Below Pt.5

 It's finally here! Part five of Below, and hopefully part six will be up soon and I'll resume a more normal posting schedule. Enjoy.



 Viewer discretion advised. If you are easily disturbed, find yourself easily triggered by reading about depression, suicides, or disturbing imagery, I would advise you to skip over this story and wait for a different story, as Below contains material that some may find disturbing or may cause relapses into self-destructive habits. 

    Daelin had sat down with his back against the wall behind him. He was tired and angry. "Better rest up," Vlad said striding over to an old couch "we've got a long day ahead of us. You'll want to be as alert as possible come morning." With that he sprawled out on the decrepit old couch and slowly drifted off to sleep. Daelin simply sat and stared off into the darkness, he thought about what Vlad had said and what he had seen. His mind was still racing trying to figure out just what was what and why when he fell asleep. 

                                          ~~~~

     Aela awoke in what she assumed was the next morning. Everything was dark as her eyes slowly adjusted to the world around her, slowly she realized that there was a pale bluish glow outside the darkened house. She slowly slid her legs off the side of the rotting old couch feeling stiff and greasy. Her mouth tasted stale and she swallowed a few times to moisten her throat. Standing up she realized her arm felt heavy and suddenly the events of the night before came rushing back to her, she slumped back onto the couch and held up the shackle so that she could look at it. The spike was hammered down until it was near flush with the rest of the band. She remembered the vibrations of each strike sending bolts of sharp pain through her body, now the shackle was firmly locked onto her wrist and did not so much as move hardly at all. She dropped her arm into her lap and stared off into the darkness fighting back the overwhelming sinking feeling in her chest and with a deep breath she leaned over and pulled the package she had received the previous night in front of her. 

      It was a simple package of brown butcher paper with a string of twine tied around it holding it closed. She undid the loose knot and pulled back the paper to find a worn looking overcoat  along with a second set of grey-brown pants and a shirt. The clothes were nearly identical to the ones she currently wore, although they were much cleaner. Looking around she realized the old drunk was still fast asleep so she changed out of her muddied pants and bloodied shirt into this fresh pair. The overcoat was thick and obviously made for a man with a larger frame than she, however it did not wreak of the holding cells. It was old not only in design, which was a design she recognized from paintings she has seen depicting militiaman during the great civil war, but it also smelled somewhat musty as if it had been sitting in a chest somewhere for over a decade. The material was worn but it was in good repair for a garment of it's age with very few holes and when she pulled the over sized coat onto her tiny frame she felt warm and much more secure than she previously had. After wrapping her other clothes in the butcher paper and tucking them under her sofa bed along with her blanket Aela quietly slipped out of the decaying old building. 

      The world outside was bathed in a peculiar blue light that by comparison to the darkness of the house was quite bright. Craning her neck to see where this light coming from Aela could see hundred of small blue and purple stars above her. Her brow furrowed upon seeing this, for how could there be stars on the underside of the wooden boardwalk? Surely this had to be some sort of illusion, she thought. Perhaps the early morning sunlight was simply finding it's way down to her through tiny holes and cracks that from down here made it look as though she was looking at a vast night sky. Her neck began to cramp from looking up though so Aela decided it was best not to question the means by which she was allowed to see in this new world, and sticking her hands in the extra-large pockets of her new coat she began to walk down the damp and deserted street towards the heart of the prison. She took care to stay on the same road and keep track of various land marks so she would not lose herself in the dark. She did not have to walk long before she began to see other people, all walking in similarly old clothes with their eyes down. She considered asking one of them where she might find something to eat, however once she saw their unnaturally pale skin and scarred faces she decided it would be better to keep to herself and act as if she knew exactly where she was going just as if she had always lived down in the dark.

     She did not notice the hooded figure trailing her from the crumbling rooftops of old churches, houses, and shops as she made her way deeper into the city/prison. In many of the buildings around her now there were lighted windows and the sound of low conversation could be heard as more and more people filled the streets. After walking for close to ten minutes she came upon what was easily recognizable as an old tavern. The building appeared to have been converted and renovated from an old Elvish church with it's characteristic dual spires, although one of them had half crumbled the other now held a room from which smoke could be seen lazily drifting out from behind it's colorfully curtained windows. A sign hung above the double doors that read The Preachers Palace and music along with the occasional burst of laughter could be heard from inside. 

