FSE

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Marcus awoke, stiff and weary as if he hadn't slept at all. Groaning a little, he clenched his eyes shut, wishing he had somewhere more comfortable to sleep than a pile of gold. "You look awful," rumbled a deep, melodic voice from above him.

"Well that's nice," grumbled the wolf, resigning himself to another day of fatigue as he stood and stretched. He walked back to his satchel, noting how low his rations were as he ate a scant meal of tack, apples, and icy cave water.

Astari chuckled, but his voice was apologetic. "Come up to the pedestal. I have something for you." Marcus obliged, taking the steep stairs to the top of the dais. A long claw poked Marcus in the center of his chest, and the wolf felt a rush of energy course through his body. It felt pleasant and warm, like he'd drank a cup of strong tea. The fatigue washed away from Marcus' muscles, starting at his neck and sinking to his feet and through the floor. "Better?"

"Very much so. Thank you."

"I've been busy," said Astari, pointing with his snout towards a large, flat wall at the edge of the treasure room. Marcus turned around, eyes widening as he saw the walls and silvery, glowing patterns drawn upon the stone wall. Marcus stepped of the dais, and as he approached, he saw the intricate lines were actually a map. "Using your descriptions of where you went, I started producing a map for future reference. Also as the second seal was broken, I discovered a source of resonance below us again... right...about...here!" Astari pointed and a glowing blue dot appeared on the wall, somewhere below where Marcus thought the ruined chapel lay. "However, I am a little suspicious. It seems too easy to find two seals so close to each other. Could it be a trap?"

Marcus laughed. "Everything is a trap down here. However, I don't think finding the third seal near the second is too farfetched. That bull monster came from somewhere. It was too loud to be nearby while I was searching the chapel. I wouldn't be surprised if there was more to explore down there, and if it's a dead end, I know how to get back." The wolf shrugged. "The whole cave is set up with secret passages. We really have no idea how extensive The Coffin really is."

Astari nodded absently, snuffling and exhaling a blast of icy air again. "You make a good point. Do you feel good enough to keep going?"

"I do, but that really doesn't matter. I don't have enough food to take a day off. How many seals do I need to break before you can make food with magic?" Marcus rolled his shoulders, testing his still injured sword arm.

"I think the next seal will do, but how did you know I could even do that?"

"I'd seen it done before," said Marcus. "It was only a mean gruel, but it did provide enough nutrition to keep our group going."

Astari cocked his head a little. "Your group?"

Marcus frowned, flipping the hood of his coat up so it cast his face in deep shadow. "I used to travel with others... but things got complicated. Besides, I'm not a complete ignoramus when it comes to magic. I can understand the basics, even if I can't cast anything myself."

Astari remained silent for a moment. "Err... I'm sorry Marcus. I didn't mean it like that."

Marcus shook his head under his hood. "Don't trouble yourself. Is your foot better."

"Exponentially," said Astari, wriggling his four clawed paw. "I must say it is nice to not have a great, bloody sword sticking out of it, even if it's a weapon as elegant and significant as Nimbus."

"I'm ready to go," said Marcus, drawing Priscilla and twirled it in his hand. "Even if I can't use my sword, having my right arm back is so... liberating! Not to sound cocky, but I feel like the next seal will be much easier to retrieve. Is Lilliam still safe?"

"Of course," said Astari, pushing the mended bow and quiver towards Marcus. "I wouldn't recommend using a bow with your seized up arm. Drawing a bow could aggravate it."

"If I try to use it and it happens, it happens," said Marcus with a shrug. "A bow is too valuable a tool to not bring along. besides, I can draw it with my left hand nearly as well as my right. Ismaira insisted that all her students learn to use their both their hands equally. Using my right hand to brace the bow will put stress on it, but it'll certainly be less intensive than trying to use Nimbus."

Astari shrugged with a clank of crystal. "How about instead of postulating, you try the bow out for yourself. I can fix any broken arrows."

Marcus slipped his quiver onto his back, and in one smooth motion, he held Lilliam parallel to the ground, crouched low, and drew the black bow as far back as he could. With a whistle of air, the arrow clattered against the magical map, right on the glowing point that marked the second seal. The force of the impact shattered the a missile into countless fragments. Marcus' right arm stiffened with the effort, and his joints twinged, but nothing like the pain he'd felt when he tried to use Nimbus. With a growled incantation, the broken arrow flew backward through the air, the fragments reforming into a whole arrow as Marcus snatched it with a swipe of his hand. "Handy," said Marcus, examining the good-as-new arrow. "How much magic have you gotten back since the second seal?"

