Solo Eye Spy

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

Rationing his water intake hadn't been so bad up until a day ago, when he'd realized that he hadn't been rationing quite enough. Empty water skin lightly slapping his thigh from where it hung off of his belt, Gomer made his way through the snow filled streets, passing by a small school of iridescent fish who swam through the air, as if the city were further illustrating the lack of its water: even the fish had nothing to swim in.

Rounding a corner, hoping it might lead to a pond or stream or, even more ideally, a well, he was faced time and time again with winding street after winding street. Keeping his pace steady, not wanting to break out into a sweat and waste the water he already didn't have, Gomer frowned down at the snow. He'd already tried melting it down for water and, with that failing, had tried to eat it. The eating had been marginally more successful, as it was very cold, but as far as his parched throat had been concerned, there had been no improvement.

Another corner, another street, Gomer trudged dutifully on. He was certain, eventually, he'd find something. After all, he was in Alvadas. The only time he was certain not to find something was when he didn't try at all. Several more streets, three sparsely populated plazas, and one Kitrean Krafts later, he finally spotted what he'd been searching for. The lack of other people around the short, squat wooden well didn't worry him, as he imagined many were having their own difficulties locating their own wells, but when he approached to find the rope that was, most typically, attached to a bucket to draw up the water had been cut or snapped in some way, he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Staring down into the darkness, Gomer reached a hand inside, slapping it against the wall of the well in an attempt to see if he could hear how far away the water was, if there even was any. As far as he could tell from the dull echoes, if the well had anything in it, it was a good way down. Glancing around the small square, he spotted a large, dark haired gorilla passing by. Waving a hand to try to get its attention, he called out a polite, "Excuse me? Sir? Madame?"

Stopping after the second address, she turned her head, dark eyes appraising as she called back in an equally polite, "Yes? How can I help you?"

They met halfway, Gomer offering her a shallow bow in greeting to which she cordially nodded. "Would you be willing to lend me some of your time and bit of your strength?"

It only took a moment's glance for her to understand what it was Gomer wanted of her. "Are you... sure? That rope doesn't look very safe."

Holding up his empty flask of water, Gomer's face turned a brief grimace, "Don't have a whole lot of choice, I'm afraid."

"Ah." She shook her head, empathetic, before shrugging her massive shoulders. "We can certainly try it."

"Excellent. Thank you. If there is any water down there at all, I'll pop back down for you as well, madame." Though his voice was excited, Gomer did feel a small twinge of apprehension. After all, whether cut or snapped, the rope hadn't been able to hold a simple wooden bucket. He hoped it would prove, like so much else within their fair city, to be more than it seemed.

His hairy acquaintance helped him tie the rope around his waist, her strong arms pulling it a bit too tight the first time but better the second go around. Staring down into the blackness, Gomer nervously cleared his throat, his fingers tapping on the rough rope firmly cinched around his chest, only biting slightly into the skin under his armpits for the time being. "As I lower you, I think it's best to try to keep your arms at your side. If you slip out..." She made a face and shrugged, "I won't be able to do anything about it."

Drawing an uneasy breathe, he nodded. "Understood." Letting the words out with a rush of air, Gomer eased himself onto the edge of the well, his legs dangling over the side. "It's quite... dark." There wasn't fear in his voice so much as a mounting apprehension. Unsure of what waited for him below and with the possibilities being truly endless, Gomer deliberately slowed once, his parched throat reminding him why he was doing what he was doing.

"Slow and steady." The jamouran woman spoke reassuringly, gently patting him on the back. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." And with that, he slid gradually off of the edge, the rope causing his shoulders to shrug involuntarily as his weight shifted. Uncomfortable but not to the point of pain, he nodded. "Here we go then."

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

At first, his descent was jerky. As his partner fed the rope by hand, the tender skin beneath his arms could feel through the rope the moment she let go with one hand and grabbed on with the other; though the deeper into the well he went, the smoother the process became. It didn't take long for his vision to fail him, the only light available came from above and didn't reach down into the depths as he was lowered bit by bit.

Echoing down, the jamoura's voice was a bit concerned after so long a bought of silence. "Are you... alright?"

"Peachy." He called back, but was met with another stretch of silence before he heard her voice again.

"Hello? Still there? Should I pull you up?"

Clearing his throat and filling his lungs, Gomer shouted up in the most courteous voice he could muster under the circumstances, "No, no! Proceed! I'm doing just-" And before he could verify his healthy state of being, he felt the rope snap.

