Way back when, despite the assurances of various persons of authority on the matter, I’ve heard extensively about the existence of eldritch horrors from brief lectures in Rourkehaven, and even more so from the anecdotes of Guild members. Nearly every greenhorn had claimed to have seen at least one and came back alive, yet shaken, from first-hand experiences. Then the next would claim a similar experience, and so would the next one, as though it was some absurd contest to see who could top the chart of the most daring exploit, rather than actually learn anything about these elusive monsters. The way they often prattled about them, you’d think that one would just walk down your street like some common courier or alley cat, but I had never seen one before, nor did I believe such things could even be seen with the naked eye.

I almost regretted asking, or at least regretted the manner of how I inquired. You see, the first time I had asked a professor on the subject, it was as if I had treaded on her mother’s grave.

“Once one of the Faire-folks they were,” she began eerily after settling down, “before our world began, so some will say. Some even say they were once jinn, powerful spirits born from the Holy Mother’s hearth and given lordship over the heavenly hosts, until the Azdahag deceived them when he promised to give unto them the seeds from the Tree of Life; the life source that which surrounds us and grants us our good magic. They desired to control that power above all else, so they obeyed him without question. Fall they did. One by one. Now, they are pure manifestations of his evil; living only to corrupt souls, to destroy life, and spread madness across the world.

“They are not beings of this mortal plane. They are evil incarnate who can mask themselves in many monstrous forms, from a swarm of bats to a poisonous fog. But they are only shadows under their master’s great shadows who never show themselves in broad daylight—never! …They fled into the dark recesses of our world after their master’s defeat in the War against Iram, hiding as we speak in unholy places where they lurk and slumber and Mother only knows what; but anyone who would dare to undertake any quest to bring a head back would lose his own head. Literally… even figuratively!”

I remembered edging, unfazed at her apparent warning to my fault, at a portrait hanging next to the chalkboard depicting Normiland’s leading expert on eldritch horrors and Malizauberai incantations: one Maester Thomas of House Exham. It never occurred to me why no one had ever seen him leave his dorm in ages. “He’s alive,” I said nonchalantly. I’ll never forget the way she scoffed at my otherwise ignorant statement.

“Alive? Ha! But dead inside from what he knows…”

The sheltered, cozy confines of university life may have been the orientation to my unsettling education in that field, but today, down there in that priory, was my initiation to that terrifying discovery.

“Oh shit!” Jacq cried.

Seetha and the two brigands shared her sentiment, but were too horrified to speak. The numberless tide of the lean, filthy, ravenous scourge of sallow-eyed vermin suddenly swept across the stone floor like black goo after a great spill.

Several things happened at once amidst the chaos: the second brigand scuttled to the top of the dais to get off of the ground, while Jacq instinctively held her torch out defensively. It was all she could do, while Seetha could only watch helplessly from the second floor.

Both women could hardly believe it when they saw the ugly fiends going around Jacq where she stood, even as they continued to fill the chamber. The sound of them was a deafening  cacophony of skittering and screeching, so loud that it hurt to hear them. The stench of them was overwhelming, a concoction of wet fur, feces, and slimy muck quickly filling the air with a foul, nauseating aroma that made Jacq and the brigand gag. Even Seetha wasn’t high enough as the odor crescendoed to the second level. Jacq recovered quickly enough to notice that they were avoiding places where there was light, from the sunlit dais to the illuminated area of her torchlight.

To her dismay, she saw that the rogling was still hanging back in a deadlock against the wall on the far side of the chamber; he didn’t even seem to register the windows of his impending doom rapidly closing in on him. “Hey you, get over to the light!” Jacq called to him frantically.

“Run mate! Run!” cried the second brigand.

But the rogling was cut off by the black sea.

Horror stricken at the swift surge of the verminous tide, he feebly kicked his feet at the first oncoming rat that grew into ten rats gnawing at the tip of his boots; then a hundred covering his entire feet in bites and clawing; then a thousand turning his leg into a bloody stump. His mouth seethed with blood after biting down on his lips from the sheer pain. Fruitlessly, he threw what remained of his leg forward in an attempt to scramble to the sunlit dais at last. The last time that one man and two women ever saw him was his body sinking into the black goo of gnashing teeth. His last scream on earth was muffled by the slithering, hungry masses quickly burying his head.