"Well, the more mundane magics come easily," said Astari, sitting down on the pedestal. "Fixing or levitating small objects, writing or drawing with magic, and searching for the presence of magic takes very little energy, even when most of my spellpower is still locked away behind these damned chains. The most stressful thing I've done so far was put your pieces back together again. Even so, the only injury that actually proved to be troublesome was that shocked arm of yours. Shattered bones are surprisingly easy to heal if you can line them up inside the body again. Growing them again is a much different issue." The dragon chuckled. "I must admit I'm still marveling at your legendary resilience."

Marcus just shrugged. "Well, reminiscence and praises aside, I have another seal to fetch." Marcus started navigating the treasure piles back towards the staircase he'd taken before.

A rumbly voice called from behind the wolf. "Marcus... do be careful."

The wolf stood in place before he nodded gruffly. He turned and raised an arm, a sort of half salute of solidarity as he took the first step of the endless spiral staircase. Retracing his steps was thankfully uneventful. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but the long hallway, the underwater passage, and the maze were all unoccupied. Light remained unproblematic. There was still plenty of glowing crystals for Marcus to use, and he'd used a spare bit of twine to fasten one round his neck. Still, he kept Priscilla and one of his throwing knives in his hands, just in case.

"One of the most important questions still remains," mused Marcus. "What's living down here? Are the creatures organized, or has everything just carved out its own little territory and just doesn't leave?" Well, considering how much undead he'd encountered, the second option didn't seem completely farfetched. His thoughts were interrupted as Marcus rounded a corner, finding himself at the top of the staircase of the ruined chapel.

The wolf wrinkled his nose. The place now reeked of rot, the body of the minotaur lying crumpled underneath one of the fallen pillars. With quick steps, Marcus descended the stairs and lept over the debris of his previous ordeal. The wolf approached the shattered sarcophagus. The once ornate coffin laid in fragments across the floor. With a heave, the wolf began sifting through the heavy stone pieces. he doubted that there was a second seal hidden inside the sarcophagus remains, but the coffin was ornate enough that something valuable might still be hidden amongst the debris.

The labor was intense, but Marcus was grateful that it didn't trigger a seizure, so long as he took his time. Still, as time passed, Marcus couldn't find anything within the black stone fragments. It wasn't likely that he'd have found anything, but at the same time he just couldn't not check. Call it thoroughness, call it neurosis... Rolling his shoulders, Marcus looked around for where the minotaur had come from. It didn't take very long. There were three doors before Marcus. One was laid broken on the floor, two tons of rock blocking the hallway. "Must've been a sort of cave in." The other was made of wood reinforced with steel, locked tight. Marcus berated himself for not learning to disable locks when he had the chance from Pris- Marcus shook himself. "Don't think about that now." The last was also broken, revealing a massive hallway, large enough to accommodate the behemoth on the ground behind him. It was also the door on the left. "Always go left underground," thought Marcus wryly.

The passageway was wide and tall with room to spare for any massive creature. Maybe Astari would have to squeeze... The stone was smoothly hewn as a single cut piece again.. But just like before, this tunnel was perfectly cut from the stone in one, smooth piece. "Who cut this? Why did someone need a tunnel this large?" The wolf was unnerved by all these tell tale signs of magic but no magicians. His right hand traced the perfectly smooth tunnel wall. On further inspection, the walls here were conical, slowly drawing in until the corridor was maybe twice as wide as Marcus' wingspan. The only noise was his boots quietly clacking against the stone floor.

Despite the strength of the odor, the cavern was vast enough that the stench of the undead receded with each step. Replacing it was a familiar smell of wet limestone. The Coffin was a massive cave complex built out of an equally massive mesa, Marcus knew this, but if the whole place was made of such wide and spacious corridors as what he was in now, it just didn't seem to be large enough laterally. Astari's cage must be deep below the earth itself, not just within the plateau where the only known entrance was. This again seemed a little preposterous, considering how much water ran through the Coffin. Where it came from seemed to defy all logic, especially since there was a cataract roaring on the very first floor. "Mysteries upon mysteries... confounded by the fact that there aren't any known explorers who survived. going in.. " Marcus thought about becoming one of the countless who'd been swallowed by The Coffin. He shook his head to clear it. Now was not the time to fantasize, not with this new task ahead of him.

