre in.
It is a long, straight corridor.
On the left is a door she doesnt know. On the right is a small kitchenette. Straight ahead is the room. Its the only room. Well now there are two.
Ruhr looks behind herself, to the front door of the house that leads to the hallway. Its boarded up and locked.
She and the man run down quietly into the new corridor, looking around for a moment.
Its the exact same as the corridor they just came from. The dust motes are one and alike. The grooves in the wood, the cobwebs above their heads this corridor is an exact replica of the last.
He gives her another boost, and she grabs the door handle of the closed door on the left side of the corridor, pulling it open. Beyond is the very same corridor once again.
Everything is the same.
What is this? asks the man.
Ruhr shushes him, and they stand there, immersed in total silence for a while. But it isnt the usual silence, which is present between two people when there is a lack of topics or such trivial things.
It is the heavy silence that rests below a hangmans noose. It is the quiet that feels like it will suck the air out of your lungs if you even open your lips to let out a whisper.
She nods her head and runs ahead, holding her owl. The man runs after her, and they keep going.
Hey! whispers someone else. They stop, turning to look at the third kitchen, where someone else was hiding too. Another one of theirs. Ruhr motions for him to be quiet and then nods her head, as the three of them move to the next door.
They enter a new corridor, exactly the same as the last one and all of the ones before it.
There is a door, closed, to the left. There is a kitchenette to the right, and straight ahead is, beyond the darkness that resides there, the room.
Something coughs and gurgles from the distant darkness. Ruhr tenses up and then runs to the kitchen. Hide! she hisses, crawling into her spot below the table.
Everyone scatters. The first man hides behind his box, as before, and the other one, looking around, searches for a place too. Ruhr pulls her legs in, holding herself and her owl as the steps come back down the corridor, together with the gurgling and the smell of smoke. The wood of the floor vibrates, shaking, as the creature trudges along.
The table shakes and the sound of gurgling and hacking fills her ears, as if someone were drowning in their own mucus, yet somehow still breathing at the same time.
She looks into the button eyes of her owl.
The other man finds a spot to hide.
From the shadows, Ruhr watches as the thing, the creature, stands in the middle of the corridor, having shambled its way out of the room once again. It stands there, perfectly still, as if it itself didnt know what it was doing. Its like an animal, sick with the biting-disease.
The creature turns its head, walking into the kitchen. Its features are present, but not so in any normally understood sense. It has eyes, but they are sunken in so deeply into its skull that there is nothing visible in them. It is more than a pair of hollow sockets, it is as if there was simply nothing there inside of the gaps but void. It has a nose that juts out of his face, red and fat, but it seems to have been broken so often that it turns and twists, almost winding back around in on itself. It has a mouth, but there is nothing in it except for a gullet, from which emanates the smells of vomit and smoke.
The creature shambles into the room, clutching itself against the doorways as if it couldnt walk properly without being able to do so.
It slaps around with its two hands, as it always does, trying to find his way through the house. His ability to see in the dark is extremely poor, having been lost along the way with his age. It reaches towards a box in the room, pulling out a long, green glass bottle that it doesnt bother uncorking. Instead, it lifts its head and begins to lodge the whole thing inside, neck first. But its mouth is much too small to fit any more than the neck of the bottle in.
So, the creature, determined, simply shoves the bottle in further despite that. Flesh rips as it forces the glass inside, tearing its lips wide open. The forces of its spasming, writhing body that fights the pain and the hand holding the glass cause the bottle to shatter mid-way through, inside of its own esophagus.
Glass crunches and wet, stinking liquid splashes around the room.
And then it, with glass embedded in its face and once-toothless gums, shambles back off into the darkness of the corridor, covered in red.
Ruhr sits in perfect silence.
She knows its game.
It isnt gone yet. Its standing there, pretending. Its waiting for her to make a sound. But she doesnt. She knows better. She doesnt want to go to the room.
But the man behind the box doesn't, and how could he? After all, this is her childhood memory.
He steps out of his hiding place, his little shoe stepping onto a piece of shattered glass.
It crunches.
A streaky, gnarled face with an open mouth looks back around the door, smiling a glass-toothed smile as it sees him.
The man screams, and Ruhr looks away, staring into the eyes of her owl.
She cant do anything about the sound, about the wet screams that come as the man is torn away, about the sound of his fingernails, scraping along the wood, grabbing pieces of glass to try and frantically stab himself free with, about his cries for help that she certainly isnt going to answer, but she can avoid looking.
Ruhr sits there, her legs pulled in, as she looks at her stuffed owl, running her thumbs over its soft head.
