THE DEEP | ENDLESS NIGHT
Clocking insane.
Athrym stared into the arched entrance of the catacombs, freed of its temporary stone doorway to allow the re-entry of their party. They were more prepared this time, and more accompanied. Aside from herself and Nauleth—local crazy and resident expert—they also had a host of Guardians who now wore what the blonde could only deem ceremonial armor. Glittering platinum and gold, embedded with gemstones and embossed with decorative filigree. Clearly, it was meant to offer them some sort of protection, but it was too delicate and too decorative.
It showed that Lomenak believed them, but then again not quite.
Along with the extra military power, the Matriarch had also included two of her best Living magisters to allow the Clean Air spells to be cast far more effectively and a theoretical professor to decipher the contents of the book. The Anaxi and the Gioran had been through seemingly endless conversations during their recovery, and invited into the Temple home of the Da Huanes themselves to discuss the book that had returned with them.
Oh yes, they had read the book, taken notes…but the thing still sat very safely and very securely in Lomenak’s personal chamber high within the Temple of Qrieth.
According to the text, so old it was written on thin leather, the curious vast crypt they had encroached in their last visit was just the tip of the iceberg. Not Aminark Giore, not even her Patriarch, instead a host of mages. The notes were difficult to decipher at that point, written in a language none could read. It appeared, in some fashion, like monite and yet it was not. Based on drawings and some guesswork, the professors of Qrieth deduced that these bodies had been laid like some sort of ritual. Much like the Watchers along the walls they were planning to pass along again. Skulls of passive priests guarding over the secrets of the Deep.
They had to return to the depths, and see if they could find further texts. Or anything that could help them decipher what they had found.
“So, we are to head down to this chamber where you saw the bodies, and here there is a set of doors, correct?” The professor that had joined them spoke fluent Estuan in a rich Gioran accent, though his tone was a little less formal. Citevian, the woman wore her pale white locks braided tightly away from her face and twisted into three tight buns along the back of her skull. Her eyes were almost rust colored, tinged rose, and her porcelain skin was gently lined with age. At least in her forties, the professor’s field was relatively weak, though it was definitely still there. She addressed Nauleth, though her gaze swept to Athrym as well, notebook in one hand and pencil in the other. A rough map was spread across the pages of her book, drawn up from the survivors accounts of the Deep layout and previous cartography attempts.
“And beyond those doors, apparently, this rift of—”
“And hatchers.” Athrym said suddenly, too loud in the low ceiling of the tunnel, her summer eyes dragging firmly away from the monite etched on the entrance to fixate on the woman with an icy irritation. Standing with her arms crossed, the blonde was dressed in silk blend women's white trousers and a long sleeved Anaxi style black blouse. Her own long hair was pulled into two braids, worn down against her shoulders, resting stark against the dark material.
“Don’t forget the hatchers Professor Eleini. Because they are real. And they are down there. And by His Eternal Grace we can only pray that they aren’t waiting for us beyond the Maw.” She spoke with a bitterness, angry at their return to the bowels of Qrieth. Frustrated that even now there was disbelief. They wouldn’t truly believe it unless they saw it with their own clocking eyes.
Idiots.
Snapping a harsh curse in Gioran, the younger woman turned away from the scholar, inhaling deeply and running a hand over her forehead.
“This is folly.” Athrym muttered, her field pulsing with jittering apprehension and streaked with rivulets of yellow fear. From her side, a small hand reached out, gently resting on her forearm.
“We must have faith in Imaan, Most Honored Ambassador.” Illustrious Peak said in her soft, comforting voice, trained in her short time in the Church of Imaan. Her skin shimmered in the torchlights, dusted with quartz powder, long straight pale hair hanging down in a curtain of white. She offered a small smile, ducking her head in a little bow.
“The Eternal Child will protect us, that I am sure of. You and Most Esteemed Siortanti did not die in the Deep, because Imaan willed you to return to us. Imaan sent the Daegerote to help you. To let you bring us the past, so we may prepare ourselves for the future.” The pale woman looked at the girl with her brow drawn. She couldn’t bring herself to speak ill towards the child, respectful of her position and her wisdom for her age. Instead, Athrym nodded in return, moving away to approach her fiance.
“You really want to do this Nauleth? After everything that happened, after everything that they don’t believe, you want to go back in there and seek death?” Her voice was quiet, just for their ears, whilst the others prepared to enter the depths.