     The air of The Preachers Palace was warm and smelled of smoke and ale. The pulpit of the church had been removed and replaced with a large round bar behind which an unnaturally skinny man with glasses and black slicked back hair stood leaning back on the shelves of bottles looking out over his congregation of ruffians, scoundrels, and drunks. Many of the pews which appeared oddly small for a church of this size, had been pulled out of the ground and turned around to face the row directly behind them. Tables of various makes, shapes, and sizes were placed in between these pews forming little booths that the patrons could sit in with a minimal amount of privacy. Only a handful of booths held bar patrons, and most of them appeared to have spent the night in the tavern, with disheveled hair and sleepy eyes. On one side of the room stood a door that was boarded up, presumably leading to the crumbled tower above, for directly across the room on the opposite side a similar door stood open with a translucent purple curtain draped across the doorway casting a small pool of purple light in front of it. The tower, Aela assumed, was now used most likely for the smoking of Dragroot, Pipe-Weed, and other activities. To the left of the bar remained the choir platform from which a lone dark-elf man played a soft, almost mournful tune on some foreign stringed instrument that appeared as if it had been waterlogged at one point in time before being dried out over a fire for too long where it had begun to singe and smolder. The song was in the tongue of the dark-elves and Aela could not understand a single word, although she assumed neither could anyone else save the singer. Regardless she found his low voice to be comforting and took a seat at the bar.

"Well well," Said the barkeep after she had taken her seat on a rickety old stool. "I dare say you're new here." His voice made Aela uneasy and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze, as if he were peering straight through her heavy over coat. "What are ya in for?" he smiled and leaned forward making her all the more uncomfortable, she ducked her eyes away from his sunken gaze toward the curtained doorway on her right where some sort of robed mercenary was just stumbling down the stairs through the doorway. "I'd rather not say." she replied softly. The gaunt barkeep straightened at this and then said "Well in that case, what can Father Roe do for you my lovely daughter?" Again he smiled exposing over sized teeth that were stained an odd green color. "What?" she said taken off guard being claimed as this strangers daughter. Father Roe sighed and said "All who enter my palace are accepted into my flock as sons and daughters. Now, what is it you came to see me about?" "I just need something to eat." She said. "You wouldn't happen to have some form of... payment, would you?"Aela tensed at the way Father Roe asked this and stammered out nervously "No. I- I just got here last night." She rubbed her shackled arm anxiously waiting for his reply. He stood silent for a moment then smiled broadly "Why that will be no problem dear daughter. For what is a preacher if he is without charity? Although I recommend you find yourself some work, because you can't go living off charity forever." He stepped back and filled a bowl with some stew and put it on a plate with a slice of thick bread. "And where might I find work down here?" she asked remaining as calm as she could hoping her voice would not betray her. Father Roe placed the small meal in front of her followed by a tankard of frothy drink. She reached for the drink realizing how thirsty she was as he replied. "Well I might suggest..." He paused looking at her arm. Her sleeve had slid back slightly to reveal part of the shackle. "Ahh... So you're from the boardwalk? Well I think you would do well to mind who sees that band there." Hastily she pulled her hand back and covered it with the coat sleeve once more as he went on. "I hear tell that those who wear the band are being targeted by some radical group called the reavers or reapers or something like that. That band is supposed to place you under protection of the watch and not even the Thieves Guild dared hurt a person wearing one." 
"Why's that?" she asked. This was the first she had ever heard of this, in fact the previous night she had no clue why she had been singled out for this treatment. "Under threat of death of course by the warden himself. You see, that band they stuck to you marks you for protection by the Dagorath council and the warden issued a statement a long time ago when the bands were first used that said if anyone who had been given one of those shackles was ever killed the watch would come down here with swords drawn and torches blazing and they'd start burning houses and intimidating everyone until the killer was found." Aela listened to Father Roe wide eyed as she slowly munched on her food trying to take in every detail of what this mark meant for her.
"Now I'm not sure all of that is true, most likely an exaggeration of the original decree. Nonetheless no one in their right mind ever touched someone once they saw the shackle. There were some who would remove the shackle by force from its wearer and wear it themselves hoping to find some safety down here, but the watch always seemed to find out some how. Rumor has it they've got mages who enchant the bands so that the warden always knows where the wearers are and is alerted when the band is removed. Which would of course explain the detachments of guards we see down here from time to time searching for someone they've been told removed a shackle from its wearer." 
Aela swallowed the last of her bread then asked "But why start attacking people who are marked if the consequences have been made clear?" 
Father Roe paused for a moment before saying in a hushed tone as if nervous someone might hear "Well that's just it, these stories of attacks are all just rumors. Did you hear about the hangings a while back?" She nodded "Well the prevailing rumor is that the bodies were hung there to send some sort of message to the warden and the council. Some say it was some new religious cult, some say the Thieves Guild or some replacement although I had thought them destroyed. Wouldn't be the first time they disappeared for a long time letting us drop our guard and feel just a little safer before coming back full force though." He cleared his throat then continued "I digress. The point is no one seems to know who killed the couple or for what purpose. All anyone can agree on is that things are getting unstable in Dagorath and something big is on its way. I've felt it in the air. When I kneel myself down to commune with the divines I feel it. There are forces at work here that are more powerful than any guild we've ever seen. Maybe even... Supernatural." He whispered the last word out in a near hiss that chilled Aela and caused her to look back over her shoulder at the dim tavern to see that many of the patrons had changed. In a back corner someone caught her eye, a man was sitting in a booth near motionless as if he were passed out. She recognized him as the mercenary that had stumbled out of the tower earlier. Although he seemed to be passed out she felt as if he were watching her from under his deep hood and she turned back to Father Roe slowly feeling more uneasy than she had before. Seeing the look in her eyes Father Roe said "Now before you go let me tell you one last thing." She simply stared at him as he went on in his hushed tone. "A while back I had a man come in here, he was quite and nervous. Looked like he'd just seen a ghost. A few drinks later his lips loosened up a bit and in an unofficial confession he told me he had just come from where those two kids were hanged. He said it wasn't a murder, said he saw them climb up the rafters with the rope and jump off together hand in hand. But at that last second, just before they jumped to their death, he swore on his life he had seen two figures appear behind them and give a great big shove before disappearing. He swears they were ghosts, but who knows. He did smell of dragroot after all, so maybe he did not see what he thought he saw..." Father Roe stood up and took Aelas now empty dishes from her and smiled, only setting her more on edge. "Take care you. And about finding work, I'd go to the docks they're always looking for help and it's safer on the river than in a tavern." With that he turned and began cleaning her used dishes humming to himself.

