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Cavernous

By Dark Violet

Gods above, this was such fun!

Killian danced down the dull stone corridors like his feet were butterflies, fingering the little relief map of the castle in his pocket all the way. The little sprite of Jeffery's light spell danced and span behind him, casting his jubilant shadow across the stone walls.

“This way~!" he softly sing-songed, pivoting on one heel and dancing down the next corridor, his assembled crew rushing in his wake - Faroe, Jeffrey, Mercury, and Grug - in a chorus of shuffling leathers and clattering belts. In the distance behind them, the clank of armour and shouts of alarm echoed down the corridors.

“We underground yet?" Grug rumbled from somewhere near the back of the line. There was a whispering of hushes from the rest of the group in the orc's direction.

“Almost," muttered Faroe from just behind Killian, hefting the slung pack with their bounty. “Right, darling?"

Killian slid his thumb down the little relief map. They'd left those battlements behind, so it was just down this corridor, then the gap in the wall - ah! There it was!

“Now we are!" he sang, and danced through the gap. “Come along!"

Gods, wasn't this just the best part of any theft? If the guards hadn't been alerted when they'd swiped the phylactery, he might have tipped them off himself. What was a good heist without a chase?

The gap in the wall had been draped in shadows. From the twilit shadows of the corridor, it could have been mistaken for a building error, where two walls hadn't quite joined up, leaving a thin alcove. But the draped shadows gave way to a black void, with stone flagstones changing to the bare, slippery rock of a small cave. Old, fetid air swirled from deep within.

Killian half-ran, half-slid down the natural passageway until a sudden dead end loomed from the darkness in the flittering light of the dancing sprite. He stood, staring at the cold face of rock, his thumb wasn't fingering the small 'x' on the map…

“Where is it?" Grug rumbled. Another chorus of hushes.

Killian cast his gaze around. He'd been told it was here. He had it on good authority, from the guard they'd bought off. It'd better be here, after all the gold they shovelled into that captain's pockets. He began to run his hands along the smooth rock face, behind the stalactites that hung like witch's fingers within the deep shadows. The sprite flickered, its magic dying out by the minute.

“Killian, here," breathed Faroe. Killian span around.

His paramour, Faroe, was kneeling by a broad stalagmite, its folds of rock cascading along the cave floor like waves frozen in time. In the light of the fading sprite, her long, elven face half-glowed in pale golden radiance, and Killian's breath caught in his throat. Oh, for a painter! Oh, for the time to immortalise this in watercolours…

She leaned on the pack with their stolen booty, and gestured beside the stalagmite. “Come this side."

Their whole party gathered to see in a whispering of cloth and leather.

A small rivulet of water wound its way along the cave floor, making a shallow, darkened cut in the rock, which explained the slipperiness underfoot. To call it a stream was perhaps doing it too much service - it was little more than the result of scattered droplets, tumbled from the roof along the cave. But near the stalagmite, it disappeared. As Killian moved round, he saw why - there was a natural gap in the floor, which the water tumbled through. A gap just wide enough for a person to slip through - and beyond, a yawning pit of black.

Mercury dropped to the floor, the aarakocra sticking their beak through the gap. “Can't see a thing in here," they croaked. “Can't see a thing in here."

Faroe glanced up at Jeffrey as the sprite sputtered again. “Another light spell?"

Their young wizard waved his hands, his short, dirt-caked robes flying. “I said at the time, that last one was the last of my mana! I told you that I didn't need to cast Granson's Ethereal Mist-"

Killian held up a hand between them before this could explode for the second time this outing. “It's okay! It's okay!" He stuck his hand back in his pocket, feeling for the map once more.

The guard had been quite clear. The cave led into a larger cavern, deep beneath the castle. It had once been used as an oubliette; the old Duchess loved to make her more annoying prisoners 'disappear', and no doubt some of their broken bones were still down there. But as the summer months drew on, stories had spread of a drop in water levels in the caves under the mountains, and as it turned out, this cavern was not as isolated as anyone had thought…

“Julian, take your men down that way."

The voice carried down the tunnel. It was a voice from someone who sounded like they were more scars and sword than skin. The group glanced at each other as the clank of armour echoed louder.

Killian dropped to one knee, peering through the hole. The rock floor sharply dropped off; the sputtering sprite - now barely more than a candle's flame - illuminating only the first few feet of slippery rock. Beyond it was a black, empty void. From somewhere within came the drip… drop of water.

Even as he strained to listen, a warm, old breeze caressed his cheek…

Aha, he knew it! A way out!

Killian span on a heel, waving his hand theatrically. “Do not worry! I can guide us out blind. And once we're down there, we can take it nice and slow, okay?" He glanced down into the darkness again. “According to that guard, this cavern's only a few paces deep. We can jump it. Come on! It's just a little thing!"

Jeffery boggled. “Are the words 'Leap of faith' sailing unstoppably towards this conversation?"

Killian grinned.

Jeffery looked like he was about to explode again, when Faroe leaned back. “Leap of faith it is!" she smiled, her voice lilting in its mountain accent. “Trust Killian, Jeff," she said, giving him a warm gaze. The excitement of the heist sparkled in her eyes. God, he could kiss her for aeons.

