Polybius — Roleplayer Guild

Puliver had not come to Teluval to guard the dead; had not wanted to leave his quiet fishing village along the Starlit Sea, and he missed dearly the early mornings along the shoreline where he tended his grandfathers nets. In the darkness of the catacombs, far below the city of names, it was easy to remember other times. Memories came and went, even if one was on guard duty or sitting among the shroud covered dead. It was a small antechamber, one of many along the halls and catacombs beneath the city. The only light came from the tiny glass orb atop his baton. A tiny blue glow. With a flick of his wrist, Puliver could send a bolt of electric power from the top and he fiddled with it as he waited. Puliver sat back against a brick wall, scratched a bite beneath his city-watch tunic and waited for the chiming of the clock atop Pagan's Precipice. He stared at the dead bodies in the room. 

A dozen bodies rested on stone platforms waiting for the final rights rights and prayers to be administered. They were covered in dusky linen sheets of course-Puliver was thankful for that. No need for a grotesque vigil. Puliver would guard the bodies from looters until the priests came to carry them away-Wherever that may be, he thought. He sighed. He shifted uncomfortably. He waited. Minutes passed, or maybe an hour, Puliver did not know. He watched the little electric pulses in the glass orb atop his baton. The faint blue light made it hard for his eyes to adjust in the dark, but he was thankful for the weapon. 

Looting of dead bodies was not common in Teluval, not that Puliver knew of, but he did fear other things that might be wandering around down here in the dark. He had heard stories, priests not coming back. He heard other things too, while he was on duty. Little scratching noises behind the walls. Chittering laughter, that was the creepiest. The sound of bare feet running in the dark. A lot of feet. Puliver scratched another bite and lightly tapped the back of his head against the brick wall. He wondered if the little bugs were fleas or spiders.

It's been ages, he thought. "Where are the priests?"

The electric-baton of his profession clattered to the floor as he shifted uncomfortably in the dark, and the little blue glowing orb attached to the top flickered out. He fumbled around for the rod in the dark, kicked it across the floor with a clatter by accident. 

"Cripes!" he squeaked in the dark. He let out a deep sigh, sat back down, closed his eyes and waited. He thought of his little village along the Starlit Sea and how Grandpa and him would go fishing and tell stories and wonder at the world. 

~ ~ ~

They would begin before the sun rose over the jagged hills to the north, setting along the sandy path from the circle of wooden huts that counted as his village. Puliver could count the houses on two hands, but only when grandpa carried the heavy ropes. They would walk the sandy trail along the dunes, stealing glances at the hills for the first glimpse of the sun. The golden rays would repel the shadows, and touch the brass towers of the City of Beltane behind the hills. Grandpa would tell Puliver how they weren't hills, but the edge of a great crater that had existed for a long, long time. 

They would reach the beach and unload their gear. Grandpa would unlock the little wooden shack where he stored nets, line, hooks, crates, and baskets. They were alone on this part of the beach, but in the distance, east and west they could see the other families start to work. All the work was done by hand, and by the time the sun was half-way to zenith, Puliver's fingers and arms were trembling with exertion. They tied long heavy lines to large wooden pylons, or hauled in nets from the shallow waters. Puliver would curse as he knicked fingers on barnacles, or shriek in fright at the little slithery eels that popped in and out of holes on the sandbars. Grandpa would laugh, arms straining against the work. Blessedly, they would break for lunch and grandpa would tell Puliver more about the crater and the city of Beltane. 

 "Have you ever been to Beltane, Grandpa?" Puliver would ask, chomping a sandwich gritty with sand. 

 "Hm. No, but your grandmother did once, to fix a watch or a clock that had stopped ticking. Or was it your mother? I don't remember Pully, eat your sandwich. We have four more nets to haul in before dark." 

One day, while they ate their sandy lunch, and waved away the great big black flies that haunted the shallows, they saw a golden orb emerge from the sea. Puliver's eyes grew wide as the moon. Grandpa only slowed his chewing, furrowed his brow and stared at the weird sphere. The orb moved towards the beach, finally reaching the edge of the shallows.  

