Dawnward District

Tal, Kingdom of Morgenheim

Fall,8th Butchermoon, Year 1876

"By Science, what is your obsession with dark, stinking holes?" blurted Echser. He waved his hand in front of his face to dissipate the miasmic, cherry-tainted stench that wafted towards him from the open sewer grate.

Stefan and the old undertaker chuckled, and even Craven smiled. "Why, my dear old friend, if I did not know you any better, one might almost take this for a quip."

Echser blinked. "Eh? Why?"

"Ah, best not penetrate that mystery," – more chuckling – "besides; I was merely asking if you would like to accompany me and by no means giving you an order."

Echser glared at the bounty killer, alarmed by his generosity. "You leave the decision up to me?"

Craven spread his hands in a disarming gesture. "But of course. It wounds my heart to think you might have thought otherwise."

"Why? Why would you even think I'd follow you... down there?"

"Is it not obvious? Your precious book... Ghouls are pack rats of the highest order. If one of them appropriated your volume, it is in all probability in their nest by now – and no, they would not devour it just because of its leather binding. After all, it is not human skin, right?"

"Then get it back!"

"Alas, I cannot do that, my friend."

"But... but why?" Echser whined.

Craven smiled in that infuriating way of his, shrugging. "That is something you have to find out for yourself."

"I... I will come with you, lich hunter," began Stefan, lifting his spade. "If my brother is still alive – and I know he is – he'll be down there. If... if we come too late to rescue him, then I'll make those filthy monsters pay."

The old undertaker balked at that. "Are ye daft, boy? The town's payin' these fella's 'ere a lot of coin to solve them ghoul troubles. Ye just would get in the way."

"I'm going down there," Stefan grated through clenched teeth.

Craven looked at the young man for a very long time, tilting his head as a curious wolf might.

"You can't stop me!"

"Oh, that is where you are wrong," said Craven with utter calm and confidence. "Very wrong... but who am I to stand between two brothers so cruelly parted by fate. As long as you do what I tell you when I tell you, you are most welcome to join the hunt." He shrugged. "After all, they are just ghouls."

Echser gawped. "Just?"

"Besides, it might be good to have a city official down there along with us. I would not want to be accused of stealing the treasure."

The old undertaker looked up at that. "Eh? What treasure?"

"As I explained," Craven said, "ghouls are pack rats. I wager they have been looting your graves for quite some time, dragging the corpses to their nest where they can devour them in peace. There is bound to be all sorts of valuables: rings, necklaces, coins, the odd heirloom or two."

Hornbach gaped at that, a strange glimmer entering his eyes. He licked his lips. "Eh... If ye put it like that, maybe I should come with ye as well – boy's just an assistant after all. Not a proper," and he drew himself up to his rather unimpressive height, "city official."

Echser shook his head, utterly baffled by the undertaker's integrity and willingness to risk his life on behalf of his dead charges. Was it madness or stupidity? Perhaps both... Still, his mother had always said that one couldn't excel at something one didn't love and these two obviously loved their grimy, dirt-shoveling occupation. He could respect that.

"Well," said the alchemist, straightening to his truly impressive height. "It seems you got two valiant heroes to join you on your glorious quest. Go forth and kill thy monsters! I can collect my book once they are all dead."

"Hmm. I don't think so," said Craven, reaching into the satchel at his side and pulling out a small, ocular object.

Echser blinked. "Is this a... a blackpowder grenade?"

"No. This one has a little bit more bang. You see, once I have killed the vermin and collected their heads, I will blow up the nest. It simply would not do to have some other fiend move in there or to allow any grave robbers to plunder the treasures down there, right?"

Old Hornbach looked as if he wanted to object, but in the end just nodded, a sour look on his wrinkled face, "Right."

"So," Craven gave Echser a knowing look. "What will it be?"

***

"I must be mad," muttered Echser, his voice muffled by the handkerchief he held before his face. "Mad as a hatter."

The sewers were everything he had feared them to be: miasmic, sinister, filthy, and infested with more slithering and crawling things he had thought possible. How so much life could even exist in so despicable an environment simply boggled the mind. Yet it did. It was a creepy-crawly jungle down here – and just like in a real one, the foul air was obscenely warm, sticky almost, with oily moisture beading the walls. It almost looked as if they were—he swallowed hard—sweating. He suppressed a shudder as something, probably a rat – by Science, he hoped it was a rat – squealed in agony somewhere in the dark, the sound soon followed by faint but audible feeding noises.

Echser threw up in his mouth. Just a bit. Just enough to feel even sicker, then he hurried after Stefan, who in turn followed Craven down the walkway. At least, it was quite spacious down here. He did not even have to bend to avoid bumping his head, though he wished there would be even more room, or at least, a rail. Instead, he tried to stay as close as he dared to the filth-encrusted wall and as far away from the small river of waste sluggishly oozing its way into the dark. The semi-stagnant brew bubbled here and there, exuding puffs of noxious gases that crept over the water like tendrils of fog.

