Crypters

"So, what'll we find in these Crypts, exactly?"

Young, broad-shouldered Moose's question, a simple inquiry which did not betray the complexity of its answer, echoed across the stone-topped hills and reed-filled valleys that perforated the wide expanse of countryside two miles West of Obren's capital city. The long silence which pursued the question was accompanied by the gentle trickling of a shallow, stone-banked creek, flowing lazily in the opposite direction of the Guild's travels. Tenvic waited until they had reached the crest of one such hill before answering:

"Well," he began slowly, "every Crypt is different, but there are two guarantees: Danger and Treasure." He took several more steps, assisted with a large walking stick he had found just outside the city gates, before elaborating: "Every Crypt is guarded, and every Crypt has something worth guarding." The walking stick helped him clamber over a narrow, felled tree with rough white bark. "Usually, the guarding is done by Monsters, Traps, or both." He was quoting On the Practice of Crypting, a text which actually accompanied this description with statistics: the eight Guilds investigated in the text claimed to have cumulatively searched through sixty-one Crypts, of which nine had only Traps, twenty-one had only Monsters, and the remainder had both. Not a single Crypt had been cleared without encountering danger of some kind. "Of course, the definition of 'Treasure' ranges more widely than the types of Danger. We might find magical weapons, or chests full of gold and gems, or we might just find a lot of books."

At this, Moose's face broke into the boyish grin that Tenvic was beginning to suspect was the young man's most common expression. "I wouldn't mind gold and gems," the tall youth admitted, "but I'd be lying if I said I didn't always want a magic sword." Tenvic found the young fighter's optimism infectious, and his smile grew to match the larger man's grin.

Glancing behind, Tenvic saw that the shared smile had failed to spread to the face of his other companion, the inscrutable and perpetually unamused Signus. The tall, thin man, whose temples had already begun to grey despite his being no older than thirty, was a puzzle Tenvic had yet to solve. When the two applicants had joined the Guild, Tenvic had offered them both whatever equipment they felt necessary to arm themselves for the coming dangers; Moose had sent away for heavy, interlocking plate armor from the Militia's own smith, but had kept his oversized blade, saying he preferred the weight of something familiar. The night before leaving on this expedition, the boisterous swordsman had taken his freshly-forged plate to the market square, and returned with the metal masterpiece painted an ostentatious, gem-tone purple; Signus had rolled his eyes and chided the younger man for his unwise color choice, but Moose had insisted that as soon as he chose to don plate armor, all stealth-based tactics had ceased to be an option for him, a point which Signus had reluctantly conceded.

Signus had not commissioned armor, nor had he even purchased a weapon. When Tenvic had asked what he planned to do in a fight, Signus had insisted that he would need no weapon beyond his own hands; the claim had seemed audacious, but the man's tone had been so earnest, his eyes so hard with defiance, as if hungry for a contradiction, that Tenvic had chosen to take him at his word. If he felt confident enough to risk his own life on his skill at unarmed combat, Tenvic would not ask for proof beyond his willingness to fight on behalf of the Guild.

Moose had not been so easily convinced; in fact, in the short time since they had left through Obren's huge western gate, the newly-armored man had wondered aloud a handful of times about whether he would have to do all the fighting himself. His jabs had fallen short of subtlety, and although Tenvic suspected Moose meant well, Signus' mood had gone from bad to worse during this first leg of the trip.

Tenvic would be lying if he said he wasn't also wary of Signus' claims at unarmed competence. But really, who was he to judge an applicant's combat ability? He had, after all, conned his way into this leadership role. The extent of his Crypting expertise was held between the worn bindings of a dozen short books. He knew those books better than any scholar in the kingdom, but whether his extensive reading would translate to actual Crypting prowess was yet to be seen. Truth be told, he had chosen his two companions from a surprisingly narrow group of candidates. The rest had been desperate ex-militia members, shady characters who seemed competent but untrustworthy, or both. Tenvic had thought the potential rewards of Crypting would draw a wider range of applicants, but apparently most seasoned veterans didn't consider the risks of the ancient ruins to be worth the potential rewards.

