Chapter 1: The Gods are Merciful

"The greater the goal, the greater the sacrifice."

​

Five years have passed since saving the lives of three Fathers of Mercy and hundreds of citizens of Corcaea. Thrust into the spotlight, you've been trained in reading, writing, and the art of medicine. The hope is that your gifts will enable you to explore the ruins that litter the land. Legend tells of unimaginable secrets lost among their many stone halls.

The pack you carry is altogether too heavy for your emaciated frame. Cartography equipment, over 50ft of rope, 10 days of food rations and torches, and all of your medicinal herbs.

Ray, your faithful mastiff, barks happily from time to time as you trek deep into the wilderness. Over several days of hard marching, you see fragments of the ruins everywhere. Monuments to lost Kings. Statues in the image of the Gods. Strange carvings. Collapsed stone columns.

This will be your greatest pilgrimage. You know that the nobility is intensely interested in your mission, but you have your own reasons for exploring the ruins.

​ ​

There couldn't be a more noble goal than to search for a cure to humanity's greatest affliction: The Catalyst. Of course, you aren't the first human to have the idea. Many men and women go missing in the ruins each year, despite legend of the danger within. The few who have returned are usually scarred and traumatized beyond all recognition. Your heart is unusually light, given the threat of such danger. You know that you go forward not just for yourself, but for humanity. It's a good feeling.

You have to strain your neck to look up as you approach an unmistakable entrance to the ruins. Ray barks as he runs back and forth outside of the colossal stone passageway. Light seems to disappear as it approaches the only entrance. Massive, decaying stone tablets line the archway, its overgrowth, and all the walls around it. The walls are etched with countless inscriptions in a language that you do not recognize, despite your teachings. It doesn't help how weather-worn every letter is. On and around the odd runes and mysterious language are many carvings of strange beasts. Thanks to your experience in the field, you know these to be demons.

Your eyes continue to gloss over as the walls of the ruins stretch on and out into the forest. There are hundreds of depictions of winged creatures, masses of flesh, and oddly humanoid beasts.

Demons upon demons.

Your skin grows cold, despite the relative heat outside. You are no coward, but you sense that there is great danger ahead. Nevertheless, you must press on.

Approaching the entrance to the ruins, you dig a torch out of your pack and try to illuminate what's inside. Smoke and sparks flicker into the the entrance. It stretches on into a long, stone corridor. No existing sconces, lanterns, or other sources of light can be seen. Colossal carvings continue endlessly along the walls, ceiling, and floor. Within the shapes of demons and humanoid figures alike is more of the unintelligible writing. It ranges from small script, to over-sized letters larger than even your broad hands.

It is terribly dark ahead, and you know your light is limited.

"Here, boy!" Ray bounds towards you with his tail wagging happily. You pat the side of your leg, then lead a hand in front of his nose. "Follow me. Keep your nose out for trouble."

Your companion drops all pretense of play, and follows you obediently as you begin walking into the ruins. The light is a blessing, as there are countless pieces of rubble littering the floor. Within minutes of leaving the surface behind, the darkness becomes intense. Without a light source, you would be in serious trouble. Before you is only a small source of flame, and behind you lies nothing but shadow.

The light from the torch is waning. You can tell thanks to the notches in its side that an hour has passed by. The passage into the ruins has a steady decline, and you are having a harder and harder time keeping your footing. The soil is getting softer and moister, and you see more moss growing along the walls. The runes and carvings appear as if they had just been created. Sharp edges and crisp detail looks as though this passage has been untouched by the ravages of Time Herself.

Ray seems anxious as you continue walking. There are no signs of any human life. Thorough examination of the walls and floor does reveal that something is living down here.

Spiders. Only due to the light of your torch can you notice any of the small and thin webs. With your deeper procession come a deeper and thicker series of webs. Before long, it's impossible to find your footing. Ray struggles to step among the carpet of small spiders and densely woven webs. You see a few of the arachnids and their nests have already caught on his coat. Thankfully, the passage opens up ahead.

This will be a nightmare to clean later, but it should be worth it.