Marcus stopped and sniffed the air again. He was moving away from water, if the dryer air was anything to go by. But something about it seemed off... He tapped the wall, listening to his nails echoing through the halls. He couldn't place it right away... A revelation struck him like musical note. The noise was reverberating back. The noise wasn't just echoing out, it was coming back at him. But what was the sound bouncing back from? The hall was wide, dark, and empty, and even Marcus' lupine vision couldn't penetrate its depths. Marcus looked down, pondering the ground and tapping his ironclad boot. Out of habit, he adjusted his foot so that it lined up with the bricks on the floor.

"The bricks...the bricks?" Marcus knelt, running a finger down one of the seams in the floor. There didn't need to be bricks here, the perfectly cut walls and ceiling was evidence enough they didn't need someone to lay bricks for them. And the starkness of these halls seemed to imply these bricks weren't an aesthetic choice. Marcus looked back, raising his crystal high in his hand to see how far the bricks went back the way he came. The wolf squinted, straining his eyes. He wasn't sure, but maybe, maybe at the very edge of his vision... Marcus took twenty long steps so he could get a better look. "Then why did someone decide to lay bricks here?!"

The wolf turned around, no moving low to the ground. One hand was extended before him, palm up so that his black iron bracers brushed against each stone with a faint clang. There was something about the floor here, he just knew it. And the echos were coming closer too. There was a grinding of stone on stone, and Marcus froze. A brick was loose, right under his knuckles. Instantly Marcus flattened himself, spread eagle on the stone, ears pricked for the whiz of an arrow or something worse. But nothing came. This brick wasn't a pressure plate, but it couldn't be loose. It sank too perfectly into the ground, and none of the other bricks were like this.

In a frantic scramble, Marcus pushed himself away from the brick, taking fast but light steps backwards from where he laid. With a flick of steel, Marcus threw one of his daggers into the disturbed brick. The honed steel quivered two inches deep into the brick. He waited, still as death. Nothing happened, aside from the dagger proving to be a nice marker for the out of place stone. "So whoever laid these bricks was cheap, or they used the same stone from other parts of the cave." Still, he needed to be careful with his knives. If he kept using them for such unorthodox purposes they'd be duller than a soup spoon. Still, ten odd years and he hadn't lost a single from the set of two dozen. Even when they were hilt deep in some monster Marcus found a way to get them back.

Maybe this whole brick thing was an overreaction. "It's too easy to get jumpy when you're all alone in here," thought Marcus. "It's just a stupid brick." Ears perked for more danger, Marcus stepped forward to pick up his throwing knife. As the wolf snatched the knife by its ringed handle, there was a rumble and grinding of stone, Marcus felt the world drop out from under him. Gasping, Marcus leapt away, twisting his body around to grab at the ground. The wind was knocked from Marcus' lungs as his body smacked against the wall of a pit, its gaping maw wide as it tried to swallow Marcus. The wolf's clawed hands scrabbled at the grooves between the stone, digging in and stopping him from sliding further into the abyss.

Grunting, Marcus tried to brace his legs and push his torso away from the walls, giving his body space to gasp for air. His tail felt heavy, as if the darkness of the pit was pulling at the end of it. He was in the center of the pit, the worst godsdamned spot to be in! He didn't even have the breath to indulge in a curse. The walls were perfectly smooth, like the rest of the passageway, and there was not a single hand or foothold for him. He probed out with his feet, seeing if there was anything, ANYTHING, that he could use.

"There's no use, I'll have to swing it." With a grunt, Marcus swung his tail and legs to the left, then the right, trying to build a pendulum motion. His fingers gripped the stone like a vice, even as the weight of the swinging legs pulled him back into the darkness. He clung on with not only his fingers, but his palms, his elbows, every single point of contact his arm made with the ground was used to help Marcus swing his legs over the edge of the pit. With a lupine roar more like a howl, Marcus managed to hook his toe on the edge of the stone floor, and with a motion like mounting a horse, the wolf wrenched himself over the edge. Marcus rolled over onto his back, drinking in the cave air until his heart stopped pounding.

Now came the interesting part. "How long is this pit," thought Marcus, tilting his head from his position on the ground to look into the gaping chasm. He rolled onto his stomach, so that one arm teetered precariously over the edge of the black hole. He held a his glowing crystal in the palm of his hand, tracking how the light shined against the walls. It seemed like it was deep but short, and the whole brick covering had fallen into the hole. Groaning, Marcus stood, for once glad he didn't have weight of Nimbus on his back. "Leap, don't look."

