“A journey of great importance, young one,” Lysander beamed, exposing a toothy grin, “Yes, great importance.” He began to move about the squat room, moving pots systematically away from the far corner with his foot. “First we must get you out of the city and then you must travel north. Two weeks ride, to the city of Greatspire, deep in the mountains.” Before he could continue, Lloyd interjected, “Greatspire?” His voice grew more anxious, “You mean the bandit city, the one where passerby are kidnapped and sold into slavery? The one that barbarians, murders and rapists call sanctuary - that city?” Lysander nodded before replying. “Aye, but it has not always been that way.” He paused from moving the pots, leaning against the wall, “In the time of Neemah’s reign, it was a great center of knowledge for the kingdom and housed one of the greatest libraries in the world. In that library lie the writings of Neemah himself, about his work regarding the nature of magic. If there is any place to learn more about your scar and the prophcey it is in the Library of Greatspire.”
Outside, the din of the street grew louder as the faint noise of armor marching approaching drew closer; soldiers moving from house to house as they searched from Lloyd. “We have less time than I’d hoped. You must go now, out here.” Lysander pointed at the corner he had been shuffling clay pots away from. He gestured toward a particularly large and cracked jug, “Under that, hurry now!” Lloyd heaved the jug off the ground and set it to the side, revealing a wooden trapdoor beneath. The rotted wood had swelled with water and required both his hands and a great deal of effort to open, but after a few seconds of straining, Lloyd dropped down into ankle deep water. “Go south, to the drain off,” Lysander called down from above, pointing a direction, “that way! I’ll contact you in a few days time, when things have quieted here.” The trap door slammed shut, followed by a grating noise as the heavy jug was slid back into place. The passageway was nearly a pitch black, the only light radiating off of the slimy walls. It was a dark green glow, translucent and providing Lloyd with enough light to discern direction. He had heard tales that in the age of magic, wizards’ runoff had drained into the sewers with disturbing side effects. He attributed the dimly glowing walls to the centuries of magical refuse. He began down the tunnel, keeping balance in the deeper sections of the water by running a hand along the wall.
The city was built long ago on the ruins of a far older one, and these sewers were far past the point of disrepair. Most tunnels Lloyd passed were collapsed, and the remaining ones were in dire need of masonry. After about a half hour of slow travel he had followed his smaller stream to where it fed into a larger tributary, This should empty into the river, south of town. The water rose abruptly; reaching waist level. As he ventured into the larger tunnel, a strong undercurrent pulled him off the wall; carrying him down stream at an alarming rate. His eyes began to burn, the foul water blinding him and causing all the minor scrapes on his body to erupt in pain. As the current accelerated and the tunnel widened further, Lloyd fumbled under the water, his hands reaching for his dagger. Fingers wrapped around the handle as he pulled it from his boot, clenching it tightly with both hands and rolling over so that he was facedown. After a moment of mental preparation, he jabbed the blade out, hoping to catch on anything to slow himself. As the metal hit stone, it jarred against his hands, bouncing off the floor and failing to slow him at all. Goddamn it! The tunnel twisted and turned, Lloyd cracking against a wall before once again being swept up in the rushing waters. As it met up with another stream, the underground river of sewage dropped abruptly, before arcing outward and emptying into churning pool of filth, a murky pit where several similar tunnels deposited their cargo. Lloyd flew through the air momentarily, Oh, son of a bit- before dropping into the deep liquid waste below. He shot from the water almost immediately afterward, gasping for air and swimming to where the floor met his feet again, and the water level dropped back to knee level. “Screw,” he paused, lungs screaming for air, “this…place…so…goddamn…hard.”
Sprawling passages and rusted grates now surrounded Lloyd. The water was thick and smelled even worse than it had previously, as pieces of detritus and refuse floated on the surface, the heavier ones occasionally brushing past his submerged legs. The flow of water was slow and dams of debris collected around turns and by the grates. The once faint green glow was now all around him, clumping along the cracks and illuminating the murky surf. He looked up, moving so that he was across from the chute that he had plummeted out of. When he was sufficiently aligned, he splashed his way over to toward the nearest gate, easily kicking through the rusted metal. This should be south. He cautiously entered the low clearance pipe, only five or so feet tall and across, with a foot or so of submerged in sewage. The magical residue intensified as he worked his way through the tunnel; travelling in a crouched position. After minutes in tight quarters, the pipe expanded to a more comfortable size and around a final bend, he could see what looked like daylight breaking in around some sort of blockage up ahead. As he approached the waste, it seemed to shimmer, as if alive. It moved, the light’s glare causing Lloyd to look away as he was slammed to the ground by a massive force, ears ringing as blood began to drip from his nose and mouth. His eyes blinked, adjusting to the darker light; to see the beast which was now pinning him to the ground and snarling through a maw of disgusting, razor sharp teeth. Its face was missing many chunks of skin and fur, the yellow teeth and eyes gleaming from waters reflection. It had a pair of ears, each ripped and small, and its body extended a good five feet past its long, rodent like head.
He had once heard stories of the dangers of the sewers; abnormal dangers like the one that was now atop him. Men, they said, would go in, searching for a lost trinket or hiding from the guard, and a week or so later their dismembered parts would come out, floating down the river. They spoke of giant rats, as long as a man, teeth as sharp as daggers and claws like drakes; their enormous size possibly explained by generations of eating the magical runoff. Lloyd had always thought such stories a fool’s errand. Giant rats, such things were but tales to frighten children and keep them from wandering below the city and risk being drowned in a strong undercurrent. His mind was jerked back to the moment as the beast lowered its head close to his, shrieking and spraying him with a mouthful of mucus and decaying flesh. He tried in vain to wiggle an arm free, but the rat’s weight was easily enough to keep his arms in check. Dropping its snout closer, it uncurled its unwelcoming tongue and proceeded to lick Lloyd, the rough surface scraping like a sheet of nails against his face. He cried out in pain, squirming uncontrollably, his feet splashing in the sewage and his stomach wrenching from the stench. My feet. He glanced down the sewer, between himself and the rat. The beast’s tail swished through the murk, just above his legs. Arching his back he reached out with his right foot, hooking it around the dangling appendage. The rat straightened, cocking its head backwards to see what had grabbed it. Wrenching his right leg down into the water, Lloyd delivered a series of swift kicks with the left; effectively pummeling the meaty section of tail, close to the animal’s base. The beast gave a shrill cry, pushing backwards with its hind legs and scurrying away from Lloyd. He gave a hearty yell, standing up and away from the creature and drawing the falchion from his back. It responded with another shriek, louder than before, bending low on all fours, before sprinting towards him. He met the rat mid run, catching it in the chest with the weapon. Its two front claws flexed involuntarily, the arms moving to swipe at Lloyd but being unable to. Pushing the sword up further into the rat he roared once more, shoving the carcass to the side and letting it slide slowly to the ground from the now bloodied blade. He took a moment to catch his breath, using the falchion as a crutch as the daylight beckoned him out of the tunnel, and out of the sewers.
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