Ray respectfully keeps his distance when the mace comes out. You carefully start swatting at the webs. They collect rapidly, while carving out a practical path forward. The grip on both the mace and torch tightens upon reaching the opening in the passage.

A colossal chamber stands before you. Dense, red, wet webs are strung from the high and smooth ceiling, down to the mossy floor below. A slight descent blocks most of the branching pathways here from view. So far as you can tell (from your poor vantage point) there is an exit here. The sharp ascent to your right has no light to speak of. Venturing forward reveals no life or additional features in the cavern, save for the density of the webs deeper in.

Your mace gets stuck. The iron handle of your altogether-too-heavy weapon is pulled on with all your might. It's wedged deeply within the webs. Either you're weaker than you thought, or...

"This was not made by something of this world."

The muttering to Ray under your breath is met with a snarl. Your eyes snap towards a hulking mass that moves in the corner of your eyes. The shadow may have come from one of the furthest corridors, and you know it couldn't have been a trick of the eye. Heart racing, you try pulling on the mace again. Your hands are so sweaty, it's hard to tell if it gave slightly or if it was just your hands slipping. Stone scraping against stone scrapes against the deep and rumbling voice from the north.

"There's no use running..."

A chill runs down your spine, and you feel a spider crawl up your sleeve. Ray's coat bristles as he snarls and drools, practically begging you to attack the source.

"Come on." You grit your teeth. "It's going to take a lot more than this to make me turn around." Readjusting your grip on the mace's coarse handle is scraping your palms raw. One more attempt to wrest it free makes it slip slightly, but there's no time to linger over releasing it. Abandoning the attempt, you swing your shield high with a shout. "Ray!" His ears perk up, and he moves to obey before the command leaves your lips. "BEHIND ME!"

A behemoth of a demon skitters out from the darkness. Its stony face is a mockery of both man and spider. Hundreds of beady black eyes shine against your torchlight. A split jaw is curled back in a rictus grin. Eight meaty legs bring the monstrosity ever-closer as it dances along its many webs. Shrouds of blood-red gore and decay prevent you from seeing where the stone of its face and torso ends, and the arachnid's fleshy lower legs begins. The boulders of its teeth and the mountain of its body eclipses your sight, the chamber, and all light. Darkness takes hold as it creeps up, above you and Ray, and onto the ceiling with impossible dexterity and speed.

​

Kneeling down, shield high, you fight to not retch at the odor of rot. Ray has yet to move. You'll die before letting this demon get so much as a glimpse at him. "Good boy."

The steady drip of Ray's saliva is the only sound for many long moments, while he bares his teeth. He'll readily tear through rock and flesh alike to protect you. The sight of your boy slowly fading into darkness makes you realize what the demon has been waiting for.

Your torch is running out.

You can't afford to be in complete darkness. It pains you to do so, but you take your eyes off of the demon and Ray for the briefest of moments to get another torch out of your pack.

Stale air rushes forward as the colossal demon lunges to attack. While the embers of your torch threaten to go out, and you are embraced in darkness, you let loose a single shout. "RAY!"

He faithfully leaps in front of you, snarling for a few excruciatingly long moments. While you light the new torch with the embers of the old, all that can be heard is your hound barking. His teeth gnash ahead of you. Embers are stoked into flame. Casting your light ahead and bringing your shield up once more is a challenge thanks to how severely you're shaking.

Ray is just ahead in the cavern, bound in web and biting aggressively at his bonds. It's righteous anger that has you scream at the demon and take a bold step forward. "What have you done?!"

A wave of terror hits you as you realize you've lost your temper, and you nearly drop the torch as you try to cover your mouth.

At the sight of your panic, a cacophony of laughter answers, mixed painfully in with the sound of an avalanche. The only boulders that are falling are the teeth that slowly descend from the ceiling to leer at you. "Come and see," the voice drawls— harsh as stone, and sickeningly sweet. "Come and see your pet, ensnared like so many before. Keep coming... deeper into my web. See how far your heroism takes you."

