Dali glanced toward the gaping maw that was the entrance to the depths. Dali was reluctant to even think about it, reminiscing on a past disagreement, with a sweet and scaly girl three years his junior. Her canvas skin was so soft, and her tail so smooth, slender,
delicate. He recalled her openness, her warmth, and felt a pang of guilt deep inside. His heart hurt. He'd been quick to forget, but just as quick to remember. Her brother had a stronger memory, and if he were still alive, would likely kill Dali if he saw him. Dali still bore a scar beneath his scales, the remnant of a brutal avulsion, an attempted amputation of his tail with a large and jagged rock. Her brother was huge, with claws like a monster. Like a velociraptor, he thought. He shuddered with post-traumatic fear and guilt, and his thoughts raced. Saiorse said something. Dali didn't even notice.

I wonder how she is-

I wonder if she's even still alive-

Or if her brother is-

Or if our hatchlings still are-

Hatchlings? It's been three years-

Three years is a long time in the Mourning Quarter-

Three years is a long time in exile-

He was jolted from his stupor by a shrill scream bouncing from the tenebrous abyss, echoing and distorting, crashing like waves against the rough stone of the doorway, warping into a mutant shriek that turned Dali's shudder to a shiver. He tugged his coat around him, and put a hand on his knife. His left was behind him, tugging the loop of the leather cord that held his chain and hook to his bag. He wrapped it around his arm like a snake, forming a snug vambrace of thick chain, gripping the hook in his blunted fingers. One eye turned toward Saiorse, the other was trained on the source of the noise. "You heard that too, right? Guysss?"

His old scar ached. One of his feet tapped involuntarily, clicking softly against the ground. The tip of his tail flicked back and forth, a twitch from his younger days. He glanced at the Grumbler, certain that it was part of all of this. He caught the eye of Chao, the white-haired warrior from a distant land, determined to find out what secrets the strange soldier withheld. But the wizard. He was sincere, If just a bit stupid.

Something heavy thudded deep below, echoing up like a thousand dull impacts, though Dali was no stranger to underground acoustics. He knew exactly what sort of things made that sound. Dead things. Dead things that weren't dead until recently. Normal, wholesome things don't sound like that, and long dead things can't scream. Saiorse seemed as disturbed as he was. Out of all of them, she seems the most... Not trustworthy, but... I don't know, honest? Another, softer rustle floated up from the deep, and Dali prayed that the sound wasn't what his gut told him it was. I gotta go down there, don't I? He answered himself instantly. Well you have to know, don't you?

Dali turned his head to look at the group. He licked his lips, tasting the cool air. The smell of dirt, of mold, of stone, of dusty air, leather, rust, blood, and sweat. "Ssso, who's firsst?"

A sparkling mist formed at the feet of the companions gathered at the catacombs entrance as they pondered their next course of action. The goal was not yet clear-yet the path was apparent. The quiet of the earliest morning slipped in like a stealthy knife, even the churning waters of the subterranean Woad were momentarily hushed. Even the short chortling scream that had broken the banter of the meeting fell suddenly silent. Before them were the steps leading to whatever lay ahead.



The stairwell steps were lit only by the light of small glass orbs the size of apples containing tiny fish-like creatures. The fish twisted and turned in their sphere glass cages, and their struggle to escape cause tiny rays of warm vibrating light to shine through. Some of the orbs appear to be loose in their slots and could easily be removed with a small knife or a good tug. The stairs are even planed, sturdy and made of stone. The mist ends abruptly at the doorway.

The stairs ended at a landing, coiled in darkness. From the landing are a dozen corridors that lead to further chambers and hallways occupied only by the dead. All of the torches have been extinguished. Above each stone arched doorway are crests and icons, symbols and mottoes. Here one reads, "Tedious, But Brief". Another holds a symbol representing a moon, broken by the rays of a stylized sun. Still above another appeared the words, "Night, Shortly." The largest stone archway leads down a slowly descending corridor. Above this doorway is the sign of the Unblinking Eye. It leads to a well lit room, much larger than the others and occupied only by an enormous circular doorway, locked with a pre-Obliteration hatch-wheel.

Saoirse descended slowly at the heels of the brutish Grumbler, her oil lamp held aloft, squinting at the stone and the shadows and the little glowing fishes in little glass balls that reminded her of the tavern they'd just left. One smooth step at a time, down and down, Saoirse finally paused long enough to stick the tip of her knife between the wall and one of those glowy fishy orbs, which she popped loose and pocketed. Pleased with her new little friend, she caught up with Gru in slightly higher spirits -- though the darker wide landing ahead did nothing to maintain the momentary looting high.

Now it was only her oil lamp that showed them the deep archways; her expression contorted comically while she tried to decipher the pictures and writing, stretching as tall as she could to extend the lamplight. "What're these, lines in a poem?" Her voice echoed, skeptical, wondering if perhaps Dali knew the origin of the words. She squinted down the halls, not daring to move further without confidence that she'd be accompanied by someone better armed, until the lamplight illuminated the Eye.

She'd been expecting something like this. Her heart sank anyway.

At least the room on the other side was actually lit. With little more than a glance at the others, Saoirse marched forward with an air of confidence and reckless leadership, mostly certain she could handle whatever was on the other side. Surely the source of that blood-chilling scream had come from one of those other darker, spookier hallways. Not this big empty lit-up room with just an ancient hatch-wheel door. There wasn't even any blood. Everything was fine.

A triumphant grin had just begun to grow on her face when she felt something getting warm against her leg -- but her fishy friend was in the other pocket. Curious, she shoved her hand into several pockets before she withdrew the coin from the tavern.

As she stared at the face of the coin, Saoirse's expression morphed from curiosity, to suspicion, to pale-faced dread.

After a long, breathless moment, Saoirse's eyes darted to her companions, feverishly watching each of them to see if any of them had experienced anything similar. Her glance fell on Dali with a momentary aha!, certain that he must be playing tricks again -- but he seemed preoccupied. Just like him to act nonchalant. She had a hard time convincing herself. Was it getting hotter in here?

"So, hey guys, those coins we've all got -- do yours have the eye open or shut right now?" She posed the question coolly, flashing them her own coin without letting them get a good look at it. She clenched it in her fist and silently willed it to stop whatever it was doing, though the forced smirk didn't leave her face.

"In any case, who's gonna open this door? We didn't come all the way here for nothin." Obviously she was too small and scrawny to embarrass herself with that door.

Saoirse took this opportunity to slowly move back toward the doorway they had come from. Just keep cool.

If she knew anything about horror stories -- if her coin was the only one with the eye closed -- it could only mean that whatever had caused that scream was behind that door, and it was after her next.

The tinkerer was an explorer and an adventurer, eager to dive into places she had no right to be, to steal from people who should logically never be stolen from -- but she'd only survived thus far by knowing when to cut and run. This was quickly turning into one of those times. That didn't mean she wasn't still impossibly curious.

"C'mon, boys, heave-ho!" she called from the back of the room.