Down and down he fell, his voice snatched from him as the wind rushed past his face, the darkness enveloping him at a remarkable speed. Quite casually, to the point where he wondered if it was even his own thought, he heard his voice quite matter of factly state, "So this is how we die."

Unable to scream or do much of anything, as he feared any unnecessary movement might send him careening into the well's wall, the only thing he could do was hope that there was water at the bottom. The longer he fell, however, the more he wondered if he were ever going to reach it.

In the inky blackness, there was no way to tell how much time had passed. What had once been a profound terror had become something akin to boredom, and Gomer, against his better judgement, reached out a hand to tentatively try to gauge if he were even still within the well. Expecting the incredibly painful shock of intense friction, he found there was nothing there, just more emptiness. Trying the wall behind him, the wind still whipping at his clothes and hair, he found it too was missing.

Discovering he could twist and turn about in the never-ending plummet, Gomer drifted around so that his back took the brunt of the rushing wind, blindly tugging at the rope around his chest to twist the knot to his front. Once there, he began working away at it. At first, it seemed a futile mission, his fingers failing to find any purchase from which to loosen the coarse snare, but he seemed to have nothing but time. Eventually, he managed to loosen it, his fingers a bit sore but his chest finally free.

The rope drifting beside him just as helpless as the rest of his body, Gomer lazily spun first to the left, then right. He experimented with different positions, turning flips and cartwheels, even aiming his head straight down with arms at his side like some sort of human pin needle. Finding it was most comfortable to return to his back, however; he did so, staring up - or at least what he assumed was up - at the blank nothingness, able to sigh now the air wasn't being sucked out of his lungs from the speed of-

"Well it's not a fall, is it." He muttered quietly to himself, playing with the end of the rope. "Gods, when in the world-" And, as if on cue, he came to a thudding halt, the air knocked from his lungs with a strangled squeak the moment he smashed into the ground.

Blinking blindly in pain and confusion, Gomer pushed himself up into a seated position, legs splayed and coughing wildly. Entirely uncertain how far - or was it long? - he'd fallen, he knew for certain that had the entire thing been reality and not some sort of illusion, at least in part, he would have been a mess of flattened meat and bone. Glad that that was not the case, he was thankful for what was most definitely shaping up to be a bruised back and the shortness of breath that came with forcefully losing it.

Dusting himself off, and taking note that he was, indeed, dusty, Gomer vaguely recalled he had been searching for water. The discovery of dust, then, was not especially well met, but it was better than his death. Staggering to his feet, no light to be seen in any direction, he blindly began to shuffle forward. After about two conservative steps, his fingers pressed against something firm, warm, and crumbling.

Recoiling with a silent grimace, he steeled his nerves and, with both hands this time, reached out once more to tentatively palpate the uncertain area in front of him. Though at first his blind mind had imagined some sort of decaying, crusty creature before him, his sense of touch quickly recognised the texture as that of dirt - exceptionally desiccated dirt. It disintegrated at his touch, spilling onto his boots with a pitter-patter.

There was a brief moment during which he wondered if he'd been buried alive, having died at some point during his fall, and was now trapped, coffinless, beneath the earth. The brevity of the thought did nothing to quell the sudden, frantic urge that burst within him: he needed to get out. As the wall of dirt began to fall away, the heat increased. At first it was relatively unnoticeable, especially as Gomer had worked himself up into a proper panic, but soon he could feel sweat on his brow and, though still overwrought, he was reminded of how dry his mouth was.

With a sudden rush of hot air, he broke through to the other side, immediately blinded by the sudden advent of violent reds, yellows, and oranges that assaulted his dilated eyes without warning. Staggering back from the hole he'd dug, arm thrown over his face to shield him from both light and heat, Gomer slowly ventured another look, keeping his eyes cautiously squinted.

The landscape before him was, in one word, "hot". Directly across from him flowed a slow moving lake of what looked like liquid metal, steam rising off of its surface. There were raised mounds scattered across the flame scorched, ruddy stone that made up the ground that wasn't on fire. As he scanned the area, one of the mounds released a growl before shooting out a pillar of flame that lasted for a few ticks before disappearing in a thin, quickly dissipating string of smoke.