The man, if theres anything left of him, gets taken to the room by the creature, and everything is quiet again.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ 'Oh. My Bad.' Unlocked By: Making someone relive a horrific childhood trauma Reward: You and all of your monsters now do +2 DARK damage against children.
Swain sits on his throne, looking down at what has been presented to him.
Asshole.
After they had all of their moments and everything, he just let her go by herself, like a dick. Fucking Zac. That piece of shit.
The river-sorceress sits there, alone, staring at the ground, not sure what to do now. Is this it? Is this where shes going to end up dying, before ever really getting to be the person she wanted to be?
Why didnt she use her magic?
She could have just used her magic to fight off the creature, right? Its not like it was back then. She has magic now.
Why didnt she use it?
Ruhr rubs her face in frustration, releasing a muffled scream into her hands, red smears still covering her from head to toe.
Rough day? asks a voice.
Ruhr jumps together, turning to look in vague hopefulness.
Her ears droop as some man, an elf, sits down next to her. Oh, hey, she says, recognizing the priest from their expedition. You made it too? asks Ruhr. The man nods. Where are the others? asks Ruhr. Did you see Zacarias?!
The man looks at her and then shakes his head.
Oh says Ruhr. She looks back at the ground. I guess we should just wait then
We should keep moving, advises the priest. Theres only one direction for them to go, assuming they make it. Theyll catch up. She listens to his words. They make sense in a way, but they also dont. If they go ahead and wait for the others to catch up, thats still the same timespan as if they had waited here for them here. She supposes thats just him saying that they arent coming.
Ruhr purses her lips and gets up.
Im going back, says the river-sorceress.
Pardon?
FUCK! yells the half-elf. I said Im going back! repeats Ruhr, stomping past the priest and up the slant towards the exit of the previous floor.
Something moves out of the darkness ahead of her, shambling.
Ruhr narrows her eyes and then lights up. ZAC! she says excitedly, seeing the man covered in blood walking her way all by himself, but with a very strained gait, using his shield as a crutch. It looks like he messed up his leg badly.
Zacarias shambles her way.
Ruhr excitedly runs over to meet him as he lifts a hand, reaching for her.
(Zacarias) has used: [Noble Barrier]
A light envelops her vision, and Ruhr stops, turning around to look at the priest who was sitting next to her.
Hes surrounded by a magical shield. Hundreds of long, protruding, sharp legs have burst out of his mouth, eyes and ears, tapping and feeling around the inside of the bubble that it is trapped inside of.
Ruhr lets out a terrified scream, lifting her hands.
(Ruhr) has used: [Aquatic Dragon]
A serpent made out of water crashes against the rocks of the wall of the castle, pressing itself against the bubble and then surging towards the precipice.
The creature that had taken over the priests body, trapped inside of the shield, hurdles down into the abyss.
Ruhr spins around, grabbing Zacarias.
We were infiltrated, says the man, as she helps him down against the wall.
What happened, Zac?! she asks. I was coming back for you, I swear! says Ruhr, looking at his leg.
It changed, says Zacarias, shaking his head.
Ruhr looks at him. What?
When you left by yourself, the floor changed. The memory turned into somebody elses, he says, wincing as she pulls on his boot. It wasnt that bad, actually, explains Zacarias. Yours was way worse. He leans his head back against the wall. Always have to be the best at everything, huh?
You know it, Z-Bee, says Ruhr, pulling off his boot and then washing off his bloody leg with water. She turns her head, looking back. Just us? asks Ruhr.
Its quiet for a moment.
Just us, replies Zacarias. Ruhr forces a sad smile, looking back at him, and the two of them stare. Well? asks the man. Go on.
What? she asks.
Im waiting for the I told you so, he remarks.
Please, replies Ruhr. As if I would stoop to such childish things.
Zacarias rolls his eyes. Right. Moving on. Were just going to ignore what happened on floors nine and ten?
Ruhr pokes a finger into his hurt leg and the man sits upright, letting out a sharp gasp as his face goes pale.
Woops! says Ruhr. Silly me. She shakes off a hand, covered in old blood. Ruhr leans in, looking into his eyes. I slipped.
Zacarias sighs, leaning back against the wall. Slip into the pit next time, replies Zacarias. Dick.
Asshole, snaps Ruhr back at him.
Nice owl, nerd.
Fuck you, Zac! barks Ruhr. My owl was awesome as shit!
Zacarias looks around them. Why does that thing keep following you? Mustve been an important toy.
Ruhr sighs. Because, Zac, she says. Ruhr turns her head around towards the chasm and cups her hand by her mouth, raising her voice. THE DEMON-KING IS A FUCKING DICK! screams the river-sorceress, her voice echoing down the chasm and into the darkness deep below the world.
Welp, says Zacarias.
