Care for a Foot? (Seidaku)

[Ulric]

Ulric raised an eyebrow and reached for his knife. He turned his upper body back so he could stare at the other man’s face, his gaze darting furtively at the carving. It was unnerving. It was just a few scratches on the plaster, so why did he feel uneasy? That was foolish. That was the sort of thing that worried a child, not a man who’d faced down a goddess and made her run. “Move,” he grunted, pushing back down the steps, and swung the knife. There was a gratifying thunk as it struck the plaster, carrying away a few chunks. He drove the point down, using to pry away half of the face, then ripped the other away with his hands. He spat on the ground, his face dark with contempt for the maker. “Not much of a carving now, huh?” Ulric ascended the stairs, his cold laughter echoing on the dusty boards and bowed rafters. Naturally, the stairs led to a cellar. Not the sort of cellar he’d like to have come upon, stocked with a barrels of beer and stores to last a season, but a harsh, squat chamber whose stone floor was ringed by concentric circles of white powder. There was a lectern in the center. The wood was bleached and broken, yet its metal holders were burnished to a fine sheen. There was a candle on the ground. To him, the entire room stank of cults and magery. “I’m starting to wonder,” he began, scratching the back of his head, “If this might be a good time to leave.”

[Seidaku]

Between the look on Ulric's face, and the hand now resting on an unnecessarily large knife hanging from his belt, Seidaku felt a completely justified flush of fear. Had he misjudged? Now that they were away from the door, was he going to take a knife in the ribs and end up nothing more than a carved up appendage, a prop to lure in another victim?

Backing hastily up the stairs as Ulric drew his knife, Seidaku formed an image of the Void in his mind and felt the answering movement of Djed. Licking his lips nervously, he stood on the cusp of opening a doorway into blackness and cold, that would devour his attacker... and possibly him as well. The preferred course would be simply to flee and never look back, but an honest assessment told him that the larger man would overtake him easily before he could get back into the streets. This meant that, if an attack came, his only hope of survival was to create the portal between the two of them, and pray to the gods that he was far enough away to escape its effects.

With his fingertips tingling slightly in the flow of Djed anticipating release as magic in response to an attack that never came, Seidaku nevertheless took another two steps downward and away as Ulric stabbed viciously at the carving on the wall, defacing it and finally destroying it utterly.

"No," he said in response to the man's growled question, "I, ah, I suppose it isn't." Though, the questions remained unanswered. Who carved it? Why? Was there a purpose to the graven image of a leering face? Perhaps as a mark of aversion, meant to ward away evil through fearful imagery. One would think that a city such as Alvadas had moved beyond such superstition, but who knew what sort of concepts might seem perfectly rational to a person who would dismember another human being.

Lost in thought, he followed Ulric up the stairs and into... a basement cellar? With a confused start, he turned to look at the stars, now leading up and turning away into darkness, leading somewhere unknown. Even as familiar as he was with the shifts and twists of Alvadas, it was disconcerting. Now that he was aware of their location, he could feel the oppressive weight of earth above them as he strode deeper into the shadow darkened basement.

Of course, the cellar - no, the chamber - that they found themselves in suited the now steeply curling stairway behind them perfectly. Despite the disconcerting aura though, it was darkly fascinating. The concentric rings of powder, the speaking podium, the candle, the clandestine location; every aspect was crafted and pieced together with obvious care. It conspired to create a reverent atmosphere, though the signs pointed toward a secret religion, a literally underground cult.

"What? Leave?," Seidaku asked, dragging his attention away from the display in the cellar, "Should we not, umm, discover as much as we can? For the, uhh, authorities. In case they cannot, ah, find this place again."