"Hm." The heat alone was bad enough in his thirsty state, but the added danger of being roasted alive wasn't very charming. The alternative being baked alive in a dirt oven, Gomer cautiously stepped forth, making certain to avoid standing on or near any mounds of scorch-marked stones. To his left, the red stone "path" seemed to wind ever more narrow through the glowing, wavering heat of the river of flame. Opting towards the right, which had considerably less fire, Gomer set off, his breathing shallow as the heat of the air was such that too deep a breath felt as though he ran the risk of incinerating his lungs.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

Eventually, the open, cavernous area he'd first dug his way into came to a narrowing, the ceiling steeply curving as the path took a sharp right. Peeking cautiously around the corner, his shirt now properly drenched in sweat and dirt and thirstier than ever, Gomer found the stone path turned into an equally ruddy cobbled street. Old, dilapidated buildings in varying states of disrepair lined it, some of them on fire, others just looking excessively hot. One of them seemed to be sweating, though Gomer couldn't tell for certain, obscured as it was by the soft shimmer of the heat's mirage.

Recognizing the Underground, even in its near to unbearably torrid new visage, Gomer ran a hand through his wind blown hair, the strands standing out in all manner of odd angles, and sighed. Logic was a curious thing in Alvadas. Typically, one might assume that falling down would leave one in the Underground; but the concepts of "up" and "down" in a city where everything that was might not actually be and where everything that wasn't could just as easily be a "was", one never really knew what to expect.

Until one was in the Underground.

Details unimportant, if Alvadas had any one single constant, it was that the Underground was a dangerous place. Illusions below as variable as the illusions above, the specifics didn't matter so much as the simple fact that down in the shadows of a city who often used its light to trick and beguile, darkness hid far more sinister designs.

While not feeling especially confident in his abilities, Gomer knew it was better to be armed than caught any more unaware than he had already managed to be. Slowing his breath, he flexed his fingers, mentally reconstructing the various threads and strings of his astral body that wove their way throughout him, connecting bone, flesh, and soul. Carefully, he began to tug at the threads about his wrist, familiar and easy to manage.

As they loosened, he kept his eyes alert, checking both the way he'd come and the path ahead, not wanting any more surprises until he was able to deal with the more dangerous, sentient ones. Little by little, the threads slipped out of place, drifting just above the top of his hand as he worked his way to his fingers, meticulously tugging until the web of invisible light was freed, tied to him with a single, thicker string. As he coaxed the fibers to release one another, setting the astral hand free, he heard the sound of footsteps and a man's irritated voice from around the corner.

"Petchin' shyke hole of an Isur's arse funnel down 'ere." While a graphic metaphor, Gomer found himself agreeing with the accurate depiction. Not wanting to reveal himself, but neither wanting to have to deal with the man and whoever else might be accompanying him if they were to turn the corner all together, he tentatively ventured a small peek around the end his protective wall. His ethereal hand floated next to him, ready should he need it.

There were three individuals, two of which were wearing little else but their small clothes and boots while the third was hooded, features concealed and build uncertain beneath the folds of fabric. The man on the left - the one who had spoken before, as Gomer pieced together from the sound of his voice - was about six and a half feet high and incredibly broad. His hairy muscles and substantial gut made for an intimidating figure, even had he been in a pleasant mood - which he was not.

"I can feel me balls clear down to me knees." He grabbed himself and shook his hand, further illustrating his discomfort. "And there aren't a speck of water down 'ere, either."

The second man, far smaller and nearly hairless save a small tuft just above the waist band of his pants nodded, face gaunt and clearly dehydrated. "Let's just go back Crusher, maybe the others had better luck."

The hooded figure added nothing to the conversation, which Gomer found to be unnerving in its own right.

"And if they din't?" Crusher - an uncomfortably fitting name for the man - released himself and instead put a sweaty hand on his companions shoulder, his brows knit in a dark menace. "You wanna drink piss again, eh?"

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

Having only just run out of water the day prior, Gomer realized that drinking one's own urine was probably the most logical course of action if no water could be found. Of course, the thought of it made him silently gag, especially with the added visual of Crusher's sweating mass as he made a vulgar thrusting motion towards the smaller man, who recoiled with a dry retch. "Point taken."

In higher spirits than before, Crusher grinned wide. "Y'sure, Nobones? Think I could squeeze some out for yeh."

As Crusher began to boisterously chase the smaller Nobones about with several lewd gestures, Gomer noticed that both had sheathed daggers tucked into the back of their pants. Though not necessarily a threat from afar, it did further serve to help his nervousness along, should they spot and, Ionu forbid, try to attack him. His floating hand cautiously flexed its fingers, no sign of fatigue yet.

"That'ss enough." A hissing voice slid its way out from beneath the hood of the robed figure, and both men immediately obliged her. "You idiotss are too bussy with your loverss game to notiss we're being... sspied on." Her slight hesitation seemed to be for dramatic effect, as she slowly removed her hood to reveal a scarred face that stared directly into Gomer's peeping eye.