As it loomed closer, Puliver could see it was not an orb, but a boat. A metal boat. With wings, and a mouth like a fish or-

"A dragon!" he said out loud. Grandpa smiled, but looked displeased. The metal boat had been heading directly for shore, but now it turned as it reached the shallows giving Puliver a good look at the thing. A big waving fin attached to the stern pushed it along slowly. It was very quiet, except for clicking sounds, like a thousand fingers tapping. The tail waved and pushed, waved and pushed and the boat moved on. Puliver could see a glass window in the bow, a tiny transparent bubble cut into the metal carapace. He thought he saw a face inside the bubble and he waved. Grandpa gave him a stern look. They stood and stared, the nets and ropes on the beach forgotten.

"Have you ever seen anything-?" asked Puliver pointing excitedly. 

"No," said Grandpa, and Puliver knew he was telling the truth. 

The boat changed then. The bow opened like a mouth, and Puliver could see tiny jagged gears turning. Hooks emerged with blinking lights-yellow and red. The boat dipped under the waves and slowed to a crawl. It began chomping, sucking up water and sea grass and fish. A jet of foamy water burst from the topdeck with a gush. A cloud of black sand billowed in the murky waters behind it. What would have taken Puliver and his Grandpa a whole day to catch, the metal boat took in a few, giant gulps. 

"The fish, said Puliver quietly. 

"The fish," echoed Grandpa. 

 The metal boat worked for a while and then turned around and sailed back from wherever it had come. Grandpa and Puliver finished their work too and headed for home in the quiet dark. They had caught a decent haul, but Grandpa seemed disappointed. He didn't tell grandma about the boat.

The metal boat did not return until a week later. Puliver spied it on the horizon, artificial tail flapping through the waves. The next week, came two more metal ships. The nets yielded less and less fish and soon Grandpa told Puliver what he knew was coming. 

"You'll have to go to the city. Teluval, of course. Not Beltane," he said one evening. 

"What'll you do grandpa?"  

Grandpa scratched his beard. "Your grandma has relatives in the next village. They grow grain for the cities. I can't imagine living in a city. Set in my ways. You'll learn a trade. Make some money. You'll be fine." 

~ ~ ~

"Heehee...Heh...Hehehe, HA!

The laughter shook Puliver from his reverie. A chill swept over his inert body. He had drifted off to sleep, and time ceased to exist for the city-watchmen. At least in this moment. "Wha-what?" he mumbled wiping his eyes. He blinked in the dark. The outlines of the bodies looked like tiny mountain ranges on the stone tables. One of the bodies moved. Puliver started trembling. His bones ached with cold. The body closest to him jolted, slipped off the table. A shape popped up over the lip of the table. A pair of close-set yellow eyes opened, closed. Puliver scrambled to his feet.

"Ha..har..hehee..

"Get out of here! he shouted. The shape emerged again from the shadows, from the side of the table. The yellow eyes blinked again, this time one on top of the other. This pair was joined by three more scattered around the room. Panic seized Puliver. "Gnomes! he hissed. He could hear their little bare feet padding around the room, hear the sound of their tools, and the sawing and carving as they made work of the corpses. The blood drained from Pulivers face as he realized what they were up too. Their scratchy little voices pricked the air in the chamber of the dead. 

"Hehe...it's alive, har.."

"Blech...gross... Leave it, plenty of meat here."

"What if we kill it?"

Silence crept into the room. Puliver's bladder emptied, the hot liquid gathering in a little pool at his feet. 

"Ha! That's a fine ideeaa har!"

Puliver screamed at the top of his lungs as he charged out of the room. The sound echoed down the corridor, filling the dozens of chambers where the dead lay, past the iron portal with the coin-slot, up the stairs and out into the streets of Teluval.

@PrivateVentures Dying earth is very cool. I got a hold of Jack Vance very early-lucky me. (Gygax basically ripped off the way magic works in Vance's dying earth stories for D&D). I would say it's more about...humanity's resilience. The world almost succumbed, but life went on, albeit in a strange way. I like how the human characters are so animated, in juxtaposition to the sarcastic, almost ruefully cruel automatons, and the quiet desperation of the Grumblers. Teluval itself was built into a crater caused by the last great destruction, in a defiant '**** you!' to the powers that were. Life goes on, people still drink and tell jokes, feel sadness and remorse, still make love and raise families despite what has come before. Kind of went on a tangent, but yea, those are the things I'm thinking about when writing for this. 

You might check out Gene Wolf's Sword & Claw series or maybe the Elric of Melnibone stories if you like this sort of thing. 

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