Tears well in your eyes. Mercy forgive your language, but no one fucking touches your dog.

You feel like a child again— like the little boy in Pontos who was bullied and beaten so many times before. You think back to your parent's teachings, and how they cautioned you so many times against praying to the Gods for trivial matters. Fear was on them each and every time they warned you. They tried to hide it, but they knew all along what you were capable of.

You have always been so close to the Gods. Your devotion has been unwavering from the first day you asked Vengeance for guidance. Your first prayer to the God of retribution is clear in your mind. The desperation that you felt. The way that you begged for deliverance from the beatings and suffering inflicted on you. When Vengeance broke every bone in that child's body through you— that very same righteous fury completes you now.

There's no tears now. You slowly set the torch down on the floor beside you, without parting your gaze from the demon for an instant. Burnt dust and the smell of smoke catches on the air. Both of your trembling hands clasp together, as you pray to the God of Vindication.

The first words that leave your lips catch in your throat. A stream of black bile and blood begins to ooze from your mouth. The acrid and thick liquid pools from your lips to your chin, while Ray whines and gnashes against the bonds ensnaring him. The sight of your boy bound and helpless redoubles your anger— and with the spike in your anger comes a spike from the liquid produced by the invocation.

The jet-black liquid swirls and takes on a violent shape. The sight and sour smell of the weapon grows fainter by the second. Only the heat of the torch beside you provides an anchor to reality. Lifetimes upon lifetimes of slaughter are dragging you down into an abyss of hatred.

Vomit pools at the back of your throat with the taste and sight of this demon's victims. A web spins time after time in endless darkness. There is no Mercy here. This creature has lured thousands into this dark hole, never to be seen again. Men, orcs, elves, halflings— neither race nor identity nor purpose matters. Nothing save for the time before becoming a demon. A time of life, and a deep love of violence. Passion for slaughter. The sharp and quick fall beyond the abyss, into the state it is in now.

There's something more.

You feel the call of the Catalyst.

A scream rips itself out from your throat, and is choked into the flood of liquid pain that's been steadily produced by the invocation. You stagger, struggling to keep your balance as the bile and blood dissipates around you. Weakness parts your hands from their hold against one another, and you frantically look around for the demon. Vengeance would not work through you. Not against a creature this powerful and ancient.

Laughter echoes throughout the ruins. You discard all pretense of self-preservation, and rush forward. "RAY! HOLD ON—!"

Your torch comes out, purely to tear through the webs to get to your dog. As your pulse is racing, the demon is content to wait in the shadows. Reaching Ray takes only a few moments, though the torch is ruined. In the deepest of night, you use your bare hands to rip the webs off from your boy. A low, red light emanates from the spider's work all around you. It grants you just enough sight to see the demon suddenly descend.

The weight of the world is surreally suspended directly above you, while the demon leers closely enough to see the moss and grit between its stony teeth. If your mace was still in hand, its split maw would be only just out of your reach. There's no mistaking that this behemoth could kill you now— if it wished. In an impossibly low voice—lower than the depths of the earth— the demon speaks. "You have suffered me, human. I know you wished to kill me, yet here you stand.... unaffected by the Catalyst."

The comment is a splash of cold water on the red-hot haze that's been plaguing you. Your efforts to free Ray slows as you continue to let off steam.

He should be capable of freeing himself.

The webs that were binding your boy are weaker and thinner than any you've encountered here in this den of debauchery.

Is this demon playing with me? Why isn't he killing me?

"We must suffer those who suffer to live..."The demon's voice is almost imperceptible, despite his immense size and close proximity. Every hair on your weakened body is standing on end. "The Gods do not suffer us to live, human..."

This demon doesn't want to kill me.

You start racking your brain for any mention of a demon that wasn't a homicidal monster. In all of the church's teachings, not a single record, story, legend, tale, or single account comes to mind. "What do you want with me?"

"I endure through the ages. Victim after victim crawls into my web unwittingly. I have suffered countless imbecilic assaults... I stretch my legs, human, but I wish to stretch my mind. Do this for me, and I will do something for you in turn." Your mind unravels slightly, as the demon does something you've never seen one do before. It smiles. Its stony teeth, pocketed with bones and moss, glare at you in the torch light.