Killian's smile reached from ear to ear. He patted Mercury as the bird knelt up, their neck feathers dripping. “You first, Mer. Watch your talons on the rock."

“Yes, boss," they croaked, swinging their pack between their wings. They hung their legs over the edge, and pushed off - there was a soft shush of feathers on rock as they slipped through and disappeared into the darkness. Killian listened out - there was a momentary slp, as if of talons on wet rock, and then nothing.

“Alright. Jeffrey, you next."

The wizard stared between him and the hole. “I am-"

“Grug next," the orc said, tightening his belts and pushing past the spluttering wizard. He dropped down to the ground with a heavy slap of damp rock, and with a 'Hup!' he slipped through the hole too, his shoulders not quite scraping the sides; he disappeared into the darkness. Slp.

Jeffrey's mouth wavered like a dancing housefly. “Now wait just a-"

“Jeff," Faroe warned, glancing up. “I'd trust Killian if I were ye. Unless ye want to face the walking armouries back up there?"

Jeffrey glanced between them, and deflated. He trod over to the hole, sat down heavily. “If I break my foot, you're reimbursing me for the reagents," he grumbled, and then pushed off. Slp.

Warm air rolled back in from the hole. Killian turned to Faroe.

“Alright, you next-"

He paused. Faroe was biting her lip.

“By the gods, Far… you're scared too, aren't you?" he whispered.

“Big scary hole!" she half-laughed, putting a hand on his thigh. “Big scary dark hole. You know I've never been good with caves! Remember when we had to steal the ruby skull?"

Killian grabbed her arm and pulled her in, burying his nose against her scalp. He breathed deep, her sweet, exotic perfume swirling in his head.

Back along the passage, the clank of armour seemed to be coming and going. It would only be a matter of time before they'd check the cave. Killian wrapped his arms around Faroe, and kissed the side of her head repeatedly.

“Far, you are amazing and incredible and brave and confident and so very silly."

“Of course a'm bloody silly. This is bloody silly!"

Killian pulled back, pressing his forehead against hers. She was soft and warm. “But fun, right?"

She smirked. “O'course." She pulled back, grabbing her pack. “Killian, we've done it." she whispered, excitement tumbling through her words as she shook the pack in front of him. “The Stormlight Phylactery!"

Killian nodded, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Leave it with me. You jump first, then I'll toss it down. Okay?"

Her eyes twitched sadly. “Killian-"

Killian squeezed her shoulders. “Far. Trust me."

Her shoulders dropped. “Okay."

Killian gave her one more kiss on the forehead as she slid herself over to the hole, leaving the pack on the ground. She slipped her legs over the edge, and peered down. The sprite has barely a spark now, and beyond the hole's rim there was nothing.

She glanced at him, the last spark of the sprite catching the gleam of her eyes. “I love ye."

Killian grinned. “Love you too."

And then she pushed off, and was gone. Slp.

At that moment, the last of the sprite went out, leaving only the merest sliver of light from back towards the corridor. The cave settled into an indistinct blur of yellowy greys. Killian glanced back up the passage; the clank of armour was getting louder again. He grabbed the pack, and went down onto his front to try and peer down the hole. Warm air rolled across his face, carrying a heavy, old taste.

“Far?" he whispered, manhandling the pack to where he could toss it. Then he stopped. He held still for a few seconds.

“...Far?"

Silence rested in the cave below.

Killian narrowed his eyes, squinting into the darkness. “Grug? Mer? Jeff?"

Nothing, nothing other than the drip… drop of the little rivulets and the whisper of a breeze.

Killian blinked. There should just be a cavern there. Where else could they be?

“Captain, the eastern battlements are secure," came a slightly greener voice from back towards the corridor. “They can't have got out that way. We'd have seen them."

“Have you checked in there?"

Killian swore under his breath, and rolled over. He dug his hand into the pack tied to his waist, and fished around until his fingers met what he was seeking - there it was, cold and smooth. Damn it, he'd been hoping to sell this for a few gold too. He pulled the crystal out, and in one motion, blew on it.

A faint light caught inside the small blue crystal, illuminating the scuffs covering his fingerless gloves. It wasn't much, but better than nothing, right? Second by second, the crystal was brightening. He swung his legs through the hole, just as the sound of an unsheathing sword echoed down the cave.

Now or never, then. Leap of faith indeed!

He grabbed the pack under one arm, held the crystal tight in his other hand, and pushed off.

The black void swallowed him. His boots slipped down the sheer side of the wall, and he held the crystal out, its glow streaming between his fingers-

Illuminating the cavernous maw of the dragon.

Killian didn't yell. He didn't have time. In a frantic motion, he kicked against the wall, and because of that he landed on the point of the dragon's snouth instead of sliding right down along its tongue.

The dragon recoiled with a rolling grunt and a rush of that warm air. The crystal flew out of Killian's grasp as he bounced off the hard, worn scales, and tumbled - he slammed into the rocky floor, the air forced out of him, and for a moment he just lay there, stunned in body and mind.