"Oi!" Crusher, not wasting the time to be surprised as Nobones took a startled step backward, pulled his dagger from its sheath. The massive man admittedly looked ridiculous holding the slim blade what with his arms being twice the size -and almost in both dimensions-, but it didn't make him any less dangerous. "What're you doin' sneakin' about back there, eh?"

Retreat was not a viable option, as his two routes led either to death by swimming in liquid fire or wandering blindly through who knew how large a cavern of darkness. Both scenarios, if his death wasn't caused by his own hand, seemed to end with death at the hands of the hairy, beast of man who'd just called to him. It made for a relatively easy decision to address the tree of them with a polite reply, rather than using the time to flee futilely.

He did his best to keep the nervousness in his voice at a minimum, though it was a bit difficult with the added pressure of the heat and looming threat of being stabbed. Drawing a shallow, rousing breath, he cautiously got to his feet and turned the corner, waving his good hand and keeping his other at his side, as causally as he could manage. "Hallo! I was just- erm... looking for water. I-I fell down well."

Three faces, one expression: blank faced confusion. Gomer, casually attractive, even with his wild, wind blown hair partially matted to his sweaty face, mild manner, and seemingly benign as a child in appearance, did not seem like the sort of character one might find in the Streets Below.

Nobones was the first to recover. Had he had eyebrows, they would have been knit, but instead his forehead just made several extra creases and the expression was carried mainly through his voice. "You fell? You look alright for having fallen."

Pursing his lips for a tick, Gomer blinked twice before he shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. "It is Alvadas."

"Yeah sure, but you fall off a building, you break your leg. Simple." Nobones seemed rather adamant, and Crusher had since recovered to nod his head in agreement. The scar faced woman rolled her eyes, but didn't interfere, gauging Gomer with steady calculation. She was, by far, the most intimidating of the three, merely due to her intelligent composure.

"Ah..." Uncertain what to say, Gomer chose to acquiesce. It wasn't as if he were so attached to his story that he couldn't change it for the benefit of his audience, though he did try to keep it honest, as he was a pathetic liar under stress. "Well, it felt like falling but... it could have been rolling. Or sliding. I-"

"If you were rolling, wouldn't your shirt be all mussed up?"

Crusher nodded again after Nobones, muttering a suspicious, "Yeh." and shooting Gomer a disbelieving glare.

Again, the woman said nothing, but from the expression of the half of her face that moved, it was clear she was nearing the end of her patience.

The three of them were too far away from him to reach with his magic, but he sent his hand forward to cover about half the distance, not quite enough to really strain his tentative connection to it, but more than enough to feel the increase in weight upon it. "Honestly, I haven't the foggiest. One moment, I was being lowered down into a well, the next... I ended up here."

"You got water in that?" Crusher gestured with his dagger towards Gomer's water skin, clearly no longer caring how Gomer had arrived, and frowned when he shook his head. "How we know you're not lyin', eh?"

Slowly reaching down with his good hand, Gomer shook the skin.

"But what if it's so full-"

"Enough." The woman glared first at Crusher then Nobones before settling on Gomer. "Thiss issn't your lucky day, boy." She spat the words out menacingly. "Give uss the flassk and we'll kill you quickly."

Blinking, Gomer realized exactly how bad the situation he was in actually was. He'd been caught up in the almost comical scene before him, but as both Crusher and Nobones brandished their weapons, knees bent and eyes glinting in the fiery light, he felt cold, creeping fear grip his chest.

They're going to kill me.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

His voice catching in his throat, Gomer tried to diffuse the situation, but instead only managed a dry cough. With a sneer the woman crossed her arms, shaking her head. "Blood iss better than pisss, at leasst."

With that, the two men began to advance, daggers held tightly in their hands and eyes cold and hardened. Forgetting himself, Gomer tried to jab his fingers into Crusher's eyes, but his hand merely floundered in the open air, some distance yet before either of the men were in range. Considering running, Gomer's knees bent, but Nobones seemed to catch on much quicker to his - admittedly bad - plan than he had regarding Gomer's descent and charged forward with surprising speed.

Pulling his astral hand back as quickly as possible, it got to him a couple ticks before Nobones, and reflexively Gomer shoved his invisible limb into the man's mouth, curling his fingers and materializing his fist in his throat, effectively punching him on the inside of his esophagus. In an attempt to cover up his first, invisible strike, Gomer took a blind swipe at Nobones but missed completely, his physical fist whiffing right past the man as he violently gagged, dropping his dagger to the ground with a clatter.