It was over in a mad sprint, a snap of limbs, and a cloud of dust. Marcus tumbled twice, ending in a crouch almost five feet from the edge of the abyss. Brushing his coat of dirt, Marcus pinwheeled his injured arm, sore from the exertion but still functional. The wolf clicked his iron boot against the edge of the pit. "So that's what was echoing... Now, what's up ahead."

Marcus resumed his previous position, scraping his knuckles against the ground, listening for any oddness in the echos. It was a little harder now with the gaping hole behind him, but Marcus was sure he could hear something ahead of him. In less than ten steps he found another loose brick. With a grim smile, Marcus punched the ground ahead of him, and the floor crumbled before him as if he were opening a pit to the hells. Standing back, Marcus sprinted and sprang forward. His feet struck floor, and the wolf let his legs buckle into a tumble. But as Marcus rolled, the world fell apart beneath him, and Marcus felt himself falling towards the darkness.

A single second became a crawl through time, and Marcus' emerald eyes stared into a hungry shadow. Faint in the distance, steel glinted like the teeth of a great beast. The wind rushed through the wolf's ears, not like a gale but a low moan, a wordless dirge that beckoned Marcus towards eternal rest.

"No! Not yet!!" Marcus pitched forward towards the far wall as he flung out his hands and feet. With a flurry of sparks and the screech of iron on stone, Marcus slid down a full five feet before managing to brace himself against one of the corners. His bones rattled and joints ached as Marcus spent every scrap of energy he had to stop himself from falling deeper into the pet. Straining his neck, the wolf peered at the square hole above him, dimly lit by the crystal still fastened to his neck. He breathed in, sweat dripping from his body and making his hands slick.

Marcus had only one option, and every inch of his body knew what was ahead. His right arm felt like a thousand needles were playing at his skin, pricking but not ready to sink their teeth in yet. The wolf clenched his eyes and gritted his teeth. He was certain his arm was on the cusp of a seizure, and equally sure that such an event had one outcome. He needed just a second, not to relax, but to gather himself for the upcoming ordeal. He needed that focus that only The Way could give him. In a second that felt like ages, Marcus returned to the black mirror lake, not spread eagled but sitting primly across it. A drop broke the surface, and Marcus' head snapped towards a black sky.

It was an arduous task. His corner perch allowed him to lift one leg, then an arm, then the other leg. Every muscle strained to keep his body from slipping on the smoothed walls. Progress was maddeningly slow, but Marcus kept his eyes fixated on the top of the pit. As Marcus got closer, a figure peered around the lip of the chasm, wreathed in shadow. "Take my hand, Marcus." Its profile was stocky and masculine, sporting a slight paunch and a sharp canine muzzle. Its ears were tall and pointed, like two knives atop the head. The sound of a book with parchment pages being casually flipped echoed through the chasm. "Take my hand, Marcus..."

The wolf groaned from the effort, and he reached with his left arm towards the shadowy hand. The world snapped into sharp relief as Marcus felt the walls slip beneath him. The phantom discorporated into a thousand wisps of black smoke and Marcus let out a single scream. "Rickert!" Marcus scrabbled at the walls as he was falling! Falling! Falling! Marcus spread out his arms again and put every scrap of his dwindling strength into stop himself a second time, his ears throbbing from the screech of his bracers on the rock.

All of his limbs were on fire, the pain lancing through him after his focus was shattered. His right arm wavered as he braced himself, and every second it threatened to give way and plunge Marcus into darkness. "This cursed arm!" The wolf dug his claws into the stone so hard his nails cracked, and all Marcus could do was keep himself from falling. His whole body trembled from the effort as the gaping abyss beckoned him from below.

Marcus bit his tongue, the sharp, superficial pinpricks of his teeth snapping him away from the all consuming ache. "Not here... not... now!" Marcus looked to the ceiling, and with a gasp of air he moved his arm up and pressed it into the wall. He had twice the distance he had to cover before, and each second was another moment his limbs could fail. "Not now! Not...now... not...now!" It was a mantra that kept each arm and leg slowly moving upwards. There was no Way. There wasn't even pain. There was only that square gap above, growing slowly wider as Marcus made infinitesimal progress.

After what seemed like eons, Marcus' hand grasped the lip of the pit, and he pulled himself over the edge, gasping like a drowning man emerging from water. By the gods, he hurt! It was the pain that made even the hardiest man's stomach churn and eyes water. Marcus could only lay there and put all his effort into not passing out. The light of his crystal rose and fell as Marcus' chest heaved for air. "I had... I had to say it was... it was going to be easy..." moaned Marcus into the darkness. One leg lazily dangled over the edge of the chasm. It felt heavy, as if the darkness was trying to pull him back. Marcus eyed the pit. Even now, the thought of such respite was tempting.