“No!” his comrade cried before he faltered, lips quivering. To top off the macabre slaughter, the last sight of the rogling was his frenzied hand reaching out, with a last helpless throe towards the light, the light of salvation that he had been avoiding all his life.

“Oh Mother, no…” Seetha turned away in disgust, cupping her mouth after suddenly feeling almost weak from hunger.

Jacq was barely able to retain her alerted pose. “This is turning into a really lousy day,” she shuddered. Though she was still shaken by the death of the rogling, the fading light of her torch warned her not to dwell on the horror she had just witnessed. Carefully, but with some haste, she headed towards the safety of the dais. The sea of black death, meanwhile, parted from her path with every step she took; and in spite of their feverishly gnawing, chattering, screeching hunger for her warm flesh which invoked life, none of them seemingly dared to enter the light they hated.

Moments later, Seetha heard Jacq calling to her. “Seetha!”

Seetha’s eyes lit up. “Jacq? Are you alright?” she looked over the balcony. She was relieved to see that her friend had made it.

“I’m fine, yeah!” answered Jacq over the noise, hanging her head between her jilted legs. “Just focus on getting those chains down here! The roof is our only way out!”

“Alright!” Seetha took a few deep breaths before she focused on the machinery. All the while, the two hapless survivors on the dais waited anxiously on their sunlit island, never once taking their eyes off of the black sea of death encircling them.

“What the hell are they doing?” asked Jacq’s newfound but unwilling acquaintance.

“They don’t seem to like the light much,” answered Jacq. “As long as that sun is shining over us, we should be safe.”

“A storm cloud could change all that, sweetie,” said the brigand grimly.

At this, Jacq’s composed face dawned in fear. Of all the days not to pay heed to the day’s forecast before tomb-diving, it had to be today. She tore a piece off from the banner, with one hand, and hastily fed the yellow cloth to her torch. “Seetha! How’s it looking?” she called out frantically.

“Hang on,” Seetha called back, “the leaver’s stuck! Damn it, it won’t budge.” The few minutes that passed was grueling as Jacq kept looking up to see if any clouds were appearing overhead. It seemed as if the chamber was darkening, but that could have been her imagination. The whirling black sea began to ripple from a smooth surface to a wave; swelling mass after swelling mass lapped against the foot of the sunlit refuge and rolled back, before repeating. They were doubtless trying to knock Jacq and the brigand off without touching the light. But the stone held firm against the crashing waves. “Wait, I see a tunnel behind me!” Seetha called.

“Seetha, hurry up!” Jacq yelled wildly.

The Sword Dancer looked back down in time to see the rats plying another dirty trick. On one side of the chamber, a group of them started to gather in a hairy mass before it rose a little off the ground. Without warning, the ball flung itself across the cold air, breaking into a dozen angry vermin in midair at the Barbarian and the brigand.

“Seetha!”

Jacq’s body jerked back as she swung her torch at the incoming rats lunging at her with abandon, swatting all but a few back. She felt one of the creatures landing on her shoulder. She fought, with one panicking hand, against its cold, hairy paws raking against her skin and the smell of its fetid hide, burning like charcoal under the light, was in her face.

With a terrified intake of breath, Seetha started beating the jammed leaver down with the back pommel of her sword as she would a hammer on a nail. She felt the results at once. The cranking of the wheel meant something was working. In a few seconds, the chains were coming down in a rattling jingle. “I got it! They’re moving!” Seetha cried.

But the two survivors were still beating back their tormenters. The brigand went reeling backwards; being weaponless he desperately pounded back the yellowed-fanged mouths that were darting at his throat. At the same time, Jacq abruptly grabbed a fistful of the creature’s hideously greasy flesh and pulled it off, feeling her fingers stab into the back of its throat and causing it to wheeze out a coughing squeal. She quickly threw it back into the black sea.

“Help!” the brigand cried. “Get it off, get it off!”

Jacq quickly reached out and grabbed the other rat by its pink tail before it had the chance to sink its teeth into the man’s throat. She missed this time, dashing its ugly head against one of the pillars as she threw it, killing it instantly. Their hearts were pounding so heavily now it seemed as if they would implode. Jacq could feel the trickle of blood on her cheek, but felt no pain. Hastily, she wiped it off with one shaking hand.

“Thanks,” Jacq heard the brigand say. She was taken aback. She thought so little of him that gratitude was the last thing she expected from a criminal.