With a follow up, Gomer kicked at Nobones, but the man's initial shock had worn off, and while he continued to choke, his hands clawing confusedly at his neck, he stumbled back and out of the way of Gomer's foot, revealing that Crusher was only a pace away, dagger twisted and ready to thrust.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

Without having any time to think about what he was doing, Gomer's mind lit up. The glimmering, unseeable threads of his body pulsed in time to his panic and, as he thrust his hand forward, he felt the delicate threads snap, shooting off from his fingers. He yelped as the sharp stab of pain split through his hand like lighting, but his fingers, which had broken their way free of his astral body's weave at his frantic request, embedded themselves into Crusher's unsuspecting eyes. His thumb managed to jab directly into the center of Crusher's left with his forefinger and middle dug into either side of Crusher's right.

With a howl of pain, he too released his dagger, scratching at his face as he tried and failed to shut his eyes, Gomer's invisible digits pressed firmly into them. As he careened blindly by, Gomer stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet but his body's natural reflexes keeping him standing. Nobones' face had begun to turn a dark, purplish color, and his eyes had begun to bulge.

Heart pounding in his chest, left hand limp and his right hand's fingers useless, Gomer felt himself freeze, only able to keep up what he had already done, his frantic brain unable to process everything that was happening around him. In the distance, he could hear the scarred woman's furious voice, but he couldn't get his thoughts in proper order.

"What are you idiotss doing?!" Her voice cut through Gomer's foggy mind like acid, burning away enough of the panic that he could think again, if only linearly. Needing to dispatch her as well, he glanced again at Nobone's mutely gasping, bulging face. Swallowing the desire to gag, Gomer wrenched his astral hand free from the man's throat, who, already weakly writhing upon the ground, began to cough hysterically.

With a forceful shove of his fingers, he felt something tear under his fingernails as he recalled the pieces of his right hand back beside him, and Crusher's scream threatened to make him sick. Refusing to look at the mountain of a man, Gomer ran forward, astral hand on his left and fingers floating to his right, physical arms raising reflexively as she saw the woman throw back her cloak, revealing that she too had a dagger.

Stopping a good few paces from her, Gomer let his finger continue, aiming for the woman's good eye as he had done with the larger Crusher. He felt them collide with her face, but he missed the soft tissue of her eye, struggling with properly aiming each individual finger. She let out a gasp of surprise, and Gomer, heart smashing against his chest, capitalized on her hesitation.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

With a grunt of effort, he swung is astral hand around towards her face, confident he could blind her with the larger limb's thumb. To both his surprise and mounting despair, she ducked low, stepping forward to thrust her blade at him. Whether she had seen his hand or not, Gomer wasn't certain, but he was only just able to agilely twist his body out of the worst of harm's way. He winced as he felt the edge of the blade graze his side, but his adrenaline surged forward with his successful dodge, and the woman closer than ever.

He tried to shove his astral fingers into her eye, still pressed as they were against her face, but she managed to get a hold of them were her free hand, forcing him to dematerialize them and loose his grip on her face.

"Ssorsserer!" She hissed angrily, spitting the word at him and they broke apart, her grip tightening on her dagger. "Dirty trickss!" With his left hand he took another swipe, misjudging the distance and serving only to elicit a wide eyed fury as she felt the air shift from his fist that moved harmlessly past. "Die!"

Again she lunged forward, her body moving incredibly quickly. Stumbling over his own feet, Gomer managed to avoid the strike a second time, only not nearly as nimbly as before, and found himself crashing into the hot stone beneath him with a pained grunt. Frantically, he twisted around, trying to get the woman in his line of sight. The moment he saw her scarred face, he scratched at her with his invisible fingers, missing her face but managing to strike against her neck, leaving small red marks behind.

With a shriek, she brought her dagger down toward him, and Gomer in a brief moment of terror induced clarity jabbed his astral left's fingers straight into the woman's eyes. He dry retched as he felt the soft, wet texture of her eyes rupture beneath the force of her own weight, skewering her self on his hand. In her own panic, her grip on the dagger loosened. As she fell on top of him, the dagger clattered harmlessly to the ground just above his shoulder.

She let out a howl of pain, and Gomer shoved her off of him with a sharp elbow to the side of her face. Uncertain if there was blood, and not caring to check, he staggered to his feet and took off down the road, his heart feeling as though it might burst, astral limbs trailing behind him, and feeling as though he would be sick. Behind him, he could still hear the woman's agonized, furious screams echoing off of the hot stone around them.