Gods, he hating being in pain all the time. He really felt like a novice again. All these mistakes, all these near misses... Was it really that long ago that he could've just picked up his sword and plunged neck deep into some dank tomb and come back without a scratch? "It's because you had friends," said a nagging voice, originating somewhere in the back of his head. "Someone could watch your back, patch you up, give you a hand..."

Marcus rolled onto his stomach had pushed himself up. "Don't remind me," snarled Marcus. He glanced around at the hallway. In the distance the passage turned at a right angle. The floor was still layered in bricks, and Marcus wasn't keen on having to pull himself out of any more pit traps. He looked back at the three pits he'd already crossed. They were deep, not particularly long, but as wide as the corridor he was in. Another idea struck him, and Marcus drew Priscilla and crouched and began picking under a brick hanging over the edge of the chasm he'd just pulled himself out of.

He was grateful for the enchantment layered into the silvery blade, keeping it perpetually sharp. Mundane daggers wouldn't stay as keen if it was put to the kind of abuse Marcus had put it through. Abuse such as prying bricks from the ground, for instance. Hefting one of the stones he'd procured, Marcus flung it forward in a shotput like motion, and it clattered against the floor. He then threw a second, a third, a fourth brick, each one further down the corridor. It was crude, but Marcus was willing to bet that the impact of the heavy stone might have been enough to trip another trap. Better a brick than him.

As Marcus heaved a fifth brick down the hall, his ruse came to fruition as more floor crumbled into gaping darkness. Tentatively, Marcus stepped towards the pit. It was just as deep as the others, but its positioning was quite problematic. The chasm was right where the passageway turned, and the corner was sharp enough that a straight leap over would be difficult, and the passage was wide enough that he couldn't attempt to launch himself off the opposite wall. The jump was going to be tricky, but well within the realm of possibility.

He'd just have to angle it right. Pressing himself against the opposite wall. With a grunt, the wolf sprinted towards the gap, slung low to the ground. He took one final leap, twisting his arms out so that he could catch the ledge if he needed it too, but it wasn't necessary. Marcus had launched himself with enough force to easily clear the hole. But as the wolf reached the other side, his vision narrowed on a small glimmer in the air, a perfectly straight line hovering a few inches across the ground. "A tripwire!" Marcus relaxed his leg for landing, reflexes on high alert for the inevitable trap.

The moment Marcus' feet touched the ground, Marcus tucked into a roll, trying to keep his body small to reduce the chance of being struck by projectiles. But as he rolled on the dusty floor, Marcus heard the rush of air and the clank of chains, and he had a split second glance of an enormous mass of iron hurtling down from above. Marcus dove to the floor as a portcullis smashed down with a thunderous clang.

Even though Marcus laid unscathed on the ground, his body was coiled tight into the fetal position. His fur was bristled, each individual hair seemingly hypersensitive to any disturbance in the stale, cave air. His normally gruff, stern voice was a tremulous whisper, halting with dry sobs. "No... no," moaned the wolf. "No, not you... not you too. Not after all of that.... not you too."

"Get up," hissed a sharp, feline voice. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get up!"

Marcus gasped, spring to his feet and pushing himself up against the portcullis. His voice was now a shriek of terror, pointing at the feline apparition. "No! NO! You're not supposed to be here! I'm not... I'm not even using the-"

"Do you think I care? Pull yourself together! You've got better things to do than snivel." She hissed in irritation and turned on her heel, discorporating with a rush of air and black smoke, dismissing herself as if she weren't a construct of Marcus' mind. The wolf stood, still breathing heavily .He bit on his tongue, trying to pull himself together. It was troubling that his phantasms were plaguing him when he wasn't using The Way. Even if Marcus could overcome every challenge The Coffin had to offer, peace might still evade him if his ghosts were getting more aggressive. And even though it was vexing to admit, she had a point. Marcus needed to keep moving. He glanced at the ground, and noticed that he was no longer standing on bricks.

Marcus moved forward, ears perked for more irregularities in the walls or the sounds or the smells. It took what felt like five minutes of walking before Marcus' keen nose picked up the smell of damp, and a minute later his ears heard the sound of running water. It took only a minute longer before Marcus encountered another large underground river. Its flow was slower than the cataracts that swept the Marcus to Astaris' chambers, but it was still swift enough that the wolf would be reluctant to try swimming against it.

