User blog:Ziharku/Log 20: In The Dark

Simple enough, until we got to San d'Oria.

There were a few missed airships, inevitable delays, and pranks from the Ninja as we proceeded through Windurst and Bastok, but in San d'Oria, we were met by the Corsair with grim news. That branch had lost several members in the catacombs that lie beneath the city, though to what they weren't sure of. A chill ran up my spine thinking about it. During the war, and perhaps even older times than that, Bostaunieux Oubliette was a hell-hole of a prison, where many criminals and traitorous nobles alike were sentenced to an almost guaranteed demise. Some would find their way out to Ronfaure and escape the clutches of death, while others wondered until they perished from starvation or became some fell beast’s latest prey. Though I’m not proud to admit, I have indeed been within this terrible pit.

In my youth, I became ever so curious about an outcropping that hung high on a wall in East Ronfaure. With a rope and hook, I made my way up, and then used magic to erase my presence. Venturing in, my eyes took in all that the dungeon was. It was an abomination. Only in this did I come to know that such a place actually existed outside of rumor, and that there was in fact, an escape. In that time, I explored a bit, mapping out what I did venture into and hastily retreating away from such a terrible display of what my country was capable of.

The Corsair at the helm, we formed a party both to find the threat bellow and search for members that had gone missing. The Ninja, fresher to the Troupe, was made to stay behind. Hurrying to my home to fish out my old, though I should hope still accurate, map, I joined in the group bracing myself for any new abomination that might have made its home there.

How very foolish I am, to think that alone is enough.

With permission from the palace, we descend through the hatch that so many were tossed into in the past. With haste, I use magic to remove sound from motion as we adjust our MCD's (Mental Communication Devises), also known as ‘Linkshells’, to the same frequency. Modern science tells us that the Undead, such is the entirety of the populace here, react to sound. Thus, the Linkshells are indispensable for communication. A poorly timed order could draw entirely unwanted attention. Alright, lets move out, the Corsair relays as we light our torches.

Dark. It’s just so…dark in here.

Every shadow seems to creep along, eyeing us hungrily. Every beast we pass, we hold our breaths expecting it to lash out, only to have blind eyes stare blankly ignoring our presence. So many years these must have spent in utter darkness, I can't help but wonder if they’d merely lost their sight instead of never having it.

A creak, as an unwary member walks over a trap door in the waterway. The Corsair, at point, turns sharply in dismay at the crowd between he and the soon-to-be victim. Rushing forward (as I am in the rear-guard), I wrap an arm around the torso, the other wrapped to cover his mouth as the floor falls out from beneath him. Sharply inhaling, the surrounding members sigh in relief as I pull him from the hole. Oi, why’d you cover my mouth?? He shoots at me with a scowl. ''The last thing we need is for you to scream on the way down. Not only will the creatures below flock to the sound of your voice, but the ones up here will try to make a meal of us too!'' Eyes widening, pupils dilating slightly as the image flashes through his mind, he nods and turns and falls back into the group. Noticeably, everyone is looking down more for traps than at the shadows looming on the wall now.

A ghostly apparition floats by, cooling the air temperature by a few degrees. A few members mutter complaints into their shells. Finally, we enter a room. Torches…already on the walls an lit? This circular room, with a hole in the middle. Walking to the edge, the Corsair takes an old Bullet casing from his pouch and tosses it down the pit. We sit and wait for a sound. After fifteen seconds, he turns to us and suggests, with a bit of sarcasm, that we don’t get near the edge. Several openly nod in agreement. Continuing East, we come across a body. Widening his stride to meet it more quickly, the Corsair leans down to get a better look. Disgusted, he informs us it’s one of the missing. We continue on. As I pass it though, I motion for the rest of the rear-guard to continue as I examine it. Torch close, I can tell that it’s been slashed terribly. These claw marks…they look nothing like what the Dabilla in this area should be able to inflict. The lacerations are much wider, and more spread out. The deepness as well…this man was cut with something more like talons than dog-like claws. With a slight jog, I catch back up to the group shuddering at my last discovery. The body wasn't pooled in blood as it should have been, because it had been drained of blood.