           Aela left The Preachers Palace as quickly as she could and headed towards the docks looking over her shoulder the whole way. What Father Roe had said filled Aela with an almost unnatural dread that only increased as she thought more about it. It was as if every shadow held some dark figure waiting to lead her up into the rafters and shove her off into the darkness below.

     

       

Below Pt. 4

Viewer discretion advised. If you are easily disturbed, find yourself easily triggered by reading about depression, suicides, or disturbing imagery, I would advise you to skip over this story and wait for a different story, as Below contains material that some may find disturbing or may cause relapses into self-destructive habits. 

 Above her, in the rafters, the hooded figure slipped silently into the room and took watch from the shadows above, soon she drifted off into sleep, as did the old man. The hooded figure dropped down quietly, his split robes splaying out beneath him as he crouched. He knelt beside the girls bed, and peeled back the blanket carefully, revealing her iron band. He gently took it in his hands and whispered words of a foreign tongue over it that created a soft purple and white glow on her arm. Her breathing became less labored immediately after that and, using the edge of his robe he wiped her blood from the shackle and her pale skin gently cleaning her. Then the hooded figure pulled the blanket back over her and leaned forward kissing her forehead gently feeling great sorrow for the fragile girl. With that the figure retreated into the shadows of the rafters where he too drifted into sleep soon after. 

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        As Aela and the stranger slept, Vlad and Daelin made their way through the muddy streets in silence. Daelin had been horrified listening to the screams of the girl, he had wanted to turn around and defend her but knew better than to try such a thing. The girl could only have been just over five feet tall and barely 100 pounds, she looked as if she weren't even in her twentieth year of life yet and already she had been punished in such a horrible way. Ask he and Vlad walk through the dark underworld, their boots sloshing through the mud, lanterns in the distance appearing as orange stars on a low horizon; Daelin thought more about the girl. 

       He tried to  justify what had happened, perhaps she was truly a hardened criminal responsible for some heinous act. Maybe she had gutted her entire family while they slumbered or had made a living stealing from the nobles. None of these made sense though, that shackle was meant for an inmate who would most likely be returning to the surface one day soon after spending a short span of time below. Besides that she had carried herself just as a frightened young girl would and not like a criminal.  

       So what could it have been? What could have been so horrible that this was necessary? As he pondered these things he continued to grow angrier, hearing her screams echoing in his mind. Daelins thoughts were interrupted by Vlad guiding him in to a vacant looking building. It was built in the same fashion as all the others, square and a few floors tall. It sagged slightly with age, just like everything else in the city, although the buildings below seemed to sag even more as if they had all sunken into a deep depression after being robbed from sunlight so long ago. They entered the building and found it sparsely furnished with tipped over rotting wood furniture. 

       When the door closed behind them Daelin burst and grabbed a startled Vlad by his coat and slammed him against the wall next to the door. "What in the Burning Hells was that?!" He nearly screamed with rage. Their faces were close together in the dark and Daelins breathing was heavy with anger. Vlad took a moment to gather his bearings after being caught so off guard, he gripped Daelins forearms and spoke as calmly as he could.

"What was what?" 

"You know what." Daelin shook him,"I signed up to fight bad guys, not abuse children!" 

"Daelin," Vlad said, "she was not a child. She was an inmate. A prisoner. And what we did was for her own protect--"

"What did she do?!" Daelin shouted. "What did she do that made it so she deserved to have a silver spike plunged into her wrist?" 

"I don't know." Vlad answered, his voice was low, trying to diffuse the situation "I don't know, what she did.... But I do know, that what was done to her was for her own protection." Daelin released his grip and stepped backwards slowly, his eyes pointing down and his breathing heavy. "What she went through tonight," Vlad continued, straightening his now wrinkled collar out,"will be the worst she has to go through if we do our job; which is to stop whoever is targeting protected prisoners." 