It was also quite wide, much wider than the pits Marcus had cleared earlier. Even if he'd managed to cross, his path was crossed by a large gate... a drawbridge really. Marcus growled, leaning against one of the stone walls and contemplated what was before him. A drawbridge underground? This whole place was just so bizarre. It was this weird hybrid of the manufactured, like at the ruined chapel, and the natural, like the system of rivers. Was this drawbridge built to help navigate The Coffin, or perhaps it was another trap... and again, all the traps were weird. There seemed to be no way to navigate The Coffin safely. Maybe whoever made the traps didn't need to return to The Coffin after they left, hence negating the need to create a secondary, safer passage.

It didn't matter. Marcus needed to find a way to cross now, as he had a heavy iron gate behind him. He raised the crystal around his neck, peering into the gloom to try and decipher more about how the bridge worked. The passageway held no lever or mechanism to lower it from this end of the river, and there seemed to nothing in the river besides clear water flanked by cave walls. The bridge itself looked like black iron, a very similar material to his bracers and greaves, by the looks of it. It was held up by a series of ropes and pulleys, anchored twenty feet up on the ceiling. It was hard to tell though, and Marcus wished he had more light than a single crystal.

Despite the pits he'd scaled and the gate that nearly crushed him, this bridge was seeming to become his undoing. The hallway he was yielded no secrets, even when Marcus pressed his ears to the walls and knocked, listening for a hollow sound that wasn't there. He even backtracked to where the corridor turned, but found nothing. Returning the the riverbank, Marcus eyed the rope and pulleys at the top of the bridge, wishing he had a rope of his own. If he'd brought a grappling hook and rope, he'd have no problem crossing here. Another rookie mistake. More than two decades of exploration and monster slaying under his belt and he'd forgot to bring rope with him.

Rope...rope! Marcus smiled as he drew Lily. By some providence the drawbridge wasn't completely closed, but the window for the shot was small, maybe six inches at most. If he could sever the rope with a well placed shot... it'd be a difficult shot, but he had twenty odd arrows with him. Marcus stepped backwards, trying to find the best angle as he held Lily parallel to the ground. Master archers would scoff at his methods, who would say that marksmen who held their bows perpendicular to the ground would have an easier time hitting their target. But Marcus first learned archery to hunt for food, and the advantage of being able to easily draw a more powerful longbow from a crouch was invaluable when stalking prey. The position was more comfortable for him, and he'd long since adapted to any disadvantages of his preferences.

Marcus drew a green-fletched arrow and nocked it, lining the silvery arrowhead up to his target. The stress of using a bow with such powerful draw weight threatened to ignite his injured arm again, still sensitive from the extreme stress of the climb. He inhaled, held his breath for two seconds, and the exhaled as he opened his fingers. The arrow hissed through the air, and there was a dull plink as it struck the metal of the bridge.

Grumbling, Marcus drew a new arrow, aiming a little higher this time. There was the sound of slicing cord. There was a low, groaning creak as the bridge sagged, straining to support itself from one point of contact rather than two. It also provided an opening for Marcus to shoot at, and he severed the second pulley with only one arrow. The great iron bridge fell with a tremorous boom. Carefully, Marcus started to cross, senses on high alert for another trap. He wasn't willing to take anything for granted right now. But as Marcus' feat touched the stone, the only thing to be found was rope, fallen after being severed from the pulleys. Marcus smiled, coiling it up and slinging it over his right shoulder. "That's odd. I thought I forgot my rope today."

The room beyond seemed to be a fairly simple room, about fifteen feet by fifteen feet at a glance. but the floor told a different story. The floor was scattered with rusty iron grates, about three feet square. There were five of them in a cross formation, and Marcus could see another room of similar size beneath him. The metal looked weak, and the wolf kicked it hard with the heel of his boot. With a clang, Marcus felt the floor drop out beneath him as he fell through the recently broken grate. At the last moment he twisted so that he landed on his side rather than his tailbone. It still hurt. A lot.

"Ouch." He was more surprised than hurt, but falling a good fifteen feet was never pleasant. Groaning, Marcus stood and examined the new room. It was remarkably similar to where he had fallen from, but this place smelled different. It smelled rank and pestilential, and the room seemed to be laced with fumes that made Marcus feel lightheaded. It seemed to be empty, but the wolf felt more than a little uneasy by the scattering of bones on the floor. Small pools were scattered across the floor, but they weren't water, but this odd, greenish ichor. But a glint caught Marcus' eye. A glint of bronze!