"J-just a moment."

It's too much for you to keep it back. Turning away from the worst of its odor, you lose the battle not to vomit. Ray licks the side of your hands to try to reassure you, and helpfully retches as well at the taste of the filth that's on your fingers.

The demon patiently waits. You get the impression that this creature has more patience in the cracks on its face than you do in your entire body.

You wipe your mouth on your sleeve, and say with displeasure, "Sure. I'll tell you a tale. How would you like to hear about a man of the world outside?"

"OooooOOOOooohh," the demon drawls. Its voice borders on obscenity as it lolls its head to the side. "That does sound tantalizing. It surely has been an age or two since I've heard of the world above."

Grinning, the demon slowly descends from the ceiling— right beside you. For its size, you expect the webs he settles upon to break or buckle under the weight of his form. Not a single strand does so much as bend. "Tell me more, human. Tell me of the ways of the insects that creep and crawl above our ruins."

You can't tell if it's trying to threaten you by staying so close, but Ray is growling. "Stay, boy." You whisper, before giving into the urge to wet your throat. Though you need to ration the little water you've brought, the bile from Vengeance's prayer is doing a number on you. Putting away your water-skin and clearing your throat once or twice helps you find your voice again. It's timid, like usual, when you're talking about yourself. "Where to begin..."

You look to the demon, and ask it a question first. "What age was it— when you lived above this place? I know you must have been a human once."

"Before the sky was dark, before the War of Extermination. Before the land was cleaved in twain. I was there among the cities before the ruins. In the narrowest alleys, bedfellow to the rats and roaches. I lurked in the shadows even then, and the age was known as the Cause of War."

You listen intently, and rake your mind for anything that matches your own historical study. This creature predates any known civilization that you have ever heard of. "Perhaps you've heard of this, then: The man I'd like to tell you about comes from the little town of Pontos, in the country of Corcaea..." You watch the demon's face as you say the last name, seeing if you can catch a glimpse of recognition.

A long minute passes, then two. "...go on, human." The demon finally says, with no humor in his voice.

"The man was once a boy, and his name was Richard Anscham. The boy grew up alone— with no brothers, and no sisters. His parents— and many others in Pontos— were very ill. Richard's parents had great difficulty having any more children, and Richard himself was always sick. He'd get terrible headaches. He looked terrible. The other children in the village bullied him mercilessly."

Hopefully the dark masks the bags under your eyes and the bridge of your broken nose.

"Richard's parents comforted their boy, by teaching him about the only good in this world: the Gods. They worshiped Agriculture, a Goddess who bestowed bountiful harvests on those who were devoted to her. The people in the land of Corcaea worshiped other Gods, too. Churches of each member of the pantheon protected the land— and tried to save the people from themselves."

Reverence seizes you. "There was Storm, who fights often with Agriculture. Richard was taught of the God of Flesh and the Goddess of Spirit when he was sick and tired. His parents argued frequently about whether it was wiser to worship one or the other— but he knew that it was wisest to worship all of the Gods with equal diligence."

No matter the merits of balance and equality, the last of the pantheon is given special treatment. You drop your voice to a whisper. "Richard was told about the God of Dreams each night before he went to sleep. Dream is said to be very creative— worshiped by many bards and craftsmen." A cold sweat gathers on the nape of your neck. You gulp. "...and the Goddess of Time, who was rarely spoken of, but is feared by many. You may not know of mortality, demon— but to many humans, She is to be left to her own devices."

The demon is laying its head on two of its spider-like legs like a child listening to a fairy tale. The picture is deeply unnerving. Enough to give you pause.

"Well?" The demon impatiently waves one of its legs at you. "Go on."

"Richard loves the Gods. He asked his parents countless times to teach him how to pray— about their symbols— and how— and how to please them. He hoped—" Fidgeting with the edge of your torch surely can't be seen in the absence of light. "He hoped that they could make him strong. His parents always cautioned him against calling on the Gods for aid. They warned him that the Gods were just. And that— and that was why Mercy—" Your fidgeting intensifies. "The Goddess of compassion is worshiped primarily by the King."

