Olvado Chasm

Julgan Silverhand was a repulsive thing. Of course, many surface dwellers do hold Duergar in low regard, often without good reason but in this instance, their disgust was far from unfair. Those who had the misfortune of meeting him described him as crass, sleazy, and devoid of any redeeming characteristics. A yellow-toothed grin never left his face, and there was always some slimy morsel of food clinging to his wiry beard. If ever someone was foolish enough to inform him of this straggler, he would deliberately wipe every inch of his repugnant face besides the right spot. His leering gaze would trace every new patron as they wandered through the door, but he would not wrest it away once noticed. Sickeningly, he revelled in the discomfort. Before speaking, he would gargle the phlegm in his throat and spit it over his shoulder. Nobody took his seat at the Three Ducks Inn - nobody wanted to sit beside the wall stained by years of saliva. Despite his vile disposition, however, he would often find himself with company.

"Hello, I am Hala."

She was an Elven woman of otherworldly beauty: her skin was a delicate cerulean blue, her fluffy white curls had been tamed into elegant braids, and her eyes eyes were like freshly fallen snow. At her side, a leather satchel of exquisite make hung. Julgan stared back at her with a bemused sneer, rolling his glaring eyes up and down her body, before crudely raising his eyebrows to the man on her left.

"And I am Taros. You must be Julgan." The man stated bluntly, ignoring the boorish gesture.

His brow had been furrowed and he glared at the unpleasant fellow as if he intended to burn a hole through his skull with only his stare. Tiny specks of black stubble jutted from his angular face. Taros' nose was crooked; broken long ago and healed incorrectly. Deep lines ran across his weathered skin and bags sagged beneath his eyes - he appeared much older than he truly was.

"That I am." Julgan muttered, his prying eyes returning to Hala. "What do you want?"

"We would just like to ask you a few questions. We've heard that you've had a very interesting life." Hala replied, trying to ignore the stranger's deviant stare.

"I suppose." Julgan took a sip from a half-empty mug, letting the froth stick to the unkempt hair on his upper lip. "Though telling you about it would probably make you piss your pants, darling." He grinned toothily at Hala.

"I doubt that." Hala said cheerfully. "May we take a seat?"

"No." Julgan responded instantly.

Hala and Taros looked at one another and pulled two stools to the table anyway. As they tucked themselves into the table, the grisly patron's stench slammed into them like a tonne of bricks. Both managed to stifle their gagging, though their eyes still watered slightly. The reeking odour could only be compared to a foul mixture of mouldy cheese and sweat.

Taros, maintaining a stoic expression, leant forward. Julgan had seen this before. Many people had come to interrogate him before, believing that he could be easily rattled by a firm voice and a hard stare. So often it became quickly apparent that the one trying to intimidate him was scared themself. He wondered how long this one would take to crack.

"You've been beyond the walls. Seen the Blightlands. And the things that lurk within them." Taros' voice did not betray a hint of emotion.

"Aye, boy. I have." Julgan emphasised the belittling remark. "Go on then, what stories do you want to hear? I have ones about Orcs who loved to eat little babies alive whilst their mothers were forced to watch." His eyes flicked between his two listeners, eager to sense any hint of discomfort. "I once saw a pack of Goblins, nasty little things, kill a man who looked just like you." He stared at Taros with a look of exaggerated false sorrow. "Well, I say that I saw it, more like I saw a little part of it. They were flaying him with their fingernails." Julgan waggled his own filth-coated fingers in the air. "Or I could tell you about Gnolls. Oh Gnolls, how they would love to tear into that pretty little ribcage of yours, darling... they'd probably manage to have your heart on their fangs before you could blink." He chuckled. "Out there ain't a place for tasty ladies like yourself."

Hala felt sick. Not from the tales of the beasts beyond the wall, but instead from the beast who told them. She knew she could not let him see that uneasiness; it was exactly what he hoped for..

