Infamous Goose
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1.10 Catacombs
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 02:17:59 +0000 UTCThree years had passed since Lysander had first started to observe the Salamanders. The time had slowly trickled by as he did what he could, learning about their culture, habits, and snippets of their language. They were fascinating creatures, and he wished for nothing more than to actually make contact with them, to do more than just trick their traps and interact with them through the strange form of trade he’d come up with. Already he’d amassed a small pile of those shiny stones, having left dreamcatchers or other small trinkets in the salamander’s traps in exchange.
If only Alaric could come to a decision with the rest of the elders. No – Lysander was hoping they would come to the right answer. To interact with the salamanders, rather than just let them be. Because he had already come to the decision to make contact with them regardless of the elders’ own, now it was a game of respect he was playing. But his patience was wearing thin. Three years may not be a long time to him, but it felt like it when something so interesting was just within reach.
Fortunately the frost bear was there to take the edge off his impatience; he enjoyed watching the great beast, and had even taken to tossing him the carcasses of his own kills or things he cooked.
Unfortunately, today was the summer solstice. For years, four times a year – on the equinoxes and solstices, respectively – he’d had to endure the rising spiritual energy that drove him absolutely mad. Sometimes it was better, merely making his ears ring and giving him a horrible headache, but today was not one of those days. Today, his blood thundered through his veins. Today, his heart roared in his chest. Today, he was doing something he really shouldn’t be doing as he sought the source of his anger – even though he was unsure there truly was a source. Today, he was daring to enter the cave of the salamanders.
“Great idea, Lysander.” He quietly groused, pulling himself free of the tight tunnel he had been working through. With a grunt he pushed himself up off of the cool cavern floor, dusting himself off and cracking his neck. A quick glance around in the small cave – lit by glowing blue stones that fascinated him to no end, but not enough to dissuade him from his mission – told him that there was no one else inside. “Let’s go crawling through a narrow tunnel with fire-breathing salamanders inside. Brilliant plan there.” He continued, stalking forward on light feet and twitching at every echoing sound.
He wasn’t used to caves.
The sound of water dripping echoed through the narrow cavern, the chill air sending a shiver down his spine. Everything seemed to echo down here, the wind itself somehow managing to sneak beneath the earth and carry with it whispers. He flinched as a small gust, coming in through cracks in the ceiling, tickled the tips of his ears. He hated it. It was enclosed and confined, the ceiling was too small; he wished for nothing more than wide open skies and fresh air.
Yet his feet kept moving forward, one hand gripping the hilt of his flint knife where it hung at his side. Carrying a spear through those tight tunnels had been possible, but something told him that coming face-to-face with a salamander while holding a spear wouldn’t make the best first impression. Especially considering how aggressive they could be with each other, brandishing their spears as if they would stab one another. Who knew how they’d react to him, someone very different looking, holding a spear? It was –
A small jolt ran down his spine, that same one that had drug him down from above to explore these caves.
There was something down here. He would find out what it was.
Slowly he walked between stalagmites and stalactites, weaving between pillars of stone, keeping his eyes and ears open for danger. It did nothing to prepare him for the sudden change.
It had been gradual at first; a heaviness to the air that pressed down upon his shoulders and set his heartrate to spiking, and a chill that set him to shivering. Yet all at once that changed, the chill cut straight to the bone, and the heavy air struck his shoulders like a boulder. He stumbled forward, the ground unfamiliar, the dark foreboding and unkind. Hisses tickled his ears, foreign in tongue and intent – Lysander bared his teeth and fell into a crouch, shivering as he squatted there, glaring about at his surroundings.
Here, the cavern was lighter in color. Illuminated by the blue glowstones as it was, the light, almost clay-like cave walls glinted with wetness. A hundred dark holes dotted the narrowing walls, which narrowed further as the cave continued, ending at an oval-shaped mound of slate-grey stones. Around the mound lay a dozen of the glowstones arranged in a semi-circle, clearly intentional in their placement.
Lysander narrowed his eyes and continued forward, every drip of water echoing through the cave sending a twitch down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he glanced over his shoulder – nothing but the dancing lights of the glowstones, and a clear line where clayish cave walls met solid grey stone walls. He must have been extremely distracted to have not noticed the abrupt change at first, which wasn’t a good sign. He had to focus.
What in Astraea’s name? he wondered, slowly approaching the mound of stones at the far end. Just to the right of it sat the continuation of the tunnel, almost hidden in shadows, but something bid him stay. Something bid him come closer, approach the mound – Lysander’s feet slammed into the cave floor, stones poking up through his moccasins painfully as he stood bolt upright. His shoulders squared themselves as he rose to his full height, eyes narrowing and breathing coming quicker as his senses tingled, the magic within his stomach swirling and a hum tickling the tip of his tongue.
There was something here.
It had beckoned him, and he had come.
“What are you?” he muttered, feeling the twisting in his stomach. It was different now, than it had been before. Dark things still tickled his magical senses, but they were distant, muted almost. Hidden behind a veil of…something else. Whatever this place was, it was intensely spiritual, so much so that even he could feel its effects. It’s almost like the Sacred Mountain. He realized with a start, casting his gaze about with a more critical eye now.
The energy was the same, yet weaker. He could almost feel the spirits of the world, yet they felt foreign to him here, in this place.
Slowly his feet found their way forward again, taking a few hesitant steps before whispers echoing in his ears halted his progress once more. That wasn’t the whole answer, and he knew it. Just because this place was similar to the peak of the Sacred Mountain, didn’t mean it was the same. What was he missing?