"What are you hoping we'll find in our first Crypt?" Tenvic directed the question at Signus, hoping to encourage a modicum of enthusiasm, or at least communication, from the distant man, whose dark cowl was pulled up over his greying temples even despite the early-autumn sun. Signus' response was slow in coming as the group made their way over a wide, shallow stream; as Tenvic chose a careful path over stable stones, Moose trod straight through the water, his metal boots splashing heavily. Signus finally spoke as he crossed the stream in three long, sweeping steps, barely grazing the water with his unbroken stride.

"I think it would be best if we find documents. That's what you said the Baron was looking for, correct?"

It was true; Tenvic had mentioned as much during the interview process. The Baron had approved Tenvic's plea for a strategy of reinvestment, agreeing that, while the Guild was building its ranks and resources, they could keep all Infused items which were directly relevant to the Crypting process, and retain a share of one half of all value gained by selling or redistributing other retrieved items, in order to pay, train, and equip Guild members; all the Baron asked in return was that any documents or records be preserved and returned to his care, to be reviewed by the Obren Scholar's Guild. It was an extraordinarily generous deal; Baron Almer was a scholar at heart, and in his mind, the true treasure of the Crypts was lost knowledge.

Tenvic could see the wisdom in Signus' response; proving the Guild's value to the Baron early on would mean a good relationship with the barony's central authority, a resource whose value could not be overstated. But was that truly what his mysterious, unarmed companion was hoping to find inside of ancient, enchanted ruins? Books to make someone else happy? Tenvic soon found he didn't have to press the issue; Moose was happy to do so for him.

"Come on Sig, what are you really hoping for?" Moose's boyish grin was now accompanied by a skeptical brow, resulting in a combined expression somewhere between conspiratorial and mocking. "You're a fighter. A man of action. You've got too many callouses on your hands to be that invested in dusty scrolls. Use your imagination, now-- when you picture yourself, standing over a slain monster, opening a chest nobody's laid eyes on for a thousand years, what do you imagine pulling out of there?" Tenvic resisted the urge to correct the young man's timeline; the Fire Age was no more than four hundred years ago.

Perhaps it was Tenvic's imagination, but Signus seemed put off by the question, or perhaps by Moose's impromptu nickname for him. "Scrolls," he responded with a flat, insistent tone. "I imagine pulling dusty scrolls out of the chest." The silence that followed was tense, as Signus glared daggers at Moose. For his part, Moose's grin never left his face, but his eyes grew wider and wilder, giving the expression a sinister tone. The group had come to a stop halfway up the next rolling hill, on a wide caravan trail flanked on either side with waist-high amber foliage.

Working quickly to defuse the tension, Tenvic attempted to pivot the conversation. "What monster?" he asked, his tone carefully jovial. "What monster are you picturing yourself having slain, Moose?"

The tall man, still maintaining intense eye contact with smaller, unarmed Signus, took a painfully long moment to respond. "Chimera," he offered at last, reluctantly turning away from the confrontation. "One of those wolves with the deer antlers and wings and a snake for a tail."

"That's a classic," Tenvic nodded with a chuckle, forcing a display of casual mirth which he didn't really feel. He started to walk again, hoping that the two fighters would follow suit. Thankfully, they did fall back into line, Moose first, then Signus. "Though, actually," Tenvic continued, "That's not technically a Chimera. That's a Piecemeal Beast, a kind of monster with mixed characteristics from multiple animals. People often call them all Chimeras, but a Chimera is just one type of Piecemeal Beast. Though, I'm not sure which kind." This time, Tenvic was referencing Aemonica's Bestiary, an attempted taxonomy of all living monsters, many of which could be found in Crypts. He worried that Moose might take his correction as criticism, but actually, the young fighter nodded with enthusiasm, catching up to Tenvic to hear more.

"Is that the kind of thing we might fight down there?" Moose prompted.

"Definitely," Tenvic responded, glad to have subverted the confrontation, and equally glad to have a reason to discuss one of his lifelong interests. "Piecemeal Beasts are just one kind of Wyrdbeast, which are the most common guardians in Crypts. Other kinds include Direbeasts, which are pretty common, just like they are in the wild. There are also Cerebeasts, which have too many heads, like three-headed dogs or wolves, and Scuttlebeasts, which have too many limbs."

"Too many limbs?" Moose interrupted incredulously. Ten paces behind, Signus followed, cowl still up, pretending not to listen.

