NOTE: I probably should have edited again, but was too excited to get some writing done and put on the website. Sorry for the extensive use of ‘I’. Hope you enjoy the continuation of Sibilia’s story – an Ironsworn fan fiction.
The chill water became a turbulent mess underneath the pounding waterfall. Directions were hard to discern, but I came up in a black recess. Slowly, pillars became visible beside a brush covered entrance to a long since visited place. This place just screamed “traps and danger be bountiful here” but on we go to fame and fortune no.
Upon entering the roughly hewn passage, I made my way slowly up shallow steps. Torch in hand, eyes darting to and fro for signs of danger. Click! Instinctively my legs gave way to avoid the danger but gravity was the loser in this battle of speed. My left rib was afire with pain as my shaking hand scrambled with the furry tip of a dart. Elven make, but this tomb didn’t seem elaborate and ornate like most Elven tombs, why? Upon exiting the ascending tunnel the chamber opened into a black vastness, pricked by a flickering light further down.
“Fuck,” I thought, “how many people did Nakata tell about this prize?” With as subtle a sound as I could manage, I extinguished my torch and skulked towards the figure further along the narrow, dark pathway.
It was a mistake, not ten metres out onto the ledge and the darkness proved too great an obstacle. With a scrap and a scramble, I slipped off the side and lunged my hands up to take purchase of whatever I could. It could have been the unbidden grunts or the clang and clash of a sword dropping down into an unknown abyss, but the figure turned and nervously yelled “Who is out there! Show yourself!”.
I could only think of the time it took for the sword to hit the bottom of the crevasse and what my body would sound like slamming against those rocks. “HELP ME!” Those words made me feel like dying right there with their desperation.
“Who the hell are you? And wouldn’t it be better if I just let you fall off here? I know what you’re after.” Her arms crossed her chest and her smirk gave me a very bad feeling about the outcome of our ‘negotiation’.
“Look, it’s yours. Whatever we find. Please, lend me a hand, save my life and it’s yours. Just help me, quickly!”
“Fine, fine,” she grumbles as she gets on her hands and knees to offer me her hand. It is unsteady as she helps me up onto the narrow catwalk once more.
“Why were you sneaking through the darkness if you had no ill intent, Sibilia?” A very reasonable question.
“Look, Pemba was outside. I bailed him out of near certain death with that lake horror and tried to get him to reach a deal with me. He refused, ”I didn’t know exactly who you were, Morien, and wanted to get a closer look.” It was only a white lie. I had intended to perhaps make a quick end to the interloper but such things were best left unsaid, given my current predicament. She was from Mournhill, though I didn’t know her too well. She kept to herself mainly and was either up roaringly drunk or petulantly silent.
With a questionable team mate, we cross over the space and ascend up many, many more stairs. Hundreds of stairs later and a challenge that was worse than fighting the lurking monster outside, we arrived at an ornate, circular door.
“It is undoubtedly trapped.” I say unnecessarily. Morien does not turn her head but is already busily searching the intricate stonework with eyes and hands until she finds a hidden panel. It is surprisingly pliant given the giant weight of the rock door. The rock slowly slides to the side but jams, my legs begin to shake, a bouncing rumble races up the stair passage towards us both. We panic, both of us squeezing our slender bodies through the barely large enough opening.
We tumble through the door as the rocks outside collapse and spill into the circular room behind us. I rub my eyes clear as Morien coughs meekly next to me. The scene before us is rather surprising. Sitting on a rock sarcophagus, legs crossed with hands holding the edge of the lid, is King Lothgar, or what was once King Lothgar.
It was clear that he had not been in-turned properly. Was this some punishment from the Elves? He sat there passively, solemnly, waiting. “What have you come for then?” His voice was otherworldly, crackling and painful. He didn’t make a move forward, not even his eyes rose to meet us. It was like we may as well not have even been there.
Morien shrunk behind me, clearly not one to put herself forward first. Why lie about it? “We are here for the treasures of this tomb, to put it plainly.” I immediately realised that this being could probably kill me with little effort and I shifted ever so slightly back, towards the now blocked door.