      Daelin had sat down with his back against the wall behind him. He was tired and angry. "Better rest up," Vlad said striding over to an old couch "we've got a long day ahead of us. You'll want to be as alert as possible come morning." With that he sprawled out on the decrepit old couch and slowly drifted off to sleep. Daelin simply sat and stared off into the darkness, he thought about what Vlad had said and what he had seen. His mind was still racing trying to figure out just what was what and why when he fell asleep. 

Below Pt.3

Viewer discretion advised. If you are easily disturbed, find yourself easily triggered by reading about depression, suicides, or disturbing imagery, I would advise you to skip over this story and wait for a different story, as Below contains material that some may find disturbing or may cause relapses into self-destructive habits. 

Chapter 2

       Aela was awoken by the sound of heavy footfalls echoing through the halls of the holding cells. It was now completely dark save for some pale moonlight shining through the slits of the cell door from somewhere outside. Her throat was dry and if she tried to speak it brought pain. She was slumped in the corner next to the door and must have fallen asleep earlier although she did not clearly remember doing so. Her sleeves were still slightly damp from her break down earlier and she felt as though she was covered in a greasy film all over her body. 

        The footsteps became louder and she could here metal clinking rhythmically with each step. Slowly a pale orange glow filled the hallway and a guard stopped outside her cell, he pulled a large key ring off his belt and turned the heavy lock of the door. The sharp edge of the door only nearly missed Aela as she backed up groggily and blinked in the now blinding light of the torch. "Come on out of there missy, stays over." The guard spat out and pulled her by the wrist into the hallway. Looking past him she saw two other prisoners shackled together as well as a few more guards all wearing the same blue and maroon coats under their dark iron armor as every other guard she had seen so far. Large shackles were clasped around her wrists and ankles that connected her to the other two prisoners in the hall. She had never seen them before, one was a tall skinny man who easily blended with the rest of Dagoraths population, the other however was clearly a foreigner. His dark olive skin marked him as a desert man as did his narrow eyes and sharp features. She thought he looked sad when he saw her but his face then became a ridged stone thereafter and would remain like that for the rest of the journey. 

         After collecting the lunatic, who turned out to be an old man with eyes glazed over from alcohol and drug use, they made a short journey through the cramped hallways before reaching a single massive iron door at the end of a hall. It had no handles to speak of and was covered in bolts and reenforcement bands stretching across it's length. To either side of the hallway there was a small room with a large crank attached to an equally large gear. When the signal was given two guards stationed in each room began the laborious task of turning the crank which slowly parted the iron gate. Once the heavy door was opened the convoy was led forward, all eyes on them. Aela noticed that the gate was made of two layers with a small gap in between and her stomach turned when she thought of being trapped in there after the doors closed. 

        Once through the massive gate the guards began turning their gears once more and the doors slid closed with a bang as the convoy moved down the remaining length of the hallway and through yet another door; this one was very similar to the cell doors only it opened out. Once passing through here Aela found herself in a small courtyard surrounded by thick metal bars creating a square cage. There were four additional guards here, two by the smaller door she had just exited, and two by a large gothic gate on the opposite end of the courtyard. 

        They stopped in the middle of the courtyard and simply stood there for a minute. Aela looked past the gate and saw several rundown buildings jutting out of the darkness along with several orange dots that looked like stars off in the distance. It looked as if this world was shrouded in an eternal night with no moon and no stars above, and aside from the torches scattered around the horizon there was only a soft blue glow of moonlight seeping through the cracks of the boardwalk above. What she could not see however was a hooded figure poised on one of the rotting rooftops watching her and the other prisoners.

         Aela heard the door behind her open and close once more and two more guards came through carrying small two small parcels each. Then, the man in front, the tall skinny one, was unlocked from his shackles and handed one of the packages and led to the black gate before them where he stood patiently. Next was the desert man, he too was handed a package and then took his place in front of the gate. 

        Now the guard began unlocking Aelas shackles and they fell to the ground with a clank. However a second guard then came from the side, pulled her sleeve up to her elbow and slapped another shackle on. This one however was connected to no chains and was just a simple band of iron with the official emblem of the Dagorath Council branded into it. Aside from that the iron was smooth except for two small holes that exposed the fleshy area of her arm on either side. The first guard then pulled a thin silver spike from his belt along with a hammer and pressed the cold shiny metal to her arm. Realizing what was happening she struggled to get away protesting loudly shouting that she would not remove the band under any circumstances. She was held in place by two guards then and a block was placed under her arm. The first guard raised the hammer and her eyes widened and she struggled more, tears welling in her eyes and screams of protest echoing in the dark. The screams grew louder and were joined by the clanging of metal until the band was secure. During this the lunatic lurched forward and tried to help her but was met by a gloved fist knockong him back into the dirt. 