It was not long before they despairingly saw the rats surging for another attack like before. “Jacq! The chains, hurry!” Seetha called.

“About time,” Jacq’s voice quivered dryly. “Hold this,” she handed her torch to the brigand and lifted the heavy statue. “Hold them off while I hook this up,” she grunted. “This is our ticket up to Heaven.”

“Hallelujah,” muttered the brigand. Without another word, he stood guard against the verminous tide. A short time later, his patience was rewarded. Whatever power that held sway over the rats held them back this time, sensing perhaps that the defendants were more prepared this time, meaning that another attack would simply be a waste of bodies.

Now that the golden statue was tressed up in the chains, Jacq was able to stand on it well enough like a platform. “C’mon,” she beckoned to the brigand with an open hand, and he was more than willing to oblige her. “Alright, Seetha! Lift us up!”

Seeing the two secured on the statue, the Sword Dancer pushed the second leaver deduced by her to be what’ll raise the chains up. There was a stuttering clank echoing in her ears that worried her for a moment. Seconds later, the statue resumed its ascension. “Phew,” said Seetha relieved. “Hey Jacq, how’s it looking?”

When the Barbarian met her eye level, she parted a look of assurance to the Isyrian. “Going up to meet my Maker,” she laughed with a thin smile, and the brigand partook in her humor.

“Of course,” Seetha huffed in disbelief at her flippant friend. “Listen, I’m gonna follow this tunnel behind me! I can get out that way and meet you upside!”

“No, no!” the brigand warned. “Take the torch—you’ll never make it!”

Clank!

“Whoa!” Jacq and the brigand cried. The chains suddenly shook and nearly jolted them off of their platform. Their hands reached out and gripped the chains rigidly in time as they teetered near the edge.

“Oh no!” Jacq cried out. Seetha jerked her head back and her heart jumped. In that sudden moment when Jacq lost her balance, the torch fell from her grip. The blackness below parted quickly from the flickering light that hit the ground, but then the light dwindled and died, and the ground was swallowed up by the rats once more.

To add further to their dread, the hoist’s wheel wasn’t spinning forward. And rather than ascending, the chains choked and started losing their traction. Jacq and the brigand were slowly going down. Cold fear punctured through the Barbarian’s veins at the thought of them both falling into the black sea.

“It—it’s too much weight!” the brigand cried.

A groan cut itself off in Jacq’s throat as she stifled a “No shit” remark. One hand ran nervously through her hair, but she forced herself to be calm. She could’t go to pieces now; she had to keep himself in check. We’ll get out, she told herself. Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this. We always do. But she could kill herself right now for being careless.

“Jacq! Jump over to me!” Seetha’s voice broke Jacq from her fear. “Hurry, before it gets too low!”

Any other fool would’ve foisted twenty questions at her, but Jacq saw the floor was getting closer; it was do or die. With one foot, Jacq pushed herself off the platform, waiving her arms towards the balcony as she leapt over the eleven foot gap, praying that she wasn’t too low or too far to reach it. Ooof!

Slamming against the stonework nearly knocked the wind out of her body and scraped the skin off of her chin, but one arm she managed to wrap around the edge tightly. Her other hand, holding on for dear life, found its grip on one of the carved-out reliefs on the balcony. She cranked her head back to look behind her, and saw that their hazardous gamble payed off; the chains were ascending once again. Even the brigand, wiping his brow, was beside himself with brief palliation as he slowly went up through the shaft and disappeared. A relieved chuckle was passing through Jacq’s thin smile—only to freeze suddenly in her throat at the hideous, ethereal scream blasting from below. It was nothing like either of them had ever heard. It had a metallic reverberation scraping against the walls, yet the scream itself was a shrill cry, like an animal in the woods screaming in pain.

The verminous tide seemed to answer in response to the baffling sound, moving as though it was some liquid in a goblet being tilted to one side. Then they sloshed furiously against the side of the wall holding up the balcony, before piling into a stacking tower of night. Jacq couldn’t hold back the gasp. The bastards were all climbing up.

“Jacq, come one!” Seetha grabbed her arm and attempted to pull her up. Jacq needed no further incentive; her muscular arms easily hoisted her over the dusty rung. No sooner than she had reunited with her companion, they felt the stone beneath their feet quake. Only one word of advice was uttered by the panic-stricken Isyrian that Jacq wholeheartedly followed: “Run!”