You pause again, and look to the demon to explain. "King Magnus 'the Merciful' rules over Corcaea, you see. He favors the Church of Mercy above all others— and they are usually the ones to preach to the populace about the importance of apathy, and— and restraint."

"Of course," the demon replies. "But go on."

"The last deity that Richard learned of was Vengeance. His parents were wary, and— and rightfully so. Richard did something terrible to one of the boys in the village, thanks to his worship of Vengeance. It was clear to Richard that he loved him." A demon doesn't need to know about your relationship with the Gods— let alone how you are blessed by Him, or how much Vengeance has favored you. "Richard knew that he was protected, even when the Church of Mercy came to kill him..."

You swallow hard, and choke down the thought of your father collapsing to the floor in your home. Torches. Pitchforks.

"But..."

Ray licks the side of your hand. He can tell how upset you are, even if you're doing your best to hide it. The demon, of course, doesn't recognize the emotion. "I may have an eternity down here, but I don't want to spend all of it waiting, human. What happened next?"

"The Church was so impressed, that they took Richard. They took him from his parents, and they trained him in the ways of Mercy. They were very careful to never leave him alone again. Richard grew up— never having loved a woman or knowing life in the world outside..."

What am I saying? Why is this hurting so much?

You slump down next to Ray. He licks at you again. Picking cobwebs out from his fur is oddly cathartic. If only picking at painful old memories felt as sweet. You force levity into your tone, and give a pained smile to the demon towering above you. "But it— it was good to not be alone. To be among people who cared for me— and to have the Gods."

You don't catch your slip, and continue with the story. "I... became so strong. Unbelievably strong. You're the first demon who's ever challenged me, and— I don't even know your name."

"Those within the ruins have bestowed upon me the moniker, 'Master of Webs'. You, Richard, may call me Malimos." His colossal head bows slightly.

You silently nod back.

Why am I telling this demon all of this? Why am I having the most human conversation of my life with this abomination?

Malimos makes no attempt to move towards you. He seems satisfied with your tale— yet also doesn't move to grant you safe passage.

You get back to your feet, feeling a little more sure of yourself. "Malimos, then...? Can I ask you something in return?"

"You may. I've enjoyed your tale."

"I don't presume to know how you feel about your life. The things you've done. But if you could have lived a different life— would you?"

The demon's smile returns. He seems to be reminiscing. "Ah... if I could have done things differently..." His smile broadens. "No, I think not. I have relished these many lifetimes— perpetuating the suffering of others. I was an excellent monster of a man, for the short time I was one." The demon trails off, and his eyes close in bliss. "My wife was shorter lived still. I think she hated me, until the very last few moments... but alas, Richard, I think not. Perhaps I would have liked to have met you a few hundred years sooner, before my memory has faded as much as it has. But that is all."

Malimos' stony eyes open, and he skitters to the center of the room. Your torchlight barely illuminates him, as his voice echoes out to you. "I will clear one of these passages for you. It would be a waste of my work to clear them all. To the north is my den, and my many lesser demons dine there. It would be suicidal to plunge in carelessly, as they are always hungry. They wander the ruins. I will command as many as I am able to not attack you— but I cannot guarantee that they all will abstain."

Your skin crawls, and you brush one or two spiders off of your robes. As the demon speaks, you take a moment to wrest your mace completely free from the webs it's become entrapped in.

"The paths on either side of the den lead deeper into the ruins. Many traps lie beyond... this place is built to wear on the stone that is the heart of humankind. Many who come here forget what it is to be human."

That same stony smile leers at you again. You are rapidly remembering your hatred for anything of this creature's kind, but you check yourself. "What of those two?" You ask, nodding towards the two corridors that Malimos has yet to identify.