The third seal was fixed to the wall, glowing faintly from crystal around Marcus' neck. The seal seemed to be the center of an elaborate carving, with intricate, geometric lines about the width and depth of a finger. The wolf traced the pattern, feeling the interlocking pattern for any irregularities. Something this... pretty felt like such an out place word here... something that required so much effort to craft didn't seem to belong in a caustic smelling pit. It had to be here for some reason.

Marcus' senses lit up when his finger pressed against a hidden slat, and he heard a faint ka-chunk. There seemed to be some sort of hinge, and Marcus pushed his finger harder until he was knuckle deep. Tiny gears or mechanisms were snapping at his fingers. It felt like there once was some sort of keyhole or lever here, but there was no such thing nearby. Marcus withdrew his finger, noting the slight depression where the hidden slat now lay. He redoubled his search, looking for more of the concealed mechanisms, finding six in all. He had no way of activating the mechanism, and even when he checked the caustic pools, there were no such devices.

He'd just have to improvise. Hooking a finger around the ringed handle of a throwing knife and shoving it deftly into one of the latches. With a little fidgeting, Marcus managed to slide the blade into the hidden slat and turn it. There was a low, grinding sound of stone on stone from beneath the walls, and the bronze seal rotated a little in its position on the wall. Progress. Marcus quickly drew five more of the slender knives and slipped them into their slats. There was a loud clang as the bronze seal fell onto the floor. The three prongs allowed Marcus to pick up the disk with one and slip his arm between the other two. "I could use this as a shield in a pinch, if it came to all that."

But as Marcus picked up the disk, a new sound filled the dank room. It was the crash of rushing water, and Marcus had only a second of warning before a deluge fell from four of the grates at the corner of the room. The water smelled stagnant and disgusting, and it put Marcus on edge at how much was falling into this cramped space. But the room seemed to be well drained, as very little was pooling on the floor. "Where is it all going?" thought Marcus as he quickly retrieved his knives, the pit of dread forming in his stomach telling him he might need them. Then a Marcus's ears picked up a new sound. It was an alien noise, a slosh or gurgling that didn't sound anything like water.

The wolf whipped around, drawing Priscilla and raising the seal like a shield. Before him, the pools of green slime had absorbed the falling water, and they bounced and writhed closer to each other. When the oozes touched, they conjoined. The caustic reek was so strong Marcus had to force the bile back down his throat. And the water wasn't stopping. It was only a matter of time before the slime would be large enough to engulf the entire room.

Marcus glanced at the ceiling, cursing the slime for blocking his access to the center grate, where he'd fallen in. Suddenly, a psuedopod formed out of the undulating mass as reached out to smack Marcus. The wolf cried out, feeling the caustic slime eating at his flesh. He lashed out with Priscilla, a quick, twirling slash that severed the tendril of ooze from the larger mass.

But severing the psuedopod did not stop the assault. A new tentacle lashed out with a sick, slopping sound just as a second bubble of slime slammed into Marcus's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Marcus severed the second tentacle, before slashing at the two smaller blobs, his dagger tracing white slashes through the air as Marcus cut them into smaller and smaller pieces until they dissipated with a wet pop.

Marcus stepped back against the wall, using a brief moment of respite to examine his assailant. It's tendrils were slow, but powerful, and if Marcus kept his attention on the main blob, he could avoid most of the whipping tentacles. He also noticed his coat. The fine leather was burnt and withered, as was the flesh underneath, but the chainmail reinforcements were untouched. "The acid only affects flesh!"

But even as Marcus cut away at the ooze, it kept getting bigger and bigger! There didn't seem to be any way to stop the water, and he had no time to think about it. Growling, Marcus went on the offensive, dashing forward and slashing his dagger. His movements were like a dervish, lightning fast and graceful as Marcus slashed at the psuedopods whipping around his body. Soon Marcus was surrounded by small, fist-sized blobs that were bouncing around him, flinging themselves at him.

Marcus groaned against the pain of reek of the acidic blob, the agony forcing his assault into a halt. The wolf gritted his teeth. He had no time to be distracted by pain. He closed his eyes, and in less than a second, he was standing on the black lake, heedless of the shadows at the corners of his eyes. He didn't have time to agonize over the past.

When Marcus opened his eyes, the canine phantom was with him. His book was hovering around him like hummingbird, and he had throwing knives slipped between each knuckle. The shadow dog drew a glowing rune of red into the air before flinging his knives into it. A blue rune formed itself in the air, and the knives that previously disappeared flew out to strike at the tiny globules, which popped like balloons. Marcus reached into the remains of his coat and fling a fistful of knives into the smaller blobs. The knives struck true, and their blades seemed to penetrate a sort of membrane, and the tiny slimes popped into nothingness.