He screams as only the undead can. My hands clutch my ears as my brain begins to pulse painfully. “You’ll not get a thing from here,” he replies as his rotted fingers pick at jagged teeth. “The elves keep me here, with their magic. Break their curse and I can give you what you seek.”
“Fine, I’ll swear on iron to break this curse of the elves and have your soul allowed to rest.”
My hand instinctively goes to draw my sword to swear on iron but my hand clasps the air. I quickly turn my head, searching for some iron to swear my vow upon and look at the slinking figure of Morien behind me. “Give me your spear,” I say without hesitation. The edge in my voice makes it clear that this is not a conversation and Morien presents her blade to me.
“Upon this iron I will treat with the elves for you, King Lothgar. And in return, you will provide me with the treasures we seek.” The deed done, I am now bound to this quest, much deeper than I anticipated a simple grab and dash would have entailed. At least I met some helpful elves on the way here and I know they will find me easily when I exit this place.
The dead king wasn’t one for small talk and we left quickly after the vow was done. Faced with a collapsed exit, I spoke to Morien. “I am not going back to Mournhill.”
She said nothing.
“This is big, something that perhaps could lead to Elves and Humans coming closer together”
“How do you figure that?”
“King Lothgar was the first king to arrive here in the Ironlands. The first human to push into the interior.” And probably the first human to show these elves what brutality and disregard for culture really looked like, I thought.
“Very well, you do you. I am going to get out of this stone grave and return home. Elves will just kill you on sight. I’ll cut my losses here. Nakata didn’t tell me it would be like this.”
Amongst the caved in passageway, we found little crevices to twist our bodies through, like rats. We passed by where I dropped my sword and I realised I would need it if I was to survive a day in the Deep Wilds alone. You never know when your life could come under threat.
Fortune favours the prepared and ropes are always useful. Morien takes the other end of my rope as I belay my way down into the pits and search for my blade. It was my mother’s and to leave it here would dishonour her memory. Memories were all I had of my family so I was determined not to let this slide. The sword was positioned under creaking rock, a dash forward and quick retrieval would work best.
The light of Morien’s torch plays only faintly down here in this pit. My race to retrieve is met with shifting boulders and sliding feet. Like a snake striking prey, my hand lances out to grab the sword as I twist and turn through the deluge of stone, shitting about dangerously. My feet find solid purchase on the stones as they begin to slide away and I leap. My free hand grasps the length of rope and I make my way up out of the crevasse, sword in my possession once again.
After a short time, the light from outside the pillared entranceway begins to appear. I hear an enraged voice from the shadows which cuts above the driving sound of pounding water. “What the fuck did you do Sibilia!”. Morien jerks towards the sound and the once dark alcove illuminates. Pemba is propped up against the wall, his hand on his slick, red shoulder. He looks more than angry, stands and comes straight for me.
“Pemba, what are you doing! You can’t win this fight!” I yell as he awkwardly, painfully tries to surge towards me. I face him straight up and strike but have overestimated how much his wound would slow him down. I stand my ground and push Pemba to the side. Immediately, my blade arcs towards him as his balance fails. Again I strike at his exposed side but his strength belies the bloodied shoulder. I push the now failing body of Pemba to the floor and stand over him with my blade held high. “AAARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!” I let out a scream, like an animal, and began to kick Pemba wildly. “Stop this now or you will fucking die here you fool!” He scrambles back towards the wall of the cave and the edge of the torch light. As far away from the mad girl raging before him.
“Fine, I’ve had enough. It is done.” He replies. Thank goodness for that. We make our uncomfortable peace and return under the waterfall. Pemba is like a weak child with the injuries he has sustained and barely makes it. As he flops onto the stone shore, I inspect the stash for my gear only to find it strewn about, raided. Tracks indicate animals but I fear the Elves may have something to do with this and scan the forest for a sign of their lingering presence. This journey was going to be a tough one out of the Deep Wilds.
RPG Downtime 