"Are the limbs just, like, jutting out of them randomly? Or would it be, like, a normal animal, like a boar or something, but with legs like a spider?"

The disturbing visual brought Tenvic to a full stop. Having only read about such creatures, he hadn't thought of where the limbs would be located, only that there would be more of them. "I've... never seen one like that," he hedged; then, worrying that he might give away his inexperience, he hastened to add: "but I have seen a four-winged eaglehawk. They're surprisingly coordinated."

Tenvic's companions quietly absorbed more monster trivia over the next mile or so, crossing over the rolling plains and into a lightly wooded area before taking a short break to eat and drink. Moose was proving impressively mobile considering his armor, and Signus was clearly as experienced a traveler as Tenvic had become these last few years; they were making excellent time. While they ate in the clearing, Signus broke the silence:

"What other kinds of monsters are there?" The serious man's brow was creased in the center with worry. "You said that Wyrdbeasts are the most common guardians in Crypts. What are the other kinds?"

Tenvic, who was beginning to worry that Signus did not see him as a competent and authoritative leader, had just taken a too-large bite of his hard cheese and flatbread. Signus' brow creased deeper as Tenvic hastened to chew and swallow, and Tenvic felt beads of sweat form on his temples as he choked out a response:

"Well, the second most common type would be Constructs," he began, growing even more self-conscious as a small fleck of food escaped from his mouth. He took a hasty swallow of water before continuing. "You've probably heard of Golems, which are controlled by intricate command runes, so they can only do things they've been programmed to do. There are also Mimics, which pretend to be other objects but are actually animated, and there are Living Weapons, which are... exactly what they sound like."

Signus nodded silently through Tenvic's description. "We should probably establish our tactics for these fights," the tall fighter offered, raising one eyebrow, clearly prompting a response.

"I-- yeah," Tenvic nodded, still feeling flat-footed. "That's a good plan. What, uh, which of those were you..." He trailed off, then hastened to regain control of the conversation. "Which type of monster are you most worried about?"

"Golems present a... unique concern," Signus clarified. "Or other Constructs, depending on what they're made of. I have trained in unarmed combat for many years, but only against human opponents. I can fight a person, I can fight a group of people, I can even fight a group of armed and armored people, but I'm not sure I could do much against an enemy literally made of iron."

From the other end of the clearing, where he was finishing off a hearty serving of cured meat and a waterskin which Tenvic doubted was filled with water, Moose chose this moment to join the conversation. "A group of people in armor?" The young man sounded incredulous, and he stood to cross the clearing and join his two companions. "Putting aside the years of dueling experience it takes to keep track of and defend against multiple armed opponents in a fight, what are your fists going to do against someone in full mail?" Moose's grin was a youthful display composed of three parts mirth and one part derision. It wasn't the first jab the huge man had made at Signus' expense, but it was the first time that Tenvic recognized, finally, what Moose was trying to do. He had chosen his words carefully: someone in full mail happened to be in this very clearing. Moose was trying to start a fight.

Now that Tenvic saw the intention behind Moose's taunt, he knew that the wise choice would be to cut off the boy's efforts before they bore fruit. He had defused one confrontation on this journey, he could certainly talk the two fighters down from their tensions. It was his primary job as Guildmaster to ensure that the group was able to work as a team, and they wouldn't be safe exploring the Crypts if the two front-line fighters were each waiting for an opportunity to get back at the other.

However.

Tenvic would be deceiving himself if he didn't admit that a small, unwise part of him wanted to see a fight break out, mostly because he needed to know that Signus could hold his own in a fight despite his unusual methods; he had insisted during the interview and in the time since that he could hold his own against better-equipped fighters, but could the claim really hold true?

So, Tenvic held his tongue as Signus, scowling, stood to meet Moose. Tense silence filled the clearing for a long moment; then, faster than Tenvic had ever seen anyone do anything, Signus took off across the grass like a loosed arrow. Tenvic couldn't have claimed to even see him start to move, only to see him arrive in front of Moose, fist firmly planted in the center of the huge man's breastplate, causing a clang like a church-bell before the force of his strike caused the considerably-larger, considerably-heavier man to stagger backwards, barely managing to stay upright as he backpedaled from the force of the blow. In awe, Tenvic glanced frantically between Signus, fist unbruised and unbleeding, and the imprint in the ground where the ball of Signus' foot had pressed into the grass as he began his dash, leaving an inch-deep divot of disturbed earth.