Right? asks Ruhr. Come on, shit-head. Ruhr, the river-sorceress isnt dying until at least the final-boss. I have standards.
Zacarias puts his boot back on and gets up, letting her help. Good to know that Im in professional hands, replies the man, shaking his head as the two of them hobble off into the darkness.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
The Demon-King stares up towards the endless abyss, listening to the complaining voice echoing down all the way to his throne-room now that they have finished their meal.
Well, thats just rude, says Cartouche, standing next to him. Wow. Some people.
Right? asks Byblos. She looks back at the table. I hope it didnt ruin the mood.
Swain shakes his head, rising to his feet. No. Thank you, Byblos, he says. It was excellent, praises the Demon-King.
He walks away from the table, returning to his throne as ghosts swoop in to clear the mess.
Those words that the blue-haired woman had just said.
The crudeness of them.
The simplicity of them.
The clear, simple annoyance behind them.
All of those things
Ah
The mouths on his body smile, the dozens of eyes glow in joy.
It sounded just like something she would have said. That was the way she talked. He remembers now. She was crude and harsh, with teeth as sharp as her words. This memory entwines itself with the other sparse few hints he has of the woman he is in pursuit of, the creature that has set him on this course to begin with.
Swain rests on his throne.
Tomorrow, the Demon-Kings castle will be within reach of one of the largest cities in the nation. There will be much work to do. But perhaps, until then, a little fun is allowed.
He smiles.
Its a carnival, after all.
Swain reaches up, taking a new ability.
NEW - (DEMON KING) ABILITY
[Distant Production](Passive)
Sometimes what matters most is not where you're doing something, but just that you're doing it at all.
Effect: By writing a poem on your throne, allows you to exert your influence within your castle without physically carving a poem into specific locations.
There once was an elf with blue hair,
In the Demon-Kings castle,
She had quite the hassle,
And now finds herself unable to swear ~
~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~
Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-Kings Castle LEVEL: 95
FUDGE! snaps Ruhr, kicking a rock to the side.
What? asks Zacarias, looking at her in confusion.
.I dunno, Zac, says Ruhr. I just felt like saying it.
Zacarias shrugs.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
There once was an elf with blue hair,
In the Demon-Kings castle,
She had quite the hassle,
And now finds herself unable to swear ~
Yet despite all her troubles,
In the digits, now doubles,
She finds a place to hide from despair,
After all, the Demon-King is nothing, but fair~
The pen scratches and then comes to a stop.
Swain nods as he hands the poem to a ghost to keep.
The blue-haired creature, wretched and vile as she is as a human, gave him something, a memory of her. So it is only right for him to give back.
Beauty lies in balance.
He would be a monster if he did not uphold that value.
New Area ~ [Dungeon] ~ Safe Room {Level 11B} A small, hidden safe room that is separate from the main powers of the dungeon. Adventurers are allowed to rest here, free from worries of assault and danger. All outside magical influences are negated.
~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~
Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-Kings Castle, Floor Eleven LEVEL: 95
Ruhr and Zac walk down the staircase.
A waft of fresh air hits her, cutting through the heavy, dank miasma of the demon-core. Its so strange and out of place that she almost feels startled by it. Ruhr turns her head, looking at a crack in the wall.
Zac says Ruhr, narrowing her eyes and looking through the gap. It looks like a rip in the mortar, and behind it is something that looks as if it has been hidden. A dungeon safe-room.
Surely the Demon-King isnt obliged to have these, like normal dungeons are, is he?
Ruhr breaks off a piece of rock with her hand and then blasts the rest of it away, making an opening to a small chamber on the other side. There, nested away from the horrors of the Demon-Kings castle, is a small, oddly white and pristinely clean space. The architecture and the design of the place is entirely other, compared to what lies outside. There is a basin of water and trays of food.
We cant trust this, says Zacarias. Lets keep going, says the man, hobbling forward another step.
Ruhr gracelessly yanks him back. Like fiddlesticks you are, snaps the river-sorceress, indifferent to his pained expression as he lands on his bad leg. Get in here! she orders, and tears the man into the safe-room.
~ [Shaushka] ~
Elf, Female, Classless Location: The Scorched Forest LEVEL: 04
Shaushka ambles through the woodland, chasing after flames.
She stares and watches the little fire, dancing beneath a pile of wood in a secret chamber, safe from the rain for now. The flame spins once and dies out with a bow, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
Ah Shaushka reaches for it, but it vanishes.
The elf frowns and lowers her hand, staring around herself now through the storm for a sign of something new.
But there is nothing.
Sadly, she sighs and lowers herself back down again.
Oh well.
Like always, something will be here soon to lead her to wherever shes going.
Head empty. Eyes full.