Once more he swept the cavern walls with a critical eye, still unused to the light and dark of the cave. This time his gaze lingered on the mound of stones at the far end, now only fifty feet away. From his position he could see a spear sticking out of the stones, made of the same black stone most salamanders used and a straight, strong haft. His eyes narrowed, a shiver running down his spine as he looked back at the hundreds of dark spots along the cave walls. The closer he looked, the more the positions of the glowing stones seemed intentional. And if he squinted, he could see more grey, slate-like stones piled up in front of those holes, filling them in almost like mud in an old window…
Ignorance is bliss, leave it be. His mind told him, even as the root of an idea took hold. Carefully he walked to the nearest hole, fingers tracing the edges. It was small, maybe only a foot tall, the shale pieces held together with crude plaster mud. A piece of shale wiggled when he touched it. Placed precariously in a small indent between shale stones was a tooth, no bigger than Lysander’s fingernail, and blunt. It was a salamander’s tooth. His eyes widened as a possibility came to mind, one that could not be denied no matter how much he wished it to be so.
Silence foreboding fell upon him, and the cavern felt far more ominous. This was a graveyard. Elves did not visit graves. The dead were too loud.
Ignorance is bliss. His mind whispered, but it was too late. With that simple realization his mind opened to the possibilities, his magic reacting to the strength of the spiritual energy in this spot and the surging power the solstice brought. His heart hammered in his chest as things began to move in the corners of his eyes as, for the first time, he saw spirits.
Ghosts of salamanders past poked their heads from graves, or swirled about on the ceiling, drifting through walls and stalagmites. Most of their features were obscured, a bluish mist preventing Lysander from looking at them too hard, lest they vanished entirely. Their incomprehensible language filled his ears, mixed with a tongue he knew, but couldn’t hear properly. There must have been thousands. Far too many in these graves. There were just too many. And each and every one were focused entirely on him.
Lysander stumbled backwards, a cold sweat beading his brow and fear lancing through his soul. Spirits surged toward him, circling him as he moved, chattering and groaning. What was he doing here?! It was too much – his head throbbed in pain from the sudden influx of sensation – there were too many of them – he needed to – he had to –
The way back was closed off. Dozens of salamander spirits swirled angrily, glaring at him with undisguised hostility. These ones were different. The other ghosts shied away from them while they advanced, a shrill ringing noise echoing through the cavern. Before he even realized what he was doing, Lysander had drawn his knife, lips pulled back in a feral snarl. Anger cut through the haze of panic; danger was approaching. A song burbled in the back of his throat as he settled into a crouch, daring the ghosts to approach, all else fading away as he stared down the hostile spirits.
“Ancient one,” a voice echoed clearly, the sheer power of its voice sending shivers through the rest of the ghosts. The hostile spirits hesitated, flitting back and forth, their incorporeal forms flickering, nearly fading away. Lysander risked a glance over his shoulder, white-hot adrenaline still pumping through his veins. His gaze was immediately drawn to a single ghost, standing alone amidst the haze.
It was a relatively small salamander, its form much more defined than all the rest. The scales, though translucent, were a deep red color, its eyes sharp and focused on Lysander. A ring of soft light surrounded the spirit, pleasant and easy to look at – a far cry from those in front, who were shrouded in misty, angry red light. Lysander turned back to them, muscles tensing and relaxing, then tensing again as indecision wracked him.
“Ignore them, Ancient One, Wandering Soul, child of Fire and Sea.” The ghost said again. This time the words had an effect on Lysander, a bit of rational thought re-entering his mind. He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes, trying to close himself off to the worst of the spirits. He knew it was possible, but with all the noise it was hard to focus, and he’d never done this before. “I beseech you, Spirit Friend, leave this place. You must return another day, but not this day – the deep stirs, and we cannot be responsible for your death.”
Is this how Sybella feels all the time? Lysander wondered, managing to turn and face the ghost fully. It held a spear in one hand, loosely at its side, that looked remarkably similar to the spear near the mound of stones at the far wall…he narrowed his eyes and looked closer. No, it was the exact same. This must be the grave of that salamander. Someone important – an elder, maybe? But there were so many graves and ghosts here, he’d never seen a gravesite this big. It was hard to tell; for elves, when an elder died their bodies usually disappeared with them.
“Why?” Lysander asked, meeting the ghosts eyes even as he tried to control his trembling. Fear and anger mixed together within him in a slurry of emotions that made even thinking hard. “How can I understand you?” the salamander ghost wasn’t speaking in its native tongue – it spoke perfect elvish.
“My people will need the help of yours. I will answer your questions if you return again, but please – “ the ghost froze, its expression stiffening. The other spirits quieted for a brief moment, and Lysander frowned. Then he felt it. Something dark was once again moving beneath him, far clearer now than it ever had been before. “You must flee. The deep wakes, and the Angel of Fire bid me to keep you away. My people can handle what comes, but you must – “
“What comes?” Lysander asked sharply, kneeling and placing one palm against the ground. Anger was quickly overtaking fear, and he didn’t know why. “What is going on, spirit? What even is this place? Speak to me.”
“…this place is our sacred ground. Where we first set foot on this world, sent by our divine ancestor. Where our dead are buried. We are not like you, ancient one. We do not outlive mountains and trees – we die, return to our ancestor, and when the next cycle comes we are reborn.” The ghost said softly. Lysander frowned at that, unsure of what to make of it all – and jerked back as a sudden shock ran up his arm, leaping to his feet. The ghost’s expression turned to one of alarm, the other spirits wailing in fear and anger. “Flee! You must warn your people of what comes!” The ghost shouted over the din, turning its back and flying as fast as it could further down the passage, disappearing into a wall.
For a moment Lysander hesitated. Just a moment, however, and soon he was racing off down the passage as well. Though the ghost told him to flee, there was not a single inch of himself that was inclined to. Whatever it was down here, he had to know.