"I am sure those are very interesting stories, but they are not the ones we are after." Hala said, forcing herself to maintain a cordial smile.

"Ah, of course, of course! You want to hear about the Demons." Julgan took another swig from his drink. "Though that one might be a bit too scary for you, darling. Probably best you come sit round this side of the table, with a real man." Julgan said, slowly dragging his tongue across his top lip.

"No, we don't want to hear about the Demons." Taros said through gritted teeth. His anger had been quietly seething within him, listening to this wretched thing babble and drone. If the information that they sought was not so important, and not so difficult to locate, he would have smashed Julgan's skull through the spit-stained wall by now.

"Then what do you want to hear about, boy?" Julgan spat venomously, whilst still beckoning at Hala to come sit beside him.

"I believe what Taros and I would actually like to hear about did not happen beyond the walls." Hala said with a knowing smile.

At once, Julgan froze. His face turned several shades whiter and his constant sneer vanished. He looked deathly sick. Taros gave a quiet snort, satisfied with seeing the horrid thing shocked to silence. He wondered how often Julgan had made someone else feel as he felt right now, and if the irony would be lost on the crass patron. A few other regulars, those who were seedy enough to tolerate Julgan but too decent to befriend him, glanced over curiously. To see him silenced was an oddity. Hala, as upbeat as ever, stood up.

"Oh, I am so sorry! I did not mean to startle you." Her words walked the line between sarcasm and sincerity. "I will go get you another drink, and then we can talk about it over some warm ale. Doesn't that sound good?" Before Julgan could reply, she had left.

"Look, what happened at Adan's place was-" Julgan started with shaky words.

"We know about Adan's place, but that's not why we are here today." Taros said calmly.

"Then I don't know what you mean. I've got to go." Julgan sputtered as he clambered to his feet.

"Sit down." Taros' voice was quiet, but authoritative.

"Don't talk to me like that, boy! I've fought Demons, do you think I'm scared of you?"

"You were young then. You're not young now."

"I could still snap you in two."

"Then do it." For the first time all day, the ever-dour Taros smiled. It had neither warmth nor merriment; his grin was akin to a wild dog stumbling upon a trapped rabbit.

As Julgan glared with unfettered animosity at Taros, trying to discern his bluff, Hala returned with three overflowing mugs. In a paltry attempt to save face, Julgan sat back down, pretending he had the decency to not fight in front of a lady.

"The innkeeper said that you liked Copperaxe Stout, so..." Although she felt no love for vile Julgan, her smile emanated warmth as she handed him the mug of his favourite drink.

"Thanks." His voice was meek and his gaze was now locked onto the drink. "Look, I mean, honestly, I don't know what you mean. I appreciate the drink and everything, but I've got nothing else to tell you."

"You do know what we mean. And you will tell us. Or the Flame Capes will also know about Adan's place." Taros said impatiently.

Julgan scowled, but relented. He knew he was cornered. "Ok." Julgan took a long, deep gulp of the stout, even wiping the froth from his face as he set the mug down. "I was young and stupid... suppose that's how all good stories start, eh?" He glanced nervously between his two inquisitors. Taros maintained a hard stare, though Hala offered an encouraging smile. "I had just come back from a trip deep into the Blightlands. We had gotten some priceless artefact or something, which probably just gathers dust in some old sod's cellar now. But after that quest, I felt like I could do anything. I felt immortal." He took another sip of his drink. His foot began to anxiously tap on the table leg. "So when some ambitious surface-dwelling spelunker offered me a few hundred gold pieces to be his guide down Olvado Chasm... well... as I said, young and stupid."

Julgan paused for a while. A few other patrons had moved closer to hear the dark secret of the strangest fellow in the tavern. Taros dispelled them with a menacing glare. From her satchel, Hala produced a few sticks of incense and, with a snap of her fingers, the ends began to burn. A smoky vanilla aroma wafted out.