[Ulric]

Ulric took a step back, which carried him into the other man. He cursed under his breath as he felt the brush of flesh against his arm, moving away as quickly as he could. He didn’t like being touched, but in a way, he was comforted by the certitude that he wasn’t speaking to a chimera. For some reason, this fellow didn’t want to leave. Not so long ago, when they’d stood staring at the gaping door, Ulric had thought that he’d been reluctant to enter. Now the tides were reversed. Ulric didn’t want to go any further, but the chance that the other man might doubt his courage just made him angrier. He stalked into the rings of powder, kicking up dismal clouds with the soles of his boots, and forced a chuckle from his throat. “Authorities?” His words echoed through the chamber, though there was a strange, tinny edge to them. “Why would we go to the authorities? Do you know what authorities always do?” He gesticulated wildly, the edge of his knife cutting through the turgid gloom with a faint keening that rose slowly in pitch, only to descend to a low drone when he turned his head. “They cheat worse than card sharks, drink like sailors, and growl at you to leave them be or else risk a broken crown. Do you think they’d even bother to take a look? We don’t even have the foot with us. And besides, I doubt we’d be able to find this place again. Unless you’re hiding a magicked chart of the city in your pockets.” Ulric’s nostils flared, and his eyes smoldered with an fury borne of unease, but he largely kept his calm. He even managed to tilt his head, a scant grin creeping over his lips, and ask in a joking, yet menacing tenor, “Do you have such a map?” As far as he was concerned, this man could be the culprit for the foot, the face, and the rings of powder. That was what this city was, just one joke after the next. Ulric was weary of them. He wanted to tear down the rough stones of this strange building, and then the next, until he’d razed the entire city. Then he’d set it on fire. That was a pleasing thought.

[Seidaku]

After rebounding slightly when the larger man bumped into him, Seidaku followed Ulric toward the rings of powder on the floor, pleased that he apparently agreed as to the necessity of studying the chamber and unlocking its secrets. Which was why he uttered a cry of shock and dismay when Ulric did not stop, and instead went stomping through what was obviously a ritual space, kicking up dust and ruining everything he touched.

"No! What- How could- Why?," he stammered, "Why would you do that? Even if there had not been, ah, magic contained in the circles, there was academic value in their study! But now? It's rui-", he cut off abruptly, his teeth clicking together, as the barbarian turned on him, brandishing that massive knife of his. He could hear the thin note of it, ringing in the air as a brutal underscore to Ulric's words.

"Where in the, ah, names of the gods are you from?," he asked, apalled at the view that the other man held of the authorities. Never in his life had an Alvadas official threatened him with a 'broken crown'.

He cringed backward at the glare of almost bestial anger that the grizzled savage leveled at him, and then he signed and his shoulders slumped, "No," he said with a huff, "I don't have a, umm, magical map. And that is all the more reason to, ah, to study this chamber. Is it part of a, umm, magical ritual? Religious rites? Uh, cults? What is the powder? It, ahh, appears to be salt. That might be, umm, important. You might have, ah, disturbed wards."

"... Though, I did not feel anything," he added under his breath, speaking to himself.

[Ulric]

Here he was, standing at the center of some bizarre ritual, and arguing with some cracked twerp. He didn’t know what to think of that. What the petch am I doing? Ulric frowned. He felt as though he’d asked himself that question quite a few times over the past few chimes, but if he hadn’t been ready with an answer before, he certainly didn’t have one now. Ulric drew in a deep breath. “So, what do you know of rites and rituals? I don’t understand shyke, so you might as well share a few things. Like what these circles mean, for instance.” He took a knee, drawing a finger through the fine grains of salt that carpeted the uneven stones. He didn’t feel as though he’d disturbed any wards, but he didn’t want to ask. That sort of conversation would only get him nervous. So he decided to give the chamber closer scrutiny while he listened to what the stranger had to say. Using a hand to scratch along his bearded chin, he stared up at the empty vault of the ceiling. There were the usual beams and rafters, covered with dust and shrouded by cobwebs, with a few, shrunken and desiccated bunches of herb suspended from rusty hooks. That was unusual. Ulric glanced at the other side of the room, eyes narrowing slightly as he realized that the ceiling was lower. Somewhere along the center of the chamber, a broad arch of stone replaced the center beam, the transformation so vague and fluid that he’d scarcely given it any thought. Or maybe that was new. He felt as though somebody was screwing with them, although he wasn’t sure whether that person was even there. “Perhaps crossing to the other side bring us to another room,” he spoke softly. “But where would that be?”