       When it was finished her screams trailed off into sobs and she fell to her knees trembling just mumbling out "I wasn't going to take it off.... I wasn't.... I wasn't going to take it of...." The band was now slick with blood, her blood, and her arm was in a pain the likes of which she had never felt before. She could feel the metal inside her, it was roughly as thick as a quill tip so she could still move her hand and fingers freely once the wound healed itself, but the band would remain a part of her for the rest of her life and even after. Aela was roughly pulled up by her other arm and handed her own package before she took her place at the gate, stifling sobs as best she could. Her face was a mess, covered in tears and mucus draining from her nose. She stood breathing shakily, her legs week and the world seemed to spin around her. Still, she did not see the hooded figure whose form was now ridged with fury, his hands clenched tightly into fists lusting for the blood of the men who had just harmed this defenseless girl before him. 

          Once the lunatic was released from his shackles and handed his package he took his place beside Aela and offered a comforting hand to the trembling girl. The guards were called to attention then and loud metal grinding and clanking echoed in the dark as the black gate slowly glided open. With that the four prisoners took their first steps into their new homes below the rest of the world, and the hooded figure continued to watch Aela as she stumbled with the old drunk through the dirt. They made their way to a decrepit building down the road; it was as far as the small girl could go. The building sagged and was full of holes and many windows were boarded up, inside was a number of drunks slumbering peacefully on the first floor as well as a cat with eyes that shined brightly in the dark. The lunatic and the girl carefully picked their way across the room and up the stairs to the deserted second floor where there was the remenants of furniture that she collapsed on, curling into the fetal position. The old man found a blanket nearby and draped it over her, whispering what she assumed were words of comfort but sounded like garbled nothingness. Above her, in the rafters, the hooded figure slipped silently into the room and took watch from the shadows above, soon she drifted off into sleep, as did the old man. The hooded figure dropped down quietly, his split robes splaying out beneath him as he crouched. He knelt beside the girls bed, and peeled back the blanket carefully, revealing her iron band. He gently took it in his hands and whispered words of a foreign tongue over it that created a soft purple and white glow on her arm. Her breathing became less labored immediately after that and, using the edge of his robe he wiped her blood from the shackle and her pale skin gently cleaning her. Then the hooded figure pulled the blanket back over her and leaned forward kissing her forehead gently feeling great sorrow for the fragile girl. With that the figure retreated into the shadows of the rafters where he too drifted into sleep soon after. 

Shadow of Winter Pt. 1

14^th day of the 10^th month of the 446^th year of the Second Age: Northern Hithlione

Mist hung low over the mountains as a pale half-moon rose over the dark twisted forest. Spires of rock and trees clawed at the night sky giving the horizon a sharp and unforgiving appearance. Fall was coming near an end and the mountain peaks were capped with glistening white snow that shone in the moonlight as if they were a beacon lit by some divine specter to signal the coming end of another year. High atop one of the steep, rocky, mountains sat a great stone keep with high walls surrounding the perimeter and a massive steel gate at the front. An arching bridge of fine craftsmanship connected the spire of the keep to the adjoining mountain and led to a narrow winding path down to the valley. Below the bridge was a river with smooth, black waters that reflected the sinister towers of the keep. Within the outer walls was a spacious courtyard and a small row of neglected looking wooden buildings that, at some point in time, could have been houses but were mainly used for storage since the start of the war. A small cathedral sat off to the east side of the courtyard with a large pointed steeple atop its domed roof which was inlaid with many fine stain glass windows that would bathe the cathedral floor in a marvelous kaleidoscope of color and light. In the center of the walls was a massive feat of engineering, tons of stone, mortar, and steel all combined to create one massive castle that housed the soldiers of the Hithlione Empire. The castle was small in comparison to that of the on within the capital city to the south, but was still a large building that one could easily find themselves lost in.

            Within the council chamber of the keep the commanders of the regiment were gathered around a large oak table with a large cloth map spread out before them; across the map all forts, towns, and strongholds were labeled and upon first looking at the map it was clear that the red army was winning in this region. A sturdy built man stood at the head of the table, his beard was close cropped and grey was appearing among the black. His sideburns matched the color of the sky during a storm and his eyes were a washed out blue, many battles having taken the light from behind them. He wore armor that had lost most of its polish and was stained with the grease of the northerners war machines and the blood of the men who operated them. His face was draped in shadow from the torch light, and he was silhouetted by the fireplace on the wall behind him. His name was Tanré and he was the commander of the 1206^th regiment of Imperial soldiers. The others in the room were platoon leaders and captains of various squads within the army and as they stood around the map they looked weary and demoralized from months of fighting with no ground gained. Tanré spoke in a grim voice, leaning his hands on the oak before him; 

“We have just received word that supplies from the Capital will be late. How late, none can say; it could be weeks, it could be months. This means we will have to do with what we have, and with the coming of winter and the Northern Tribes capturing another of our supply towns that could be easier said than done.” He took a deep breath, “For this reason, I move that we send out squadrons of men to find and capture enemy supplies for our own use, mainly food and fuel. Temperatures are dropping faster this year and we may only have a matter of weeks to gather as much as we can before the pass becomes too dangerous to travel. All those in favor, say ‘I’.”