"To the east is a passage to a strange pocket of the ruins. Some say therein lies its greatest secrets... but I have never seen any return from there, in all my many years. Natural and unnatural creatures lay in ruin among the stone there. Not even I know what lies in the deepest recesses of that wing. To the west is another passage to the surface. The steep incline is a natural defense for my demons, and a certain demise for all those who resist them. You would have great difficulty scaling its slopes."

"J-just— just a minute—" You say, grabbing your pack.

This is what I came down here for. Right?

You scramble to get your cartography equipment out. It's going to take you a few minutes, but this gives you some time to decide where to go next.

This is more your speed. Trusting the unknown! You gesture broadly towards the eastern passage with your torch. "Please clear a path to that wing."

The demon nods its colossal head. "As you wish."

​

He picks a patch for you from the center of the cavern over to the wing you've indicated. The demon's motions are mesmerizing, as he lifts the blood-red strings from the rock and stone, and drops them harmlessly to the floor. Before long, a tunnel has been cleared, with dense walls of his webs still on either side. You cautiously proceed, and call Ray to your side. Your mastiff obeys, looking a little worse for the wear. It's obvious to you that Malimos did not hurt him earlier.

This demon has (shockingly) given you little reason to not trust him. At the edge of his lair, you linger— wanting to leave this place with more than what you entered with. "I— I came here to cure the Catalyst. I want to find a way—"

The demon erupts into laughter. The very walls quake with the sound of it. You see hundreds of spiders skitter around in their webs, frightened out of hiding. It takes a moment for your heart to settle down as the laughter subsides. "CURE?! Oh, surely, you must be exhibiting that which the humans call humor!"

"N-no," you start, struggling to keep your anger in check. "I am not."

Ray barks, seemingly trying to help you convince the demon of your sincerity.

"Oh, oh— please, Richard! Spare me your whimsy! You have already entertained me quite enough! I will be sated for another thousand years— oh aha ha ha HA!"

You furiously storm off deeper into the ruins. It would be dangerous to try your patience any further. You try to think calming thoughts, but feel a headache mounting.

The pain will become excruciating if you don't stop it. You try to focus on the smell of the moss, and the cooler air in the passage that you've entered. Holding the torch aloft, you can see that the growth thickens the further in you walk. It's soft and rather pleasant, and doesn't obscure all of the writings and etchings that adorn the area once more.

At least another hour passes. The torchlight is dwindling. The dimming light halts further attempts to admire the strange language inscribed on the walls, and the accompanying portraits of many armored figures alongside it. There must be hundreds of unique heraldry that you've seen, as it has been quite a long time without any sign of another branch in the passage.

With a deep sigh, you light your third torch. As you do so, Ray's ears perk up. Two distinct sounds resonate far down the passage: trickling water, and very heavy footsteps.

The light at the edge of your torch is met by a wall of solid darkness. There's no telling how much of the passage remains— or how far off the sound came from.

You thrust the newly lit torch forward, call Ray to your side, and mutter. "Here, boy. Let's see who's trying our patience." You're bold, but not a psychopath. Better to protect yourself and your dog moving forward than to give off the wrong impression. The hold of your shield arm redoubles. Even down here, you're still a man of the Gods. "Show yourself!"

The moss seems to be hurting the acoustics of the passageway. Your voice is muffled, and there's no echo from your call. Surely enough, no one answers.

"I— I mean it! Show yourself!"

No one responds, and the footsteps promptly cease. Only your plodding, your dog's light steps, and the tickle of water registers. Eventually, the light of day meets your torch.

We're way too far underground. How is this possible? Sorcery?

The path breaks off ahead into a vertical descent. From below the ledge just ahead is a free-flowing waterfall. Flanking either side of the strangely silent plunge are two staircases. Unfortunately, they are both so dilapidated that they have completely decayed in their center. Beyond their gap are two doors. Daylight shines so brightly from within them, there's no way to discern what lies beyond. The same steep drop lies below the stairs, and both doors. Several rocks crumble a few feet away your sodden shoes, and drop into the waterfall. More light shines from below.

"Back, boy."

From one of the doors ahead comes a flash of shadow, and the sound of the heavy footsteps. The figure that darted across the frame moved too fast for you to get a good look at it.