[Seidaku]

Ulric drew in a deep breath. “So, what do you know of rites and rituals? I don’t understand shyke, so you might as well share a few things. Like what these circles mean, for instance.”

Seidaku could hear the superstition the man's voice, apprehension in encountering the "dark arts" of magic. And, given the way that he had been waving that huge knife around earlier, Seidaku opted against making any revelations that could prove... distressing. Instead, he settled for a simple explanation, voicing his thoughts as he studied the room and its contents.

"There are no, ah, no symbols or runes to go with the salt circles," he said, leaning closer to inspect the floor in the areas Ulric had so carelessly brushed aside, "So it is unlikely that they have any actual magic about them. Likely it is purely symbolic in nature, umm, serving as a sort of heirarchical system, with higher ranking members standing closer to the speaker. It would make them seem, umm, more important in the eyes of the other members."

Looking around the room, he followed Ulric's gaze up to the ceiling, spotting the bunched herbs hanging around the cellar. Standing on the tips of his toes and stretching, he was still too short to reach them, so he was forced to hop upward and snatch at them. Not that a closer inspection did him any real good, though. He could tell that they were a flowering plant of some sort, with delicate purple petals. Perhaps nightshade? He tried to remember back to one of his lessons with Jamisia. Nightshade sounded right...

"But why the flowering herbs? There is, umm, obvious ritual significance. Most likely to provide protection, or obscurement, or even focus for the members present. Without further information, there is really, umm, really no way to tell," stepping carefully to avoid disturbing the lines of salt upon the floor - unlike some people, he thought with a grimace - he approached the center of the room and the lectern therein. Circling it slowly, scrutinizing it in detail, he was disappointed to see that it was depressingly mundane up close. No compartments, no clasps or hinges, not even propaganda leaflets or scriptures. As much as whoever used this room had left, they had been meticulous about removing any documentation that would shed further light on the situation.

In answer to Ulric's soft question, he asked, "Do you think that, umm, whoever uses this room is further in?"

[Ulric]

Ulric moved nearer so that he might hear the man explain about the salt circles. He was as vulgar as they came, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that he might glean a measure of knowledge from the man. “So you’re saying these people are delusional,” he frowned at the mention of symbolism, tacitly acquiescing that more than one person was involved in laying out this room. “Wyb adinf adyb to onadfbb, weoj adubuabd,” added the Gasvik. “What?” Ulric spoke rather loudly, and then, casting a quick glance at the man to ensure that he was engrossed by his study of the herbs, asked in a hushed tone, “Where have you been?” “Sun adubf awe.” “Fine, then go and check what’s down the stairs again.” Ulric left Desank to his task, turning around so he could study the skewed roof in greater depth. He stared at the great chunks of wood, noting how some seemed fresh from the saw yard and others as if they’d been there forever. Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers down warped, splintered, and silky corners so he could be sure that they were there. He even felt the sticky drag of sap on his palm. But then again, even his sense of touch could serve him false. The beams might not even be there. He scowled at the thought. Not long ago, the man had spoke to him of these ranks of houses being entirely incorporeal, just a gigantic trick being played on hundreds upon hundreds of people. Moving to a corner, Ulric glanced over the room again. Here it seemed different from before. He even discerned the faint translucence of a window, as if the walls were made of parchment. With another scowl, he strode to the stop and gave the dusty stones a sharp rap with his fist. No, they were real. As far as he knew. “There’s only one way to find out,” he grunted, regarding the man for a long moment, and strode toward the far side of the room.