The crystal clattered along the floor, burning with its pale sapphire light, and in that moment Killian understood the immense bulk of the wyrm. It filled the cavern, its deep blue scales half-gleaming, half-dulled from scraping on rock. It didn't cast a shadow - it was the shadows; every dark edge was just more of its bulky tail, or its leathery wings rippling in dust, or its twisted horns like a dead forest in winter.

A dragon. A dragon that had made the cavern its home.

Time slowed. Killian stared, a lump in his throat the size of a boulder, taking in the sharp, undulating cliff face of the beast before him.

A dragon. A dragon, and no Grug. A dragon, and no Mercury. A dragon, and no Jeffery.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

A dragon. And no Faroe.

It's amazing how many thoughts can rush through your mind when terror strikes. Visions of what could have happened ran behind his eyes, of his elven lover deftly dancing off the dragon's teeth, of Mercury hanging from a stalactite, of Grug buried beneath the beast's tail, his war cry merely muffled as he prepared his next swing. Maybe Jeffrey had cast some cone of silence on them, to hide them all? Maybe they'd found the next chamber and had-

It's amazing how much the mind can try and fool itself, even as it slips into horrified realisation.

The cold drip-drip of terror swam through his veins. His skin burned cold where it had scraped against the dragon's scales. In his heart, the sensation of a deep nightmare swirled, stabbing with the need to wake up, to wake up, to escape to the world where visions of his lover tumbling down a slick tongue were just a distant scare-

No. No, hold on. She could still be alive. He had to hold on to that possibility, of course he had to hold on. The pack containing the phylactery sat next to him, and he grabbed it, and ran - stumbling away from the dragon, his heart hammering seemingly hard enough to shake dust from the walls. Behind him, the dragon moved - he could hear it now; what he had thought was the whispering of a breeze had instead been a slide of scales on stone, the gentle and warm wind had been its rolling breath. The footsteps the dragon made were low, rumbling, not registering as footsteps because what manner of beast is that big!? Killian ran, stumbling on the rock, clambering towards the cavern wall, to a lip of stone that promised refuge-

The ground shook, the slam of claws on rock sending him skidding, half-falling into the lip. The pack dropped from his grasp and bounced away, and he abandoned it as he scrabbled deeper within.

He found the back wall of the cut far too soon. He pressed himself against it, even as the sound of scratching and scrabbling shook his body. He turned and yelped - one claw was mere feet away. The gigantic talon - longer than his whole body - reached for him, scratching at the rock like a finger trying to pry a mollusk from its shell.

Immense, black-blue lips flashed beneath the lip, and teeth gleamed in the crystal light. Warm air kicked up dust around him, and it was only now he really noticed how moist it was. His blood pumped in his ears, a sharp pound-pound-pound, as he realised the old and fetid scents were more home in a beast's maw than a cave.

He grasped and shoved against the rock around him, trying to make himself as small as possible as the growling dragon clawed at the rock. He stifled another yell of terror. He could touch, it was so close…

Oh gods. Oh gods above, Faroe. Please, no. Please, please if there is any mercy or boon he'd earned from anyone from another plane, come now and grant him this…

But beyond the claws, beyond the rock, the burning crystal lit up the dragon's side in pale light.

The dragon's scales were not all thick, dinnerplate-sized, scarred things. At its belly, its hide came through, looking softer and more malleable.

A belly which bulged. Bulged more than even a dragon of its bulk should. As the claw seeked its prize, the dragon pulled its immense body closer, and the swollen belly slid and squashed itself against the uneven cavern floor. The broad lumps within twitched only with the motion of the dragon itself.

Hope's a fickle thing. When it dies, you realise that there's no way to get it back, and you find out that beneath that thin floor was nothing but a pit.

In that belly, he saw what was left of his friends. Still. Silent. Smooth bulges in a dragon's stomach. For a moment, he even wished for their muffled cries and pleas, final words of his friends and comrades-

But he'd already heard their last words, hadn't he?

He'd… he'd already heard her last words. Right after he'd told her to trust him.

So he stared at that bulging stomach, as a horrified tear dripped down his cheek.

When the searching claw caught his jerkin, the shock and despair had wrapped him so entirely that the jolt back to his own predicament made him hesitate - and if he'd had a chance to pull out of its grasp, it was gone in that moment, and the claw speared through his clothes and yanked him from his hiding place.

In a yelling, kicking ball of terror, Killian fought and clutched at the cold, scratched surface of the claw, and it all did nothing to stop him from being lifted high into the air. He gurgled through gritted teeth, dangling from the claw; in the crystal's sole light, the bulky dragon's head passed beneath him, and its cavernous maw once again parted. Pink-dark flesh glimmered with saliva, and bones and cloth hung between the long, stalactite-like teeth.

That now-familiar warm air rolled over him, and in its fetid air, he briefly wondered if he could smell the sweet perfume of Faroe one last time.

But the dragon was not savouring the moment, and when it let go, it was only a short, final drop. Killian saw fangs, rushing all around him. Then there was the brief, wet slide of the tongue, warm and wet on his side. Then the throat rushed up around him, a final gleam on their wet walls -

And all light went dark.

Slp.

The End