Why... why did I choose to clad myself in my best robes? I'll have to burn them afterward.

On the other side of the channel, circular holes in the walls dribbled and occasionally vomited things he did not care to think about, nourishing the stream. Other drains seemed clogged but had become a haven to life: scuttling, crawling, slithering, and scampering life. There were spiders down here the size of children's fists and millipedes that would give most snakes a run for their money. Roaches and beetles fled from them, their metallic carapaces shimmering at the edge of their lamplights' influence.

Crunch!

Echser froze. Had he just stepped into something? He daintily lifted his foot, expecting to see a squashed denizen of the dark, then gasped and almost fell into the soup as one of the largest beetles he had ever seen B-lined for a crack in the wall. Echser whirled to Hornbach. "Have you seen that!?! Have you seen that thing?"

"Aye. Corpse-Beetle. Ye need a hammer to get through them shells. Guess we must be close to the graveyard."

"I dare say you are right," muttered Craven, lifting his lamp.

Echser gawped. The light illuminated a large vertical crack that split wall and walkway like some gaping wound. It reached all the way to the filth river, creating a runoff leading into the dark. Red smoke still poured from it, reminding him of blood. Craven jumped the narrow gap splitting the walkway, making room for the others to bunch up so that they all could have a closer look.

Not that Echser wanted to have a closer look. He inched forward, carefully peering around the jagged corner. The cleft was maybe half a dozen yards long, most of it earthen walls with bits of roots sticking out here and there. He swallowed hard, realizing some of the roots were bones. Human bones. Close to the graveyard indeed... The cleft's lower part was flooded with filth, all oozing towards a cavernous room in which Echser could just make out several large, square shapes rising from in a stagnant sea of muck.

"What are those things?" whispered Echser, fingering for the monocle in his pocket.

Hornbach pushed him back to get a look himself. The old man nodded, making the sign of Ahn. "Sarcophagi. Them crack must lead to one of the crypts, I wager."

"I think I even know which one," said Stefan. "What's the name of that squat monstrosity close to the east wall? You know, the... the tilted one?"

Hornbach blinked. "The Eisenstein Mausoleum?" He nodded. „I guess yer right, boy." Turning towards Craven, he said, "It's an old family crypt. Foundation has sunken quite badly. Maybe it has something to do with... with our problem." The old man fingered his throat nervously, pulling on the loose skin over his Adam's apple. "Ye... Ye think them ghouls entered my graveyard through 'ere, lich hunter?"

Craven shrugged. "I guess there is but one way to find out."

Echser's monocle dropped from his eye in shock to dangle from the small chain fastened to his pocket. He looked from the human waste filling the narrow passage, then to Craven, then back again. "You can't be serious!"

Craven let his head fall to the side, grinning. "Afraid to get your feet wet, my friend?"

"In that?" gasped Echser. "Who in his right mind wouldn't?"

"So, what you are saying is that your precious book is not worth the effort? That the pursuit of knowledge is ultimately unacceptable if it involves getting one's feet wet? For shame, Mortin, for shame..."

Echser closed his eyes, gnashing his teeth – and there they were, waiting for him, as they always did. The specters that visited him in his nightmares: empty-eyed, hollow-cheeked wretches, children reaching out to him with skeletal hands, emaciated corpses in the snow, many missing an arm or a leg, ravaged by famine and the vermin he had unleashed upon his home.

"Fine!" Echser spat. "I'll do it!" He turned to Stefan. "One silver Mark if you carry me, boy. No, one gold Mark!"

Craven's smile went as wide as Stefan's eyes. "Spoken like a true hero, but worry not, there is no need for either of you to get your feet wet. Echser looked up hopefully, Stefan's face falling a bit as the lich hunter turned to Hornbach. "Do you have the means to get inside the Eisenstein Mausoleum?"

"I... well... maybe... I mean, it's an old place. Family's been gone for centuries... They probably won't mind if we be breakin' down them doors."

Craven smiled. "Excellent."

Then, almost faster as the eye could follow, the black-clad mercenary whirled around, his hand flicking out, something metallic spinning into the dark. A meaty Thud followed, and then something – or rather several somethings – screamed in unison. Echser yelped, then turned to run as fear and self-preservation overtook him, bumping straight into Hornbach.

Why was the old fool just standing there open-mouthed? The undertaker cursed, slipped, reached out, and grabbed for the next best thing – in this case, Echser – falling backward to land on his behind. The alchemist fell right on top, the lamp flying from his fingers and splashing into muck-river. Something wet hit the side of Echser's face and slithered down his cheek like a snail taking flight.

"Gyyyyaaaaaahhhhhh!"

