Chapter 197: Close Encounter of the Cold Kind
If audio player doesn't work, press Stop then Play button again
Chapter 197: Close Encounter of the Cold Kind
Close Encounter of the Cold Kind
Martel had a new strategy for exploring the sewers. Remembering that both hostile wizards and scared homeless people might live down here, he did not light a flame to follow him around permanently. If he met the former, Martel would like to have the element of surprise; with the latter, he did not wish to frighten them away. Instead, he only ignited his light when consulting his map, ducking into an alcove each time to limit who might see. Should he be unlucky enough to meet inquisitors again, this would also let him avoid detection and slip away.
Otherwise, he travelled in the dark. He kept one hand on the wall to ensure he stayed on the ledge and did not stray near its edge. On occasion, whenever reaching a new tunnel, he reached out with his magic to sense any heat. Nothing bigger than a rat met him.
He moved northwards, marking new tunnels as he went along. He assumed after a while that he stood underneath the temple district or perhaps the nobles' quarter, even if all the tunnels below looked the same. It cost him some confusion at times, trying to reconcile a crossing or path with his map; he suspected that he might not always have read it right. But it did not trouble him; he used his chalk marks to find his way back, after all.
When he had walked yet another while, perhaps an hour since he left the Lyceum in total, he reached another place causing him to doubt his navigation. Several tunnels met, with the usual grate bridges connecting them across the waters. As Martel lit his flame to inspect his map, he noticed a doorway on the ledge nearby, which did not have any flow of water beneath. Instead, it led to a solid road beyond.
A grinning skull greeted him. Shocked, Martel almost fell backwards. He did not need to see or feel anything more to understand. The alcoves were primitive tombs, with each shelf holding the bones of someone long dead. This was why the area had not been on his home-made map of the sewers. He was in the catacombs.
Martel quickly killed his light. No need to attract attention. Now to make a hasty retreat. He had no desire to find out if either of Father Andrew's warnings about Sol's curse or the traps were true.
A creaking, scraping sound of eerie movement reached his ears. Standing completely still, Martel stretched out his magic to sense any heat around him. Nothing returned, not even the smallest of rats. Yet he heard the sound again, coming from the same tunnel where he stood. Swallowing, perhaps against his better judgement, Martel ignited a glow of magelight to see.
As the tunnel became illuminated and Martel saw the source of the sounds, he finally understood. The letters scratched into the walls, he remembered where he had seen them before. At his trip to the Stone of Archen, they had been engraved on the entrance to the labyrinth, acting as wards to prevent the escape of a creature most sinister. He realised they served the same purpose here. The catacombs of Morcaster did not require curses or traps; the dead guarded the dead. Straight ahead of Martel stood a skeleton, animated by foul magic.
Acting more on instinct than anything else, Martel hurled a bolt of fire straight at the creature even as its empty sockets turned towards him. His magic, strong enough to ignite fabric or even wood, struck the hollow rib cage and flared out. If a skeleton could still feel, Martel got the impression he had just made this one mad. Sapient or not, the undead creature began to move towards him.
Martel turned and ran.
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
Chapter 197: Close Encounter of the Cold Kind
Close Encounter of the Cold Kind
Martel had a new strategy for exploring the sewers. Remembering that both hostile wizards and scared homeless people might live down here, he did not light a flame to follow him around permanently. If he met the former, Martel would like to have the element of surprise; with the latter, he did not wish to frighten them away. Instead, he only ignited his light when consulting his map, ducking into an alcove each time to limit who might see. Should he be unlucky enough to meet inquisitors again, this would also let him avoid detection and slip away.
Otherwise, he travelled in the dark. He kept one hand on the wall to ensure he stayed on the ledge and did not stray near its edge. On occasion, whenever reaching a new tunnel, he reached out with his magic to sense any heat. Nothing bigger than a rat met him.
He moved northwards, marking new tunnels as he went along. He assumed after a while that he stood underneath the temple district or perhaps the nobles' quarter, even if all the tunnels below looked the same. It cost him some confusion at times, trying to reconcile a crossing or path with his map; he suspected that he might not always have read it right. But it did not trouble him; he used his chalk marks to find his way back, after all.
When he had walked yet another while, perhaps an hour since he left the Lyceum in total, he reached another place causing him to doubt his navigation. Several tunnels met, with the usual grate bridges connecting them across the waters. As Martel lit his flame to inspect his map, he noticed a doorway on the ledge nearby, which did not have any flow of water beneath. Instead, it led to a solid road beyond.