            

              A deep and somewhat reluctant chorus of ‘I’s was followed by a blonde captain on the other end of the table speaking up with, “This is outrageous, we do not have the manpower to mount such an operation!” This was Vuld, almost Tanré’s equal in age, and his superior in education, Vuld had a tendency to lean more towards the side of playing things safe so as not to cause too large a ripple effect. So naturally the proposal of mounting hit-and-run attacks on the enemy would cause him to speak out, as was the case when most offensive operations were proposed. “Commander,” he continued “half the men are wounded or so weary they can barely lift a sword, sending them to combat the Tribes, likely well rested, and fed soldiers will almost certainly be their death. I say instead of more mindless attacks we send a group of men south to fetch supplies from within our own boarders.” Tanré straightened his posture and replied, “No. We do not have the time for a southward expedition, by the time the expedition returns from the south the pass will be too treacherous for wagons of supplies to travel; and successful attacks on the enemy would do well to boost the morale of the men.” Vuld looked as if he were about to form some rebuttal to that statement using all of the complicated words he had learned in his schooling, however Tanré cut him off “End of discussion. A vote has been held and the ‘I’s have it. Prep three squads, they leave at dawn for the nearest enemy camps. That should place them back here with supplies just before the first snowfall of the season. Any opposition to this operation will be ignored from this point onward. Council dismissed.” The men left gratefully, all except Vuld. He hated when Tanré pulled rank like that and over ruled any other opinion. In Vuld’s mind Tanré was the devil of this icy hell they were forced to stay in, and he would have loved to usurp the power for himself and let knowledge lead these men rather than the ‘gut-feeling’ that Tanré let dictate his decisions that had, on more than one occasion, led to the brutal defeat of the 1206^th Regiment. 

           "I see you are quite pleased with yourself." Vuld sneered "Sending a batch of disposable soldiers off to their deaths while you stay safely behind these frozen walls. I suppose it is all the same whether they fail or succeed. Succeed and there shall be plenty of food to go around; fail... and that is just less mouths to feed." Tanré glared at the other man, knowing very well that he could surely convince many of the draft soldiers that this was the case and stage a mutiny if he desired, and this far north no one would ever know about it. If they killed him they could just make up a story that he became ill or slipped down the canyon wall in a snowstorm. After coming to this conclusion Tanré could only see one solution. "I will not be staying here in safety. I will accompany the convoy there and back and assist in capturing the supplies." He dared not smile, although inside he was swelling with pride thinking that he had outwitted his opponent. "Very well." Vuld replied seeming somewhat shocked "I shall inform the men of your decision and have your horse and equipment readied along with the rest." He then saluted and left the room, the clinking of his armor fading down the hall until Tanré was left with only the crackle of the fire and the winds outside broke the silence. He suddenly felt very uneasy about this expedition and his stomach churned inside him, and try as he might he could not set his mind at ease, not even when he had gone to sleep. Dark visions of death filled his dreams the whole night through almost as if he were being warned of events to come.

Below pt. 2

Viewer discretion advised. If you are easily disturbed, find yourself easily triggered by reading about depression, suicides, or disturbing imagery, I would advise you to skip over this story and wait for a different story, as Below contains material that some may find disturbing or may cause relapses into self-destructive habits. 

(Quick Note!! I will almost always overlap my posts by 1 paragraph, so if you are reading them all at once you can usually skip that since I just copy and paste the last paragraph of the previous post as my starting point so it all flows well. Unless it's the end of a chapter that is. ) 

        It had all started a few weeks ago early one morning when a couple was out for a walk near one of the few openings in the boardwalk that allowed citizens to look into the world below like some kind of zoo. They discovered two bodies hanging from the rafters, upon bringing the bodies in, a steel shackle used to mark one of the protected prisoners was discovered on one of the corpses. The dead man was later identified as the son of one of the prominent families who had disgraced his family name and was thrown below as a scare tactic, he was buried in the cemetery later that week. The other body was a girl who no one had ever seen before and must have been one of the children of the inmates and had spent her whole life below; she was thrown back down into the darkness after an hour.

          Daelin continued down the boardwalk until reaching the inquisitor headquarters. The large wood and stone building loomed over him in an almost tired fashion he thought. It was made of mainly dark wood, like everything else in the city. And just like everything else the cold and the rain and snow had weathered the features of the structure making it seem old, tired, and foreboding. Definitely a change from the slabs of sandy clay and red bricks of his home town. Here everything seemed run-down and soggy, everything was dark and created a feeling of danger lurking around every corner. Of course in Desert Gate things weren't all that much different, everything was worn out and dangerous but it was dry there and much brighter. He remembered walking through the crowded streets as a boy, shops with merchants speaking rapidly in many tongues lined the crowded bazaar and brightly colored sheets of various  hues  were draped between rooftops turning the floor into a kaleidoscope of colors. Incense usually burned in many of the shops creating a smoky atmosphere that was often cut through by jovial laughter and chatter. 

.    