A young girl screamed, and a part of Echser's mind – the composed, rational, scientifically observing part – briefly wondered how a child could have ended up here. Was it Stefan's brother? Perhaps one of the disappeared street urchins Hornbach had told them about? Then he realized he was making that sound.

Echser snapped his mouth shut, partially out of shame, mostly because the slime-snail was oozing towards his lips, every fiber of his being screaming to wipe the filth away, but he dared not. Hornbach, that bloody old fool, was trying to throw him off. It took all of Echser's concentration to stay on top of the old man in an attempt to avoid any bodily contact with the utterly disgusting ground.

"Get off me!" hissed Hornbach. "Off me, I tell ye!"

"I'm trying to!" Echser hissed back. "Stop fidgeting!"

Behind them, the sounds of combat rose and fell in a symphony of hissing steel and parting flesh, all punctuated by Craven's maniacal laughter. Was the clicking sound he heard teeth snapping? And those other noises... jabbering and the cracking of whips? Echser felt very much like crying. How many monsters were behind them? A score? A dozen? Had they found the ghouls? Did ghouls make such infernal noises?

It did not help to ease Echser's mind when Stefan screamed, "By the gods! What is it? What the hell is this thing?"

Hornbach was hardly more supporting. "Get the hell off me!" the old man yelled, struggling to push him off.

Echser wanted nothing more than to oblige but couldn't. Getting down from Hornbach would mean exposure to the floor. The slimy, filth covered—

Something screamed. No, several somethings, all at once, all at the same pitch, wailing in a cacophony of unified pain and despair. Above the din, Craven's amused voice rose. "Howl you magnificent fiend! Howl! The world is indifferent to your suffering!"

SPLASH!

Echser's head whipped around, his eyes going wide as he saw a filthy tide roll towards him from the dark, lapping over the walkway. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled his knees up, accidentally ramming one of them into Hornbach's groin. The old undertaker gasped, eyes and mouth going wide, and finally stopped squirming. In an instant, Echser was on his feet, but the tide was already too close to outrun it. Instead, following Stefan's example, he pushed himself against the sweating wall, balancing on tiptoes.

Then the wave was upon them. It had lost much of its height and momentum but still managed to spill over the rim of the walkway, sloshing over Hornbach's prone form. The old man yelped, then choked as the sludge washed over his face. Somewhere the girl screamed again. Stefan cursed, then gagged, and Craven...

Craven was still laughing.

Then the wave was past them, leveling out towards the dark. Echser snapped his mouth shut, cutting off the girlish scream, then almost vomited as he inhaled. The air had been foul before, but it was nothing compared to the miasma now filling the tunnel. It felt almost as if somebody had vomited into his mouth. Then he made the mistake to look down...

On the upside, his feet were not even wet – Hornbach had turned out to be the perfect dam – on the downside, that did not apply to the old undertaker. Echser had seen bog-corpses that looked more appealing, that smelled better too. Rolling onto his side, the old man heaved convulsively, adding the contents of his stomach to the still quaking waters.

Echser was about to join him, then choked as he saw movement in the dark. He tried to sink into the wall, tried to hide, like the vermin that had fled into the cracks. The shade stepped into the light – and smiled at them. Craven looked like the proverbial cat that had eaten the canary. He also seemed remarkably clean for somebody who had just fought in a sewer, almost pristine barring a dark splotch here and there.

"Are... Are you alright?" asked Stefan.

Craven inhaled deeply. That alone made the alchemist gag.

"Lovely," said Craven. "Just lovely. There is nothing like making some extra coin when you already working a job. That is if there is a bounty on this thing."

"What..." Echser began, gagging as Hornbach was violently sick once more. "What thing?"

Craven shrugged, strolling over to pick up his discarded lamp. "Truth be told, I am not sure. Let us find out, shall we?"

The bounty killer once more ventured into the shadows, Echser and Stefan inching closer, Hornbach still projectile vomiting everything he had ever eaten from the sound of it. Slowly, the things outlines became more and more apparent, its misshapen bulk all but blocking the sewage river. Most of it was underwater, but as the light dispersed the blissful dark, Echser decided that he could still see way too much...

Slimy tentacles, as pink and glossy as entrails, corpse-pale cancerous flesh, eyes – so many eyes – some imbedded in the flesh, some on eyestalks, some still twitching. And of course, the mouths; so many, many mouths. The only thing it apparently did not have was a head.

"Hmmm," began Craven, turning towards Echser. "If I would hazard a guess, I would say this creature here once was a human – mutated of course – but I could be wrong. Shall we bring it with us so you can have a proper study in your laboratory, my friend?"

Now, Echser prided himself as a man of learning, would even go so far as to describe himself as no less than Science's greatest lover: a hard-boiled, no-nonsense kind of man for whom acquiring knowledge stood above all else. However, the mere thought of actually touching that... that thing, of cutting into it, showed him that even he had his borders.

At least, these were his thoughts as he whirled around, following Hornbach's example to the letter...