Signus stood, fist still balled, and stared unblinking at Moose, who glanced downward, probing his breastplate with gauntlet-clad hands. Still seated a dozen feet away, Tenvic could see that Moose's heavy plate armor, a type intended to resist even hammer-blows, was actually dented in the center. The young man did not seem agitated, or vengeful, or even upset; on the contrary, a wild grin spread across his boyish features as he looked up slowly, wide eyes moving from his dented armor to the still-glaring Signus as he threw back his head and laughed.

The sun hadn't quite set behind the western ridge of the mountain valley when Signus first laid eyes on the outer façade of Redhall Crypt. The yellowed stone brick wall was centered by a huge, circular gate carved from a single piece of stone. It would have been difficult to find without directions from the nearby town of Farthing; the Crypt's face was set into a pondside escarpment, draped by a thick curtain of dark green vines which concealed the ruins entirely. The whole structure must have been carved into the earth, hidden completely underground; that, or the time since the Fire Age had seen the landscape consume the ancient building, covering it with earth and wild forest growth.

Signus looked to his companions, who were reacting very differently to the sight of the Crypt: Tenvic had already crossed the narrow, swampy shoreline of the pond to enter through the vine-wall and inspect the Cryptgate. From the polished marble orb at the gate's center, which he had called a Wardstone, to the fine masonry of the buried wall, he seemed enraptured by every detail of the unexplored relic of ages past. Moose, on the other hand, was practicing dueling katas on the pond's edge, moving between guards and strikes in a series of practiced stances. Considering the weight of his garish armor and the impractical size of his blade, he moved with surprising speed and precision.

Signus watched the practice strikes in contemplative silence, mentally noting the practice technique and comparing it with others he had witnessed. He found himself distracted, however, thinking less about the technique and more about Moose himself. After their confrontation in the clearing, Signus had expected the growing tension between himself and the armored youth to threaten the integrity of the group; however, the young man's reaction had been nothing short of delighted. He was shocked and intrigued at the force which Signus was able to place into his unarmed strike, and curious to know more about Signus' fighting style and training regimen. There was no hint of wounded pride, or of betrayal at the sudden attack, which Signus could now admit was probably unjustified. On the contrary, Moose seemed to open up more after the show of force.

The idea of bonding over a fistfight struck Signus as provincial and childish, but he would be lying if he said it wasn't also refreshing. In Whiterock Castle, he had constantly sparred with bunkmates, co-apprentices, and friendly rivals; his closest companions were the ones he fought every day. So, despite his initial dislike of the young man, Signus felt that he and Moose were, at least for now, on good terms.

The same could not be said of Tenvic, who seemed unsettled at Signus' ill-tempered display. He was right to be upset; Signus had not been sufficiently provoked to justify an attack, even if it was a relatively minor incident. In retrospect, the punch had less to do with Moose overstepping his bounds and more to do with Signus proving his combat potential. Since his second rejection at the hands of the Master of Clouds, Signus had grown increasingly impatient with those who doubted his potential as a warrior; here in the South, far from the influence and fame of Whiterock Castle, that included most everyone who saw that he fought without armor or weaponry. He was a Battle Monk in a land of swordsmen, and truth be told, he had been waiting, albeit subconsciously, for an opportunity to show what he could do. It was a good thing, then, that Moose could take a hit to his chest without feeling it in his pride. Perhaps the wide-set swordsman was not the prideful youth Signus had taken him for; it seemed there was more to him than that. As for their diminutive leader, Signus still had his doubts.

Once Tenvic had completed his thorough examination of Redhall's façade, he gathered Signus and Moose to establish the plan. Apparently, the Wardstone needed to be shattered with more force than a crossbow bolt could provide, necessitating a heavy strike with a heavy weapon. Moose leapt to the opportunity with characteristic enthusiasm, but Tenvic cautioned him to move away from the gate with great haste after the blow was struck, to a minimum distance which Tenvic had already marked with a line in the soft, pondside dirt. As a final measure before the shattering of the Ward Stone, Tenvic approached the gate with extreme caution, as if the ruin might suddenly become animated or territorial, and produced three items from his travel-bag, placing each upright on the narrow isthmus of wet shore between gate and pond: a flower, a bar of wrought iron, and a narrow bottle of wine. Signus' brow furrowed as he considered the three items, laid out like a religious offering. Some kind of superstitious ritual?

