jmclarke
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Chapter 640: The Dark beneath the Throne
🕑 Added 2023-07-28 21:05:08 +0000 UTCThe throne loomed ahead, rising at the other end of the chamber.
Uldar’s body slumped to the side just as it had when they’d first found him.
As it had for thirty-five hundred years.
He was silent.
He was still.
And they were about to desecrate him.
Some didn’t think too highly of the idea.
“We cannot disturb our dead god!” Merzhin’s voice rose. “It is vile! You would not dig up the body of a loved one from a graveyard, would you?”
“I would in an instant if the fate of a kingdom was on the line,” Khalik said, leading the group toward Uldar’s throne.
Others hesitated, held back by their own aversion to desecrating the dead, along with long held beliefs about disrespecting the occupant of a throne.
Only Khalik, Claygon, and Grimloch seemed unconcerned.
The prince moved like someone whose bloodline was used to sitting on a throne; comfortable and at ease. Where the others saw the throne as a symbol of authority, Khalik saw it for what it was:
A large chair.
Claygon had no context for what disrespecting royalty or divinity meant; the golem understood protecting, and would gladly punch deities and monarchs, if it meant safeguarding his father and family.
As for Grimloch?
He just didn’t care.
“We should not be doing this,” Merzhin said, wringing his hands. “Oh, Uldar forgive me.”
Several Watchers, as well as Tyris, Theresa, and Thundar shot the Saint annoyed glances; tired of his shaky protests and increasingly losing patience with him.
Alex looked at him, then focused on the Mark; it showed him images of Carey talking, her words, her rhythm and diction.
Memories of her last wishes came to him.
And he used them.
“Merzhin,” Alex said gently, speaking before anyone could voice their own objections. The Mark helped him alter his tone and diction, taking a fraction of his late friend’s way of speaking and infusing it with his own. But, not enough to be obvious.
“Carey wanted us to do what we have to to find out what we can, didn’t she? That was her last wish,” Alex said quietly. “Uldar is gone, his sanctum shows us how much he loved Thameland and his people. He would want us to help them, don’t you think? Both he and Carey would want us to do everything we can to help the people. Let’s not disappoint them, alright?”
The Saint of Ular looked at Alex for a moment, a whirlwind of emotions passing over his face. Resentment. Anger. Shock. Hurt. Sadness. Pain. Fear. Uncertainty.
And finally, resignation.
“Can all of you help me move Uldar from his throne?’ He said, his voice sounded pained. “His body should be moved respectfully before we examine his things.”
“That’s reasonable,” Alex said, looking at the corpse of the god. “We’ll take care of him.”
“Thank you…” the Saint said. “You and I still have your desertion to discuss, but that can be later. For now, we are brothers.”
Alex simply nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.
As they reached the throne, the young wizard took a closer look at Uldar’s body. The god was very tall—surprisingly tall for a human, though his features were human—and at one time, he would have been the perfect image of sculpted physical power.
In death, his broad shoulders still retained their resemblance to statues of the powerfully built god; but, his trunk had narrowed, and his muscles had wasted away.
Alex eyed the dried black ichor.
He remembered what Grimloch had said.
“I would like our Thameish brothers and sisters to bear his body,” the Saint said quietly. “Better he be carried by his people rather than strangers from other realms.”
“Aye, seems fittin’,” Cedric said. “Well, Alex, Hart, Drestra, Theresa. It’s time t’lay the old man down.”
Together, the five Heroes of Thameland—and Theresa Lu—arranged themselves around the throne and raised Uldar up, firmly gripping his robes. His body wasn’t rigid—as most dead bodies would have been—though the chill of death was plain.
Alex was struck by how smooth his skin looked, and the peaceful expression on his face as the six pallbearers gently bore the god from his throne, and laid him near it. The young wizard watched Merzhin looking upon Uldar, anguish filling his face as he placed Uldar’s hands on his chest and began chanting funeral rites over his body.
‘How many people in the world have ever had this experience?’ Alex wondered. ‘To carry the body of their own god? You could probably count them on two hands…and most of them are right here in this room.’
“Careful, Thundar,” Isolde said from behind Alex. “This throne is likely where faith in Uldar collects. Remember, it is the focus. If his throne is damaged or broken, Cedric and Merzhin would probably lose their divinities.”
Alex turned, realising his companions weren’t wasting any time. They’d already begun going over the now empty throne.
His cabal was carefully examining it, keeping clear of the stains—searching for panels or hidden catches that could expose a secret passage.
Behind them, the Watchers were testing the wall behind the throne.
“You all didn’t waste any time, did you?” Hart said. “That’s not a criticism, just acknowledging a fact.”
“I tire of the runaround we’ve been given.” Khalik examined the unsoiled hand rest. “So far there has been a secret church keeping secrets, Uldar himself keeping secrets, that fae lord you made your deal with has been keeping secrets. All of this secretiveness wears on one. I, for one, am through with secrets. I want answers, lots of them.”
He looked at his cabal mate. “Isolde, do you see anything that looks like a switch?”
“No.” She said, examining the back of the throne. “Thundar, do you?”
“Hm?” The minotaur was looking at the throne’s base. “No switch or pressure plates down here. Alex, why don’t you have a look, you’re good at searchi—”
“Wait, hold on.” Theresa squinted at the throne. “Uldar wouldn’t need a switch to move his throne.” She looked at Cedric. “Hey, Chosen of Uldar, try praying that the throne moves. Focus your divinity on it.”
The Chosen frowned. “Might be that’d work; the divinity in here trickles down to us anyway, an’ your idea’s loads smarter than tryin’ t’smash the throne or somethin’. Alright, everyone stand back, jus’ in case.”
