Winter 15 513AV, Sunberth
"Gyah! huhn, AH!" Gad cursed through gritted teeth as a miniature iceberg slammed into his left shoulder blade, and a small boulder of cold slapped against his right calf. It was a few bells past midnight and the brazen ice-fists that shot from the dark almost knocked the torch out of Gad's hands. He regained grip on the light source but a gust of icy-moist air had knocked the flame out several chimes ago, and the young man was now sprinting in darkness as black as the pitch on his damp torch. He had to get inside, somewhere, anywhere, but he was on the outskirts of town, not even near his home. He saw a mound, a black silhouette poking out of the ground about the height and width of a large shack. Gad slammed into the door at full speed, banging and yelling and slamming on the wooden surface.
It took a few ticks for the idea to click in Gad's mind that what he was banging against wasn't a solid wooden door but a few slats boarding up the entry way. He slid his fingers in between the boards and began yanking on them, trying to pry his way inside. A bolt of ice bashed against the side of his neck and base of his head and his vision went black for a tick or two and he felt a bit dizzy. He clasped the wound and hissed "Ttssshhh" in pain, while craning his scornful gaze upward to the Gods who thought this shyke was funny. Changing tactics Gad stepped back, and extended his boney leg, slamming his foot into the wooden slats until the old moldy wood gave on three or four. Enough for Gad to scramble inside, but not before being pelted by a few last angry ice balls.
Once inside, Gad realized he was in a mining tunnel, which ramped downward and extended into the ground. Gad snagged a ball of the ice, placed it against the throbbing pain on his neck. He chuckled at the irony. Reaching into his leather jacket he retrieved his flint and steel striker, and he set down against the moist reddish clay walls of the passage, placing his fire starting kit beside him. Gad picked up the length of wood that had been serving as a torch earlier that night. He felt the end and began to dig off the layer of moist pitch with his nails. Once he did that he dabbed off the end with his shirt, getting it as dry as possible. All this he'd done with one hand, but now he set the ice down and retrieved the flint and still. After a few minutes of cursing and nicking himself on the fingers he got the damn thing to light. The dull flame cast light just a few yards around him but it was enough for him to see that the tunnel went down a good ways into the earth. Gad looked over his shoulder, and considered waiting by the entrance.
However, it seemed like this storm would be on for another few bells, and Gad figured this tunnel might have an exit closer to his home, so he began shuffling down the corridor (making sure to keep his chunk of ice to nurse his head wound). The floor of the place was mushy in some areas, and puddles had formed in others. Making his way down he smelled mildew and mold, and the acrid smoke of his own light, which he was becoming accustomed to. Gad was nearly one hundred yards in when the shaft split into three separate paths. Scanning each with suspicion, Gad hesitated to make a decision. If there wasn't a way out, he didn't want to get lost down here. Sensing the throbbing in his head stop, he dropped the ice and began tugging his whiskers, as if to draw out their secret information about which path to take.
It must have done something because it only took a few seconds before he was reaching into his jacket to retrieve his dice. He yanked out the green blocks and tossed them a few times. Precious little stones to reveal the twists of fate Perhaps in another life Gad was a poet, now, however, he was a gambling man. He jostled the pieces in his hand and went about assigning every number between two and twelve to one of the three paths. Two was the left, three was the middle, four was the right, five was the left and so forth and so on until every number was assigned. Then he rolled. Nine it was. Gad always preferred going the middle way. To him it felt direct, like the path of least resistance. He continued on this middle path for a few chimes. All along the path there was mining equipment from the days of old. Pickaxes and chisels, and devices a miner might recognize a Gas Finder were littered about along side helmets and harness. Gad scooped one of the pickaxes off of the ground as he walked, and swung through the air gracelessly.
The sound it made as it cut through the air gave Gad a little jolt of satisfaction. Enjoying the sound, he did so again, and again. The wizard chuckled. Like a child playing knight, Gad swung the weapon back and forth, hopped around and did spins and skill-less flourishes, all the while making "wooshing" and crashing sounds and moans of pain from imaginary enemies. "Gah, no! Who are you?"
