Post by Eira on May 19, 2014 19:50:05 GMT -5
Beams of light from their headlamps skittering eerily across the walls, Eira and Jackson make their way along a narrow hallway with some 100 tons of rock above their heads. Just another day at the office, right?
“Remind me again what we’re looking for?”
“Artifact. Level 4, which is why it’s us and not a group of neophytes down here lookin’ for it.”
A noncommittal noise of agreement murmuring forth, Eira ducks under a low-pitched archway, pausing to examine the unusual woodwork. Curved ashwood beams brace against the rough hewn stone ceiling, studded all over with heavy iron nails to reinforce the wood.
“Ash and iron.”
“Yeah, I told you they’re pretty sure it’s druidic.”
“But what, specifically, IS it?”
“They didn’t tell me.”
Eira pauses, dark eyes scanning her companion. “They didn’t...but they told you right where we needed to look?”
Jackson shrugs, firing a glance back over his shoulder at the silvery haired woman behind him. “That’s just how they do shit. They give us enough to handle business.”
“Hmm.”
“Huh. I think this is it.” Running thick fingers along the edges of a stout wooden door carved with intertwined serpents. “Yeah. It’s gotta be.”
Eira takes a few steps forward, boots scraping against the gritty on the smoothly cobbled floor. “Is there an opening mechanism somewhere?” Jackson’s only reply is a grunt as he puts body behind shoulder and surges forward like a battering ram, splintering the door clear from its hinges. Eira immediately claps a hand over her nose and mouth against the choking swell of stagnant air that... never came? Eyes narrowed, she stares forward into the small room, grabbing Jackson by the back of his leather coat and hauling him away from the entrance.
“What the f-”
“Stop. Do you smell that?”
“It wasn’t me, I only had that turkey sandwich for lunch! Besides, I don’t smell anything other than dirt and rock.”
“That’s the point. This room was supposedly sealed for HOW long? But there’s no bad air. This isn’t something a construction worker stumbled across, getting us called in to handle it.”
Jackson scoffs, giving Eira a playful swat on the arm and paying no mind to her fiery glare.
“I’m telling you, something’s up with this.”
“You're paranoid. We gotta bring 'em the tor - the thing.”
A quick slip of the arm and she has him in choke hold, the surprise factor of the maneuver enabling her to easily control the stronger man. Sputtering and coughing, Jackson struggles mightily for release, but Eira’s grip is unflinchingly rigid. Dark plum lips close to his ear, she whispers quietly to him.
“Either you tell me what you know, or you’re not getting out of here under your own power. I will leave you here as a prime example of failed team building exercises and the Order can come collect their lackey.”
“I - “ *grunt* “- ain’t no one’s -” *wheeze* “- bitch, BITCH.” Eira flexes her arm, pulling her forearm harder against his throat.
“Explain yourself, or I’m going to let you pass the fuck out right here.”
*gasp* “AIR.” Releasing her hold on his throat, she shoves him forward into the room, immediately dropping down into a defensive crouch. Jackson stumbles over the stone threshold, too disoriented to duck as a small log suspended on chains swings across the small room at head height! Jackson goes down like a bag of wet cement, hitting the floor with a meaty thud.
“Or you could pass the fuck out right there. Gentleman’s choice.” Scurrying forward, Eira stays crouched as she turns Jackson over, her mistrust of the man still not enough for her to wish his immediate demise. Noting the trickle of blood coming from his hairline, she opens first one eye then the other to check for dilation.
“Functional enough, but he’ll be out for a good ten minutes or so.” Eira suppresses a vague sense of guilt as she takes in the details of the small room.
Six sides leading up to a low, vaulted ceiling, the serpentine theme of the door echoed within the chamber itself - the center of the room taken up largely by a stone altar. Reading the runes etched into the granite, she begins to get a feel for what they’re dealing with. Much though the common populace might disbelieve, all myths and legends had their basis in fact. With “magic” being a catch-all explanation for human will asserting itself over reality, it was impressive how much was actually possible. The runes related a story of the Unicorn and the Serpent, how the adder’s lethal bite was unable to poison the equine being with anti-venom for blood. Eyeing the chest with interest, she carefully examines the altar but sees no obvious traps. Stepping forward and checking the small chest for traps she finds none at all.
Turning her attention to the lock, Eira blinks at the inherent simplicity of the design before sparing a glance to her downed charge. Jackson stirs fitfully, a groan escaping his lips as she slides a hand into the pouch on her belt to pull out a set of lock picks. A few seconds of work and the tumblers spring free, the lock disengaging with a sharp click. Nestled there in crumbling emerald silk lay an elegant torque inlaid with rainbow moonstone and aquamarine. Lifting it gently, Eira feels a strange but refreshing tingle through her hands, a shuffling scrape of leather on sand startling her into setting it hastily back into its nest and snapping the lid shut.
Jackson sits up with suspicious ease, wordlessly lumbering out of the chamber and back the way they’d come with Eira walking behind him more slowly, her mind churning with questions as they retrace their steps back to the surface. One question, however, stood out against all the rest.
Who exactly is Jackson, and what is he really doing here?