[Seidaku]

He would not have said delusional, if only because it was such a rude choice of words. More like misguided, possibly intentionally duped or in keeping with some manner of primitive religious practice.

When the brute barked a question and glared at him, Seidaku realized that he must have been thinking half aloud again. "Oh, umm, sorry," he said, "Just thinking."

Fidgeting slightly in the now uncomfortable silence, he continued, more to dispel the sepulcheral quiet than from any belief that Ulric might genuinely be interested, "It's entirely possible they are prayer foci. Some cultures held to the notion that it is, umm, the strength of belief that, ah, that allows things to exist... or gives them power if they already do. A very, ah, anthropocentric view of the world, really. 'I believe something, so it must be true'. If that is the case, it might be a, umm, a ritual of empowerment, focusing belief on one, ah, person or belief, to give it a greater, umm, spiritual weight."

He looked away from the stairs leading back up to realize that he was speaking to empty air again. "Oh..." he trailed off into silence, following Ulric across the room. Had it gotten darker since they had entered? He could not be sure, but he strongly suspected that it had... He wished that he had a weapon, perhaps a knife. Not that it would do him any good if he had. Maybe he could try Morphing again... but after the disaster last time he had tried claws, he was reluctant to repeat that particular experiment.

"Only one way to-?," he began to echo, but just like that Ulric was away. Not wanting to be left alone in the now obviously darker room, Seidaku made haste to follow.

[Ulric]

Ulric’s mind was a wreck. Not from the fear and suspense, but because of a concept the man had raised, that sheer belief could lead to power. Is that why we worship? Is that why the gods have power? He frowned. Like many things he’d heard this day, he found it deeply disturbing. And yet, the wisps of a crude fascination began to weave around his spine, binding him to what he’d heard. He needed followers. How could he hasten the awakening of his powers? There wasn’t much time for reflection, though. As they crossed the room, there was a loud creak. “That doesn’t sound good.” Ulric jerked back. He listened intently for a few moments, every muscle tensed, but the chamber was quiet. Slowly, he brought a boot forward, brought it down. There wasn’t a creak. “That sounds better.” He took a step forward, and then another. “Must be-” he began to say, but the planks gave way as he turned, sending him plunging, grunting and shouting, into a heavy murk. He was accompanied by a cloud of dust and splinters. It was hard to say for how long he tumbled through space, but the landing was soft, as least. Soft and squishy. And warm. He picked himself up, wiping a viscous substance on his trousers, and cast around for a source of light. “What the petch?”

[Seidaku]

Seidaku followed Ulric deeper into the room. It seemed larger now than it had when they first entered. He was fairly certain that that was just his imagination, but in the City of Illusions, it was never possible to rule out the possibility entirely.

When the other man jerked backward, Seidaku mirrored the motion down to every detail but the distance covered, and the high-pitched shout he uttered as he went. His own imagination placed them under attack by robed cultists, brandishing cutting implements and intent on murder for their dark gods. The reality appeared to be purely mundane though, nothing more than a creaky board, no different than you would find in almost any other building in Alvadas.

"Oh," he laughed nervously, "Just a, umm, board. Nothing to-," as though to spite his word's Ulric's next step sent him plunging through the wooden floor and into the darkness of the abyss beyond in a shower of splinters and releasing a smell that he could describe no further than vile.

Gagging at the stench, he lowered himself to his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the hole, peering down into the dark. Perhaps a little more than twenty feet down, he could see a shadow, its movements barely perceptible, that he took to be Ulric.

"Are, umm, are you okay?," he called down into the hole. Please be okay, his thoughts echoed silently. Turning to look back into the room, he hoped for rope, or wall hangings, or anything of suitable length for him to lower into the hole. From what he could see of the sides, they appeared to be worked stone, fitted together.

It's like he fell into a well, he decided, wondering at the logic that would simply board over a well when building any structure at all.