"Chuew Chuew! You killed my father prepare to-'"
"-mmNooo!!"
"nnDDIEE!"
"Auughaa! splretchgur" Gad dropped to his knees (while keep his torch upright) and prented as if he'd been disemboweled as he picked up imaginary intestines off of the ground. He chuckled to himself a little, then rubbed the back of his head. "Mm. Maybe that hail hit me a little hard than I though eh?" He rose to his feet, hung the pickaxe over his left shoulder and dusted himself off. As Gad continued, he took note of an eerie coolness that emanated from no where. Underground temperatures were usually warmer than above ground in the Winter, and the other way around in the Summer. Up until this point it had been mild and a little humid even, but now the air was getting stiff, stale, still and chilly. Gad huffed and could see his breath. The small hairs on the back of his neck jolted to life and stood on end. Nevertheless, he marched on, slowly. That's when he heard it.
The first moan was like rushing air. Gad dismissed it as the wind. The next one was unmistakable. "Geeeeeeeeehht. Ouuuhhhhht." It was like someone with a heavy weight on their lungs and a sore throat. Gad's ears twitched and his eyes darted around the small circle of radiance the torch flames threw out. He couldn't see anything. He stepped further into the abyss, and this time heard it louder, more forceful. "Geeeeeeeeeeehtttt! OUUHHHHHHHHT!" Gad started to shiver, not from cold, but fear. Whispers from beyond the grave commanded him to leave. But now, like many dead mages before him, his curiosity was piqued. Gad choked trying to swallow down the dryness in his mouth.
"Wh-" he faltered, cleared his throat and began again, more with more confidence. "Why?" He felt five thin lines of coldness scrape slowly down his back. He clenched his jaw, his eyes opened wide, he stretched his body taught and stood on his tip-toes while suppressing the urge to squeal. He turned, slowly. There, hovering so that he looked down on Gad was a ghost. The image seared itself into Gad's retina. An ghastly and ethereal corpse, emaciated with bones exposed on the limbs and missing half a cheek so that teeth barred through his closed mouth grimace, the specter floated. Gad let out the lungs full of breath he'd be holding, slowly, and his whole countenance deflated. The ghost pointed deeper down into the mine, where Gad could see it started to go more steeply underground, and looked Gad in the eyes.
"We warned them." It drew out every word with seemingly painful effort. "The gas lamps sputtered, the yellow birds died. We waned them, but they drove us down into the spiteful Earth. Made us sweat and bleed. For pretty rocks. The gas spilled out. Low, on the ground. Rats died. It swelled. And we died, like rats." Materializing from nothingness, more ghoulish figures seeped into the corridor. Their staggered, chilled calls then commanded; "Get. Out." Well, at this point, Gad's curiosity had been thoroughly satiated. Surfeited by his new discoveries Gad decided in situations such as these the best, most practicable solution was to beat a quick and hasty retreat. So, he started running the way he came. As he fled, several of the ghosts reached out and touched him, causing ice cold scratches and hand shaped bruises to form on his back, chest, and arms.
Gad arrived at the entrance, but the hail was still pouring down. Gad was out of breath and the blood pumped in his skull. He looked over his shoulder, but the ghastly guardians of the gas filled mine had remained in their final restless place. Gad sat down, and waited for the hail to stop, or the Sun to rise, whichever came first. The torch flickered in the cold night, the metal of his salvage pickaxed gleamed in the fire light, and outside the hail beat steady like frenetic tribal drumbeats. Gad took one last long look down the corridor into the ground. He wondered what kind of gas had killed on the miners. Moreover, he wondered if he could find away around it, could he find the pretty rocks the ghost spoke of? Such speculation was useless for now, so Gad leaned up against the wall and relaxed, waiting for the wrath of the storm gods to subside. |
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by Gad on January 21st, 2014, 9:32 pm 
