Vesper Graves scrapes bioluminescent mold from her boots as she crouches beside a corpse wedged under a collapsed support beam. The deep air itches her horns and tastes like old metal. In the flickering green glow, she pries a strange, blackened object from the body’s clenched hand, a sigil, carved in bone and pulsing faintly. Behind her, spores drift from a ruptured mushroom the size of a wagon. She stuffs the sigil into her satchel, glancing back as a distant footstep echoes through the tunnel. The surface guilds said this level was deserted, yet someone, or something, has followed her into the gloom. Vesper slinks into a shadowed alcove, gripping her hooked staff. The tunnel ahead splits left and right, one path deeper into the infected dark, the other winding upward toward the mid-level checkpoints and watchful eyes.
Campaign
I press flat against the alcove wall and count heartbeats, listening for that footstep to repeat. While I wait, I pull the bone sigil out and hold it near the closest fungal cluster, rotating it to see if the pulsing syncs with the bioluminescence or runs independently. From here I study the corpse: time of death estimate, visible lesions, and whether the sigil's blackening matches tissue necrosis or something chemical.
Vesper Graves pressed herself against the cold alcove wall, her breath shallow as she counted the heavy thumps of her heart. The distant footstep did not come again, and silence pressed in around her. She carefully pulled the bone sigil free, holding it close to a cluster of glowing fungi. The sigil pulsed faintly on its own, a steady thrum that did not match the fungi’s bioluminescence. Her gaze shifted back to the corpse. Rigor was advanced, skin pale, death had come days ago. No lesions marred the exposed flesh. The sigil’s blackening seemed part of the bone itself, not from decay or stain.
I pocket the sigil and move to the corpse for a closer inspection. I check the guild tag on the body to identify which crawler this was and when they were last dispatched. Then I examine the hands and fingernails for tunnel dust patterns that would tell me how deep they went before dying. No lesions means this wasn't the sickness, so what killed them?
Vesper Graves slipped the sigil into her pocket and approached the collapsed beam. She knelt beside the corpse once more, her fingers brushing the frayed remains of a guild tag.
"No lesions means this wasn't the sickness, so what killed them?"
The tag, brittle from age and dampness, named the dead man as Kael, sent from the mid-level guildhall over a week ago. His fingernails were broken, coated with fine, grey dust unlike the rough soil nearby, hinting he had been digging far deeper before he died.
I scrape a sample of the grey dust from under Kael's fingernails into a small vial from my kit. That dust doesn't match anything on this level. I take the left tunnel, the one leading deeper, keeping my hooked staff ready and marking the wall with chalk at each junction. If Kael came from below, I want to see what's down there that's worth dying over.
Vesper Graves carefully scraped a sample of the fine grey dust from beneath Kael's broken fingernails into a small vial from her kit.
"That dust doesn't match anything on this level."
She sealed the vial and turned toward the left tunnel, the path descending deeper into the earth. Her hooked staff stayed poised as she moved, marking the rough stone wall with chalk at every junction. The air thickened, carrying faint scents of sulfur and metal. If Kael had come this far, something down here was worth dying for.
I pause at the next junction and compare the fungal growth patterns between the upper and lower tunnels. The sickness supposedly kills bioluminescence, so I look for changes in color, density, or growth direction of the fungi as I descend. I also listen carefully for any sounds from below: water, movement, breathing. I note the sulfur concentration increasing and whether it correlates with the fungal changes.
Vesper Graves halted at the next junction, her eyes scanning the fungal growth. The bioluminescent clusters higher up glowed vibrant green, but here, deeper in the earth, they looked sickly. Their light was a dull, mottled yellow, with many patches completely dark. The sulfurous scent intensified. She caught a faint, rhythmic drip of water from below, paired with a soft, nearly imperceptible scuttling. The fungi’s decay marked the sickness’s creeping reach, tied closely to the rising sulfur.
I crouch low and freeze at the scuttling sound, letting my eyes adjust fully to the dimmer light. I want to identify the source before it identifies me. I hold my staff across the tunnel to block any sudden approach and slowly angle my lantern's shutter to cast a narrow beam down the descending passage. If it's a deep-dweller, I need to observe their condition before they see me.
Vesper Graves crouched low, freezing at the scuttling sound. Her eyes strained against the dim, sickly yellow light of the fungi. She held her hooked staff across the tunnel, a silent barrier against any sudden lunge from the dark. Slowly, she angled her lantern's shutter, casting a narrow beam down the descending passage. The light revealed nothing immediately, only the rough-hewn tunnel walls and the oppressive gloom.
Protagonist
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