       In Dagorath everything felt different. Maybe that was just because he was an outsider and didn't understand the culture of the city. Regardless however, he could not deny that many people here had a strange air about him that he could not quite figure out. In Desert Gate there were plenty of criminals and pompous aristocrats mixed in with the common folk and Daelin could easily pick them apart and seperate them from a glance. In Dagorath however he could not; everyone seemed to be a criminal, and an aristocrat, and common at the same time. It merely depended on where you happened to meet them. And it was this phoniness that kept Daelin on alert at all times, to the point he started to wonder if he would suffer some kind of break down and go mad.

        Upon entering the Inquisitors Headquarters he was hit with a rush of heat and tobacco smoke. The walls inside were a dark red with large glass windows all around, the red was offset by more dark wood only this was much less worn and still had some shine to it in places where the finish hadn't been worn through completely. The floor was wood with tough rugs scattered around near the sitting area in the lobby. A group of men lounged in the lobby, smoking pipes and cigarettes while they spoke of the latest news in the city as well as their most recent noctournal outings. Daelin moved past them and quickly ascended the stairs to the third floor where the building was really showing it's age. The red walls were faded and stained here and there seemed to be less of an attention to detail as there was in the lobby, he had found this odd having come from a city where their architecture is considered an art form and many of the public and work buildings were painstakingly crafted with great attention to detail throughout the entire structure. 

         He pulled off his long coat and draped it over his chair before sitting down and going through the notes on his desk that had been left for him. Most of it was just a few smaller cases to look into, domestic issues and petty theft. A few caught his attention but only briefly so because from across the room a voice shouted "Hey sandman, get over here, Cheif wants to see us." It was his partner Vlad. Vlad was a somewhat stringy looking man, although his looks betrayed his immense strength. Vlad had won many fights against larger men over the course of his career and most people knew not to mess around with him, although there was always someone who thought they would be the one to finally best him. Vlad had taken to calling Daelin "Sandman" almost immediately after they had met. This was partly because he could tell just by looking at him that he was a westerner, but also because Daelin still had sand lining the pockets of his clothes. This was normal of course having come from Desert Gate, but Vlad still thought himself clever for coming up with the nickname. 

           "What's he want?" Daelin asked as he crossed the room. "Something about the murders down in the lower level a few weeks ago I guess." The two Inquisitors entered the Cheifs small office at the end of the room, inside was a large Oak desk and two heavy looking bookcases along with various trophies along the wall from past cases. A large window looked out over the city and the bay from behind the desk. The Cheif was seated behind the desk reading over various papers and scrolls. When they entered he looked up at them with his beady eyes, he was a very large man and took up most of the space between the desk and the window. He wore a yellow shirt with dark trousers held up by suspenders and a thick brown vest over the top. "Good," his voice was deep and throaty from smoking for most of his life. Daelin also noticed there was a build up of phlem behind the Cheifs voice that must have been from a cold as winter set in. "You're here. I assume you've heard about the new syndicate that is supposedly comeing to power in the lower level?" The pair of inquisitors nodded. "Well it seem that whoever this new group is they don't like us very much. Not that this is a surprise of course, every one down there hates us, but rumor has it these guys are preparing for some sort of big escape." 

"So you want us to look into it?" Vlad asked, his arms folded across his chest. 

"Yes. But more than that these murders, something's not right about them. We've looked over the bodies and it doesn't appear that they had any sort of altercation prior to their deaths." 

"You mean it was suicide?" It was Daelin who asked this time. 

"Well we haven't ruled it out yet but it seems like there's something more here and I don't like it. You see, aside from whispers in the taverns and anounomus messages this syndicate doesn't exist. They don't even have a name and no one has actually seen any of the members who wasn't drunk on ale." 

"So it's a ghost story then. Why are we even looking into this?" 

"Orders from the top, apparently these rumors along with the murders are really spooking the public." The Cheif said leaning back in his chair. "That's why I want to send the two of you down below to see what you can find." 

Vlad cut in "Wait a minute there's no chance of me heading down there with those people. This is the worst of society we are talking about, and if we go down there we will have no back up and I plan on living a full life." 

"Well it's not like I can send the new kid in on his own, besides you don't have a say in the matter. I have orders to send you there one way or another so I suggest you take the option that guarentees you get out of there if you aren't dumb enough to get yourself killed down there." 

          Daelin simply stood there quietly, he had heard stories of what it was like down there from the moment he had arrived in Dagorath and none of them were very pleasant. Apparently the worst the city had to offer was down there in the dark. The fact that he was an inquisitor going there meant he was basically just a walking target for anyone who was unhappy about their incarceration there. So Daelin assumed that meant everybody. 

Below pt.1

Viewer discretion advised. If you are easily disturbed, find yourself easily triggered by reading about depression, suicides, or disturbing imagery, I would advise you to skip over this story and wait for a different story, as Below contains material that some may find disturbing or may cause relapses into self-destructive habits.  