"HEY!"

No reply.

You cautiously step forward. Eroded stone threatens to crumble beneath your feet. A glance behind fails to reveal where the water is coming from. It flows without breaks. There's merely the corridor you entered from, and solid rock. Just as you turn your gaze back, the figure flits across the same doorway again.

Is he toying with me, too?!

"HEY!!"

Pain bursts behind your brow. Several rocks give way from Ray's feet as he instantly steps near to you. Staggering backwards, you nearly double over in agony while struggling to keep your footing. You plead, as your vision swims from the pain. "Not now." It's like someone's driving a dagger through the back of your skull. You can't tell if the figure is lingering in the doorway, or if you're seeing spots. The pain is escalating rapidly. "No, no no no..."

You slide down, unable to stand. Speech escapes you, so you gesture for Ray to come over. He instantly complies, and leans hard against you— while growling at whatever it is that must be lurking ahead.

Is the pain more like a cold knife being stabbed into my temples? Or is it more like a very hot one?

Is this some sort of retribution?

Is this is what it feels like to die?

Your musings are difficult to manage, as even the sound of the rushing water is excruciating. The pain is reaching a crescendo. You close your eyes, and hold onto Ray. The sounds of the ruins grate against your heightened senses. The crumbling stone. The rushing water. The droplets from the staircases trickling onto the rushing stream below you. Heavy footsteps. "Ray." A pat on his side. Defend.

You are reluctant to remove a hand from his fur, but the source of comfort is far less important than your physical safety. His growling is met with your yell, as the pain spikes at the sudden noise. He's heard something else, too. Soft paws tread over the ruined stone below your feet, with a few steps towards some unknown creature.

What is on me?

Panicked, unable to really see, you back up against the stone behind you for support. "S-stay back—!"

It's the most bizarre sensation you've ever felt. It's as if five— ten— even twenty hands are crawling along your robes. In absolute terror, you try to brush them off, but the movement is too much. You double over, trying not to scream. The hands move away.

The world goes dark.

Your eyes slowly open, with residual pain from the headache still lingering. Afraid of setting it off again, you cautiously hold one hand to your head. The motion is awkward, thanks to your position. Ray happily licks your face, while your eyes are screwed shut. It seems you've been lying face-down on the floor of the ruins. Your eyes bolt open wide.

Adjusting to the light below, you're slightly hanging off the ledge. A spray of rushing water flecks onto your face. Heart racing, you inch backwards. Several stones crumble off and fall. It takes a full minute before they crash below, and get swallowed by the current. You swallow hard.

What was on me?

You look around with wide-eyes for any sign of the perpetrator. No one catches your eye. Not even the flitting figure from the doorway. You'd grit your teeth in frustration, but your entire head is still throbbing.

At least the pain is manageable. How long was I even out for...?

The torch you were carrying must have been cast aside. Dragging yourself over to it reveals that the item is cold to the touch. You've been out for at least two hours, but it could be longer. The daylight coming from above is unchanged, and equally unhelpful. "We'd better get moving, boy."

He wags his tail excitedly, looking to the ruined staircases for permission to go ahead. "Well. Maybe not just yet."

The one to your left is almost completely destroyed. Moss is growing neatly along the cracks and creases of its ruins stone. It's a bigger leap, but might have more structural integrity. The one to your right is substantially more intact, but stones have fallen from it almost every time you've moved. It's a shorter jump, though. Less room for error.

Good thing I'm a lightweight.

Taking a deep breath, you fish the length of rope out of your pack and begin to search the stone wall for anything to hook on to. Many of the stones crumble under your hand as you pull and nudge every outcropping you can see, but eventually you find one that holds. "Perfect."

Your long fingers aren't quite cooperating as you clumsily tie a series of knots in the rope, around your waist, and ultimately onto the outcropping on the wall. You test it again, pulling harder with your weight. It doesn't show any signs of give. "Alright, Ray." You pat him on the head, and gesture towards the edge of the stone you've been standing on. "Here we go."