"Don't mention it!" Sorenson said cheerily. "You're the only one here besides me; can't have a new friend falling to his death so soon after we met! Do you suppose we could brave it back up there now that we know they move?" They didn't seem to be stopping, either, which would make it harder to climb. He supposed they could always go down that path that had appeared...
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
I faltered. I wasn't used to being called someone's friend so quickly. I recovered before he could notice, but the awkward feeling in my chest still lingered.
I looked up at the wall. The faces kept moving.
"We'll have a better chance of getting somewhere walking down that hallway," I said, pointing at the one that had appeared right before we tried scaling the wall.
"Agreed, fully." Sorenson squared his shoulders. "Boldly we go! What we shall find, nobody knows." He marched forward. Hopefully they'd find the way out directly down the hall. That was wishful thinking, though; this felt like one of those tedious puzzles Halaster Blackcloak might create.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
It had looked deceptively large from back in the throne room. It was just the right size for both of us, but anyone taller would have been pushing it. The hallway was seemingly carved into the rocks that had made up the walls earlier, with an arched ceiling instead of an open one that showed the stars. Here, in what was mostly darkness with the exception of a few very spread out torches on the wall, I felt far more at home.
My muscles relaxed. I let myself forget about the rollercoaster of emotions I had felt back just minutes before.
"Have you ever seen something like that before?" I said, falling into step beside Sorenson.
Spoiler! :
I hope that reply is okay! I want to set up a switch into atmosphere, and thought something more closed in would do the job. Let me know if I need to change or add anything!
"Nope." Sorenson looked up at the ceiling with a small frown. He hated closed spaces, especially when he couldn't see the sky. To cast a bit more light down the hall, he cast Dancing Lights. Four dimly glowing lights were summoned to his side and bobbed down the hall. "Have you? It's bloody odd. You said calcified before, but that seemed more like possession or animation."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"That's not possession," I said. I hadn't possessed the wall myself, so I couldn't be sure. But I seriously doubted that someone would go through the effort of possessing an entire wall to make those mouths move.
Alternatively, I couldn't imagine multiple people with my ability all deciding to possess every one of those faces. There was no way that could ever be that coordinated. Someone would have slipped and actually said something.
"And no," I said, watching the strange bobbing lights that reminded me of will o' wisps, "I haven't seen something like that before."
"This whole place must be cursed." Sorenson ran a hand through his hair. "Not pleasant at all. Do you suppose there's anybody else here?" He supposed there must be some monsters or something about; where there were dungeons, there were beasts as well.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"It doesn't have to be cursed," I said. I admittedly didn't know much about curses, but they seemed like the kind of magic that no one liked because it was creepy or unusual. Which was exactly my cup of tea.
Sorenson unsurprisingly felt otherwise. I should have been using that to my advantage, but I still couldn't push aside my shock and surprise from him helping me.
I eyed farther down the hallway.
"There were only two thrones," I said, "so either someone put us there and then left, or we're the only two people in this entire place."
"There could be other thrones in other rooms," he pointed out. "We have no way of knowing til we find some!" Personally he felt that this whole place was a custom-built death trap. Perhaps that was just his paranoia and the walls closing in around him, but it didn't seem like a catch-all type of place.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Should we throw these two into a new room soon? đź‘€ I'm also cool with them walking and talking for a bit, but it might be fun throwing them off with something new and unexpected.
especially since Sorenson is already getting paranoid xD
That was a good point, but I wasn't going to admit it.
I shrugged.
"As far as I'm concerned," I said, "we're the only two here right now."
I had a sneaking suspicion that this hallway was starting to stress Sorenson out, but I didn't feel the same way in the slightest. This part felt nice. I could do with dark, tight spaces if they weren't the result of some sudden magic. Sure, we had been brought here against our will, but this was just a hallway right now. There was nothing supernatural about it.
I peered down the hallway in front of us.
"I wonder where this hallway leads to," I said, trying to see if I could make out anything past Sorenson's lights. I couldn't.
(Let's have them get to know each other just a bit before we toss them into a new sitch. I feel like they've only had a brief introduction so far.)
"Perhaps to somewhere a bit more open." Sorenson sent the lights a hundred feet in that direction, squinting. They were rather dim, which was more frustrating than he wanted to admit. He'd never been very good with light spells. Lightning spells, however, were most certainly his forte, but he doubted his companion would appreciate a bolt of pure electricity shooting down the hall.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
That's a good point! I'm down for them bonding while they walk. We can always through something new in if the conversation starts to stall.
I glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Are you scared of how small this hallway is?" I asked, already guessing at the answer. I should have been mocking him, but I quickly realized I wasn't really in the mood. "I've been in worse before."
Worse being in my jar for over a century.
I went back to facing the hallway.
"...You mentioned some names earlier," I said. "Back when we first woke up. Are they...friends of yours?"
Sorenson bristled slightly at the jab but shook his head. "Friends? Oh, my, no! They're beastly people, positively horrid. Halaster Blackcloak is a mage, completely insane! He created a dungeon of monsters for his own amusement. Nealor is a mind flayer, a heartless creature with no soul at all. Have you ever seen a mind flayer before?" He supposed not; this fellow didn't seem well versed in any of the things Sorenson knew.
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
"A mind...flayer?" I repeated. I hadn't ever heard that before. I knew what mages and dungeons were. I had heard Cubbins mention them when he was obsessed with something called "D and D" what felt like an eternity ago. I had forgotten about the whole thing because he had shoved my skull in the oven right afterwards and kept me in there for a month—which said a lot about how much Lucy and her friends cooked before Holly Munro came along—but the memories were coming back now.
(Ohoho gosh D&D exists in his world? This should be very interesting then)
"Yes. I'm guessing you hadn't heard of them?" Sorenson summoned the light back. He wasn't surprised. "Well, mind flayers are a race of tentacle-faced beings who survive by sapping the minds of standard races. They feed off of intellect and sanity and leave their victims a shadow of what they once were--if they survive. They're known for enslaving entire worlds, and there are a few in the underground of Waterdeep and around Faerun. Nealor is one of those."
"The artist deals with what cannot be said in words. The artist whose medium is fiction does this in words. The novelist says in words what cannot be said in words." --Ursula K. Le Guin
Gender:
Points: 2094
Reviews: 112