A grinning skull greeted him. Shocked, Martel almost fell backwards. He did not need to see or feel anything more to understand. The alcoves were primitive tombs, with each shelf holding the bones of someone long dead. This was why the area had not been on his home-made map of the sewers. He was in the catacombs.
Martel quickly killed his light. No need to attract attention. Now to make a hasty retreat. He had no desire to find out if either of Father Andrew's warnings about Sol's curse or the traps were true.
A creaking, scraping sound of eerie movement reached his ears. Standing completely still, Martel stretched out his magic to sense any heat around him. Nothing returned, not even the smallest of rats. Yet he heard the sound again, coming from the same tunnel where he stood. Swallowing, perhaps against his better judgement, Martel ignited a glow of magelight to see.
As the tunnel became illuminated and Martel saw the source of the sounds, he finally understood. The letters scratched into the walls, he remembered where he had seen them before. At his trip to the Stone of Archen, they had been engraved on the entrance to the labyrinth, acting as wards to prevent the escape of a creature most sinister. He realised they served the same purpose here. The catacombs of Morcaster did not require curses or traps; the dead guarded the dead. Straight ahead of Martel stood a skeleton, animated by foul magic.
Acting more on instinct than anything else, Martel hurled a bolt of fire straight at the creature even as its empty sockets turned towards him. His magic, strong enough to ignite fabric or even wood, struck the hollow rib cage and flared out. If a skeleton could still feel, Martel got the impression he had just made this one mad. Sapient or not, the undead creature began to move towards him.
Martel turned and ran.
Chapter 197: Close Encounter of the Cold KindClose Encounter of the Cold KindMartel had a new strategy for exploring the sewers. Remembering that both hostile wizards and scared homeless people might live down here, he did not light a flame to follow him around permanently. If he met the former, Martel would like to have the element of surprise; with the latter, he did not wish to frighten them away. Instead, he only ignited his light when consulting his map, ducking into an alcove each time to limit who might see. Should he be unlucky enough to meet inquisitors again, this would also let him avoid detection and slip away.Otherwise, he travelled in the dark. He kept one hand on the wall to ensure he stayed on the ledge and did not stray near its edge. On occasion, whenever reaching a new tunnel, he reached out with his magic to sense any heat. Nothing bigger than a rat met him.He moved northwards, marking new tunnels as he went along. He assumed after a while that he stood underneath the temple district or perhaps the nobles' quarter, even if all the tunnels below looked the same. It cost him some confusion at times, trying to reconcile a crossing or path with his map; he suspected that he might not always have read it right. But it did not trouble him; he used his chalk marks to find his way back, after all.When he had walked yet another while, perhaps an hour since he left the Lyceum in total, he reached another place causing him to doubt his navigation. Several tunnels met, with the usual grate bridges connecting them across the waters. As Martel lit his flame to inspect his map, he noticed a doorway on the ledge nearby, which did not have any flow of water beneath. Instead, it led to a solid road beyond.A grinning skull greeted him. Shocked, Martel almost fell backwards. He did not need to see or feel anything more to understand. The alcoves were primitive tombs, with each shelf holding the bones of someone long dead. This was why the area had not been on his home-made map of the sewers. He was in the catacombs.Martel quickly killed his light. No need to attract attention. Now to make a hasty retreat. He had no desire to find out if either of Father Andrew's warnings about Sol's curse or the traps were true.A creaking, scraping sound of eerie movement reached his ears. Standing completely still, Martel stretched out his magic to sense any heat around him. Nothing returned, not even the smallest of rats. Yet he heard the sound again, coming from the same tunnel where he stood. Swallowing, perhaps against his better judgement, Martel ignited a glow of magelight to see.As the tunnel became illuminated and Martel saw the source of the sounds, he finally understood. The letters scratched into the walls, he remembered where he had seen them before. At his trip to the Stone of Archen, they had been engraved on the entrance to the labyrinth, acting as wards to prevent the escape of a creature most sinister. He realised they served the same purpose here. The catacombs of Morcaster did not require curses or traps; the dead guarded the dead. Straight ahead of Martel stood a skeleton, animated by foul magic.Acting more on instinct than anything else, Martel hurled a bolt of fire straight at the creature even as its empty sockets turned towards him. His magic, strong enough to ignite fabric or even wood, struck the hollow rib cage and flared out. If a skeleton could still feel, Martel got the impression he had just made this one mad. Sapient or not, the undead creature began to move towards him.Martel turned and ran.