"Breathe deep, Julgan. The aroma should help with the nerves." She gently pushed the incense towards him.

Taros waited a few moments before continuing the questioning. "You went down into the pit with this man?"

"Yes. And, my, uh... I brought my brother." Julgan's voice cracked, but he stifled a sob. "I shouldn't have done it, I'd known him since he was a smooth-chin, but he always wanted adventure. I assumed that Olvado would be an easy first step."

"You ignored the legends." Taros stated bluntly.

"I thought they were made up to stop kids running around near it. I thought it was just another deep pit with an ominous feeling, but no real danger." Julgan pleaded.

"Taros, please give Julgan some time. This is clearly a painful memory for him." Hala spoke gently. Taros grunted in unenthusiastic agreement.

"We gathered the rope, the pitons, the harnesses, everything. Nothing should have gone wrong." Julgan lamented. "We got to the edge of the pit. It was silent. Eerily silent. Just this great black void that plunged further down than anyone knows. Still, we pressed on." He sat back from the table, staring downwards and into nothing. "They aren't rumours... the voices are real. We had descended maybe an hour when we first heard them." His voice trailed off.

"Would you be able to tell us what they said, Julgan?" Hala asked delicately.

"Turn back, please, I beg you." Julgan recited quietly, as if he could still hear the voice vividly. "I felt my blood run cold. I don't know why it frightened me so. I've seen and heard far worse, but this... something was different." He began to pick at his beard. "My brother was not perturbed, neither was our employer. So we went deeper, all the while the same pleading message echoed over and over again, until... it finally said something new." His eyes finally returned to Hala, though now they met hers with sincerity. "Please, nobody deserves the fate that awaits you down here." Julgan whispered.

"And that is when you turned back?" Hala inquired.

"No, it was when I saw that sigil, carved into the far wall." Julgan uttered.

Hala and Taros both leaned forward. Their interest had been piqued. Quickly, she rummaged through her satchel and produced a small piece of parchment, a quill, and a pot of ink.

"Would you be able to draw that sigil?" Hala asked. "It could help us find some answers as to what is going on in Olvado Chasm, answers which I am sure you are keen to know as well."

Sheepishly, Julgan began to scrawl a series of shapes and lines, and continued speaking, "I demanded to turn around when I saw it. I cannot forget it. Of course, my brother and the spelunker refused. They were far too curious to quit now. I am a coward for leaving them, but it was a fear unlike any I had ever felt before, and I've fought worse than Demons." Julgan's voice quivered. "I climbed back up, and they climbed further down. I watched their lanterns dancing in the darkness, hoping to see that my fear was all for nothing. Then the lights went out. Just like that. Gone." He seemed to shrink into himself as he finished his drawing.

"That is awful, Julgan. You must know, it wasn't your fault what happened." Hala said, craning her neck to look at the parchment.

As her eyes fell upon it, she felt her whole body go cold. There were tiny faults and trivial errors with Julgan's rendition of the sigil, but it was unmistakable. This sigil should not be on this plane in any circumstance. It most certainly should not be within the walls. Hala felt paralysed. Noticing this, Taros reacted quickly, assuming Hala's role though quite poorly.

"Well, Julgan, thank you for all the information, but we have to get going now. Sorry about what happened in the pit. Here, you can have the rest of my drink." He said, pushing the still full mug towards the Duergar.

In an instant, Taros and Hala were back on the street outside the Three Ducks Inn. Night had fallen, and the Mother Moon hung low on the horizon. Brisk, salty air washed in with the tide as the sound of waves lapping at the shoreline played a distant melody. The salty maritime breeze seemed to rouse Hala from her befuddlement.

"Are you alright?" Taros asked with his hands resting gently on Hala's shoulders. "What does that sigil mean?"

"We need to go to the Academy, right now." There was a sternness to her voice that Taros had never heard before.

"Will they be able to sort it out?"

"No, but at least they will be ready."