Inspired by this new success, Marcus whipped a new set of knives into the main ooze, but the slime was too large The canine phantom shook his head and clucked his tongue before slashing his finger through the air. A glowing sword appeared out of nowhere, and slashed at one of the psuedopods as yet another knife flew into the severed tendril, breaking it into droplets. Marcus understood immediately.

But the water was rising, and it seemed that any progress Marcus was making. Going deep into the fray with Priscilla before flinging more darts into the splitting slime. He sustained countless burns and bruises from the slamming slime, but Marcus didn't care. The Way warded him from the feeling the damage as he laid waste to the monster. He didn't seem to notice that the water was up to his waist, didn't notice that his mobility was so restricted and taking more damage. But it didn't matter. Even as the water replenished the slime, Marcus slashed away three times as much, and as Marcus felt water touch his chin, he slipped further from The Way, his foe vanquished.

Then the pain set in. It was the kind of needling sting that one gets from an insect bite, but it overtook his whole body. Some places were worse than others, and Marcus had a feeling that the slime's residue was poisoning the water.

The rope was gone, the corded hemp too organic to survive the acid. He'd just have to wait for the water to bring him to the center grate. Marcus' thoughts strayed to the daggers he'd flung at the slimes. It would hurt, but he was loathe to leave them behind. Gasping for air, Marcus dove, ignoring the stinging in his eyes as he slipped the ringed handles around his fingers before kicking his legs against the ground and swimming up. The seal was heavy in his hands, but Marcus was strong enough to keep him afloat. The water continued to rise, and Marcus reached up to grab the floor of the room above and pulled himself out of the waterlogged room.

The cool air soothed Marcus' stinging skin as he started slipping all his knives back into their sheaths. He was disheartened to see the tattered state of his coat. It did more than keep him warm, it had sentimental value. "Just like everything else I own" thought the wolf, wryly. The chain hauberk he was wearing was already starting to chafe without the leather padding the ooze had siphoned away. The metal was also aggravating the raw red burns left by the caustic slime. It felt like the blisters one would get from a forced march.

There was a new conundrum now. Marcus was staring at a room with exactly one entrance: the bridge he'd shot down. He was stuck between a rock wall and a steel gate. The river he'd crossed proved to be a dead end too. Going against the current ended in a waterfall much too steep and too slick to be climbed, and the other direction flowed underneath large rocks in a passage much too narrow to swim under. The cool water did soothe some of the caustic burns, and Marcus took a few minutes to wash away any aftereffects of the slime.

Marcus returned to the square room. There must be an exit here. This area was too well protected, too manufactured to have only one method of ingress. It would be too dangerous to whoever constructed the traps. Marcus pressed his body against one of the stone walls, wrapping it with the hilt of a throwing knife. But he made a full circle of the room, but there was no mysterious echo or hollowness to the stone. But there was something else... at one of the corners, the air had a freshness to it, one that lacked the reek of caustic stagnation coming from the flooded room below. Marcus shrugged. "Follow your nose."

He squatted on the heels of his boots and inspected the wall closer, green eyes keen for any abnormality in the stone. Now that he gave the wall a closer look, there was a crack snaking its way up the rock wall. The wolf took a step back before ramming the heel of his foot into wall. Marcus felt the stone give a few inches, and with a low grinding, a narrow passage just wide enough for a person to slip through. Marcus shivered. He didn't enjoy going into such tight spaces, but options were limited right now.

The passageway was so cramped that Marcus couldn't even walk straight forward. He had to sidle his way through a dark, twisted, winding hallway. Thought the wolf was never a man of faith, he did catch himself praying multiple times that nothing decided to make its home here. He felt like he was vaguely traveling upward. His right arm was feeling, not painful, but numb from holding the heavy seal for so long. After a long, dark journey, the passageway widened to accommodate a single door, made of wood reinforced with steel. Marcus didn't need to check it to know it would be locked. He sighed and gritted his teeth. "Looks like I'm doing this the old fashioned way."

With a lupine roar, Marcus leaned back and kicked the door with all his might, aiming right under the locked handle. With a clatter of shattered wood, the metal lock clattered across a stone floor. With a creak, the broken door swung loosely off its hinges. The opening door revealed a large, spacious room with rotting red banners and broken pews. Before him laid an obsidian sarcophagus in shattered fragments.

A low, ragged laugh escaped Marcus' lips, more of a pant than anything else. "Heh...Heh... It goes in a circle..."