     Chapter 1

    She woke on the dirty cell floor, her body sore from laying on the hard floor all night. Her mouth tasted stale and her breath made her empty stomach turn. Aela looked around at her surroundings trying to re-orientate herself; there wasn't much to see. Just a small square cell with a stack of straw to one side for sleeping and a small waste bucket in the corner. She had initially tried to sleep on the straw but found that it poked right through her clothes and made her itch all over so she instead slept on the floor which was hard stone covered in a layer of dirt and filth. It smelled like sweat and pipe-smoke and made her think of all the other people who had also spent long nights in this confined space, a month ago she would never have believed that she would have been one of them; but here she was. The walls were equally as barren being made of dark brown bricks presumably made of mud long ago when the cell was built. A heavy iron door with thin slits cut into it sat directly in front of her locked from the outside and bolted to the wall. Torch light from the hall creating a striped pattern along the cell walls and floor. Aside from this there was no other light in the cell. 

        She stood up groaning and leaned up against the door, her small arms dangling out into the hall through the gaps. Now she could see into the hall, she vaguely remembered being dragged down through it the previous night and tried to remember the maze of corridors that led from the outside world to her current cell. The holding cells was a sprawling complex though and she was incredibly tired the previous night by the time she was led through the maze of halls, so all she could remember was the firm grips of the guards on her arms and the hallways spinning and curving as her feet dragged behind her. Continuing to try and remember the path began to make her head ache so she stopped. Besides, it's not like she would be able to engineer an escape from what lay ahead. Not even grown men who had escaped many a prison before had managed to escape the sprawling city prison of Dagorath. 

       Deciding that any farther thought of escape and the realization that it was all in vain would only drive her into a hope deprived depression, Aela turned around and slid her back down the door until she was sitting back on the floor. From here she just stared off into space and listened to the sound of another prisoner quietly chatting with someone. After a few moments she realized however that the other prisoner was the only other living being in the hall and that he was simply murmuring to himself. "Great." She thought "I'm stuck down here with a lunatic." She felt a sinking feeling when she remembered that many of the prisoners of Dagorath were mad as well. Her throat tightened and she felt a wave of despair crash over her, she massaged her wrist, thinking of why she was here. This however only made her more upset so she tried to occupy her mind by making patterns in the rough stone wall opposite her. The other prisoner continued speaking, saying things like "they don't know... They don't know about them. Crazy crazy people. They don't even know what they don't know...." Listening to the man speak in riddles Aela let a tiny, sad grin touch her lips. Even so her eyes began to water and she chocked out a sob. She held back the overwhelming desire she had to just break down and cry like an infant. She brought her knees up to her chest and buried her head in her sleeves, muffled sobs escaping her every so often and mixing with the other inmates chatter until his talking stopped and her lamenting was the only sound in the dim hall. 

Meanwhile....

       It was chilly that morning, a cold breeze swept in off the sea foreshadowing a storm that would be coming later in the week. The streets of the boardwalk were fairly crowded as people moved about to get to their jobs and begin work on their various tasks that day. Daelin pulled his long coat close around him, he had never liked the cold, so living in Dagorath was quite unpleasant for him for all but a select few days of he year. He had formerly lived in the warm dry region on the western edge of the Federation in the city Desert Gate just outside of the desert kingdom of Ak'had. He had not wanted to move from his home, but after he had gambled away his birthright and his father had passed he decided a change in scenery might be just what he needed to get his life back on track. Finding work was hard, but it turned out there wasn't much to be found aside from a few jobs that most of the population was above or too afraid to undertake. That's how he found himself as an Inquisitor of the city, Inquisitors were kind of like disposable policemen and investigators, and since he had barely passed the exam to join he was extra expendable. It was work though. Dangerous, low paying work where he often found himself dealing with people who would happily gut him for no other reason than his title. 

       Recently there was word from the lower level --the prison level-- of the city that there was some new crime syndicate that was stirring up the inmates. Usually no one would have cared, the whole purpose of building the city in two layers was so the better half of society could blissfully forget about the scum that was literally beneath their boots. However, there were some prisoners who were placed in there for only a short period, rather than the standard life-sentence, these prisoners were specially marked as protected and it was well known that if anything happened to these inmates the rest of the prisoners would all suffer the consequences. Daelin had no clue what those consequences could be, considering the prison was already the closest thing to hell he could think of; living out your life in eternal darkness and fear among the absolute worst of society. He guessed though that he and the prisoners would soon find out just how the wardens could make life worse down below, because this new syndicate had been killing prisoners marked as protected. At least that's what rumors had stated, for all Daelin knew it was just a few incredibly disturbed men who were responsible for these acts. 

        It had all started a few weeks ago early one morning when a couple was out for a walk near one of the few openings in the boardwalk that allowed citizens to look into the world below like some kind of zoo. They discovered two bodies hanging from the rafters, upon bringing the bodies in, a steel shackle used to mark one of the protected prisoners was discovered on one of the corpses. The dead man was later identified as the son of one of the prominent families who had disgraced his family name and was thrown below as a scare tactic, he was buried in the cemetery later that week. The other body was a girl who no one had ever seen before and must have been one of the children of the inmates and had spent her whole life below; she was thrown back down into the darkness after an hour.