As the cabal moved away from Uldar’s throne, Cedric lifted a hand toward it and closed his eyes. “Oh holy Uldar, please part the way for us so that we might pass and do your will.”
Silence followed.
It lingered.
Cedric shrugged. “Well, ya had a good tho—”
A deep grinding noise suddenly buried his words.
“Holy Uldar!” Cedric shouted.
The god’s throne was sliding aside, revealing a staircase leading down to a passageway. Though the rest of the sanctum was filled with white light, this corridor was shrouded in shadow, turning to complete darkness the deeper it went.
Everyone peered into the dark.
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t look ominous,” Thundar said, his tone a pit of sarcasm. “Not ominous at all.”
“We are about to pry into a dead god’s hidden chambers.” The prince gave him a look. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know what I expected, frankly,” Thundar grunted.
Isolde conjured an electric blue forceball. “Let us hope that this area has no traps waiting. Come, time to see what Uldar had hidden away from the rest of his sanctum.”
Merzhin finished the final words of his funerary chant, then joined them as they descended into the gloom below Uldar’s throne. Very quickly, the passageway fell into utter darkness, with their only source of light, the electric blue forceball that hovered just in front of them.
The young noblewoman let the ball drift back and forth, examining the tunnel for tripwires, pressure plates or other hidden traps. Alex—using the Mark—searched the path ahead, looking for hidden seams or switches along the white stone walls.
They found no traps, but did find two doors at the end of the dim hallway.
One rose in front of them, surrounded by a plain door frame, while the other was on the left, framed with carvings of swords, spears and shields, all intertwined.
White light poured through the gaps between the doors and their frames.
“I think it’s a safe bet that one’s the armoury.” Tyris pointed at the door framed with carved weapons, then took a look at the other one. “I’m guessing that’s his lab.”
“Only…one way…to find out…” Claygon rumbled. “Be ready…for anything…”
The golem stomped forward and gripped the door handle.
He nodded, once the others were ready, then slowly pushed the door open.
Bright, white light flooded out, cutting through the darkness in the hallway, blinding everyone momentarily.
Alex gasped as his eyes adjusted to the light.
There it was, just as they’d hoped: a huge, well-equipped alchemy lab…
…if one was using standards set millenia ago.
The room was filled with archaic alchemical equipment that he’d read about in the early chapters of his first year alchemy textbook.
In the centre of the space sat an enormous cauldron, covered with glyphs of power. It looked large enough for Claygon, Grimloch and Brutus—in his battle-form—to fit inside and still have room to move around. Inside, was a giant tool shaped like a spoon, made of glyph-inscribed aeld wood, from the look of it.
Multiple ovens yawned open in the walls with mounds of coal inside; chimneys rose above them…where they vented to….Alex had no idea, which was fine since he had no intentions of firing up Uldar’s ovens.
Unsurprisingly, shelves holding glass beakers, flasks and bottles placed beside archaic tools, were well organised.
There was nothing in the room as advanced as even the simplest of mana conductors; which meant that any alchemy that took place in this chamber would have had more in common with an ancient witch’s ceremony from the old legends, than a modern crafting process that one would find taking place behind Generasi’s walls.
Everything was thoroughly organised.
Tools were placed in proper rows, arranged for easy access.
Ingredients were on another shelf; herbs for medicines, monster parts for experiments and…
“Oh holy shit,” Alex muttered.
There was an obsidian chalkboard near the cauldron, and on it, a detailed anatomical diagram was drawn.
An anatomical diagram of a familiar creature standing on three legs, its many eyes at the end of long stalks.
“It’s a bloody petrifier!” Alex said.
“Oi, was he studyin’ petrifiers?” Cedric asked. “Maybe he was tryin’ ta figure out how Ravener-spawn worked?”
“Maybe…” Alex said, stepping further into the laboratory, taking everything in. “What do you think of this place, Isolde?”
“It is obviously archaic, but very well-equipped…” she said. “Some of his tools seem to be ahead of their time. If Uldar died thirty-five hundred years ago, then he must have created some of his own tools that were invented independently much later. Some of these devices—particularly the items for golem crafting—were invented well after thirty-five hundred years ago.”
She ran her fingers along a mortar and pestle. “They seem well-maintained, though most of the supplies for potion making are not as well sorted as the golem crafting supplies.”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “His golem crafting tools look pristine, like they were especially well taken care of. It seems he focused on golem crafting, but, there aren’t any golems in his sanctum, so what—”
Something struck the young wizard.
Dungeon cores and golem cores were similar.
“—Oh shit.”
“What is—” Isolde started to ask.
Her words were cut off by Khalik’s exclamation in Tekish.
The prince was in front of a desk in a corner of the room, staring at two objects in his hands.
In his left, he held a large bottle full of roiling chaos essence, kept preserved by glyphs inscribed on the glass.
In his right hand—which was shaking—he held an open book.
“What do you have there?” Drestra asked.
“It’s a book of alchemical diagrams…” Khalik’s voice was unsteady. “But, by the Sapphire Sea...”
He slowly turned the book toward his companions.
Gasps escaped them.
Filling the page was a detailed diagram, heavy with as many specifications as one would need to craft a typical golem.
But, there was nothing typical about the design on the page as it wasn’t for a typical construct.
It featured a familiar black orb.
“A dungeon core.” Alex whispered. “Their composition resembles a golem’s because they’re both constructs…”
“Alex, this is not a plan for a dungeon core,” Khalik said grimly. “Look closer, the heading says it’s a diagram for…”
He paused.
“...the Ravener.”
###
Author's Note
Hello twenty-four cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!
BOOM. CONFIRMATION.
Several people are gonna be screaming I KNEW IT!!!
Cya tomorrow!
Comments
Allastin
You know, Uldar is kinda like a game dev lol
Sebastian Lachs
To be fair, it was fucking obvious.