Retreating from the gate, the young Guildmaster gestured to Moose, who left heavy bootprints in the mud as he strode purposefully across the shore, drew his heavy blade from his shoulder-sheath, and swung the massive sword like a lumber axe, splitting the polished marble orb in two with a deafening crack before running, sword still in hand, back to his companions. As he leapt over Tenvic's strange, tripartite row of unexplained offerings and sprinted to the safe-distance marker, something strange occurred in the ancient structure. Signus, who had seen a great many things in this world which were difficult to explain, witnessed for the first time something he would call Magic.

It started as a change in the air. An uncertain, barely-tangible trembling, like when a door separating a warm tavern from an icy night is swung wide open. Then came the visible signs: the plucked flower which served as the first of Tenvic's three unexplained sentries began to wilt, a process which accelerated at a truly frightening pace. Over the escarpment, the hilltop grass began to visibly lengthen, then the hanging vines which Tenvic had pulled aside began to cascade downwards, sprouting new growths and quickly beginning to sag under their own weight. In a thirty-foot radius around the shattered Ward Stone, every living plant grew, flowered, withered, collapsed, and decayed to feed its own, rapidly-growing seedlings. Even the edge of the wide, shallow pond began to grow a thick layer of multi-hued algae, a living fractal in sickly green and blue.

Then, as quickly as the plants had grown and regrown, they all began to turn yellow and brown, aging like parchment scrolls before collapsing into mulch, leaving a barren, desolate ring around the Crypt as Tenvic's second offering began its watch: to Signus' astonishment, the worked iron rod with which Tenvic had pierced the shoreline began to oxidize. Reddish-brown flakes of rust crept along the bar's surface like an autumn-leaf tide, covering three-quarters of the bar's surface in under a minute; then, as suddenly as the process had started, the tension in the air dissipated like the last note of an otherworldly song; the rusting stopped, the pond algae halted its growth, and silence reigned. In a huge radius around the Cryptgate, a dozen years seemed to have passed in just under a minute.

Signus' gaze turned slowly to Tenvic. The young man wore a grin that would have felt more at-home on Moose, who, for once, matched Signus' solemnity as he gazed with horror upon the damage left in the wake of the shattered stone. The young man who had just broken the Crypt's magical Ward now broke the silence that it had left in its wake:

"Tenvic, what the hell was that?" All the youthful mirth was gone from Moose's voice, leaving his tone hollow with, if not exactly fear, then at least a profound and confused discomfort.

"Time dilation!" The young Guildmaster, already crossing the shoreline to approach the Gate, looked manic with glee. "The Crypts are frozen in time, so to catch up to the present day, they have to release a lot of... time-stuff."

A new, more incredulous silence reigned.

"Time stuff?" Signus asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Not looking back, Tenvic's response was a cheery nod. He picked up the final unexplained item, the bottle of wine, and pocketed it with a satisfied whistle. "This will sell for ten times the price I paid for it," he informed his unamused companions. "Once the Guild builds up a real coffer, I'll probably start to bring more. Aging wine is a profitable business if you have the patience for it." The last sentence he added with a cheeky wink, before the stunned expressions on his companion's faces stopped him in his tracks.

"What would have happened if I hadn't gotten away from the gate fast enough?" Moose asked, his voice quieter than a yell for the first time since Signus had met the young swordsman.

Tenvic glanced at the magically-fallowed terrain at his feet before looking back up at Moose with an abashed shrug. "It... probably wouldn't have been great."

One more silence perforated the conversation, after which Tenvic assured his companions that the process was definitely complete. The young man still seemed giddy as he entered the chamber first, lantern in hand, checking every doorway and crack in the walls for traps. Finally, he gave the all-clear and Signus, who had spent his entire adult life training against every bodily threat he thought the world had to offer, shuddered as he crossed the stone-carved threshold of a whole new world of things to fear.