-=[Chapter 1]=-
Loki was always a man who understood pride. Pride, and confidence. These two concepts were intertwined and forever bound. And he had an abundance of both. He considered it a necessity in his line of work. One could not afford to doubt oneself at an opportune moment. And above all else, Loki was an opportunist.
There were times, like now, when someone of lesser mettle might question the decisions that had led him to his predicament. It was understandable. Hanging several thousand feet above a cavernous opening in the Earth, the indiscernible bottom of which besides being snaked through with a glowing stream of molten rock, was undoubtedly covered in ultra-sharp granite and other equally unfriendly terrain. But not Loki. While he had certainly been in more hospitable positions in the world, he'd also been in worse. Although as he took stock of his current situation, he admitted jovially that this was indeed one of the worst.
He glanced back up the rock wall toward the cliff he had been standing on seconds before, now a meter above him. While the cliff was unquestionably still present and in the same location it had been for the last few millennia, the stone bridge that had spanned the gap across to the far wall was not. Even though he had been somewhat immersed in falling at the time, he was reasonably positive that it had leapt back across the gap and into the recess of the tunnel on the opposite side. This he DECIDED was a most unfortunate thing for a bridge to do the moment he stepped on it.
He resolved to worry about the leaping bridge as soon as he was in a more people friendly environment, and instead turned his mind toward the task of getting off the afore mentioned wall and to said environment.
It was only by sheer reflexes and as always a little luck that he did not end up with a long drop and a quick stop. While the wall offered precious few handholds, his fingers had nonetheless caught one and abruptly halted his descent. His muscles burned from the effort of holding his weight, and were it not for the healthy dose of adrenaline running through his veins he would have already lost his grip.
The piece of stone he had latched onto jutted slightly out of the wall, and as he examined it he saw that it was in fact the tip of a large chunk that was breaking away. In a few hundred years the crack running lengthwise down the wall that was only now a few meters long would lengthen, meet the rift on the opposite side, and ultimately separate, falling away to add one more jagged piece of stone to the bottom of the fissure.
Carefully he tried to wedge his foot into the crack, but while he could get a second grip with the tip of his boot, it was simply to small to gain any real purchase on. Flexing his shoulders, he released his grip on the stone cleft with his right hand, reached behind his back and pulled his dagger from his belt. He spun it quickly in his hand and with a mighty grunt slammed the blade into the crack, burying it up to the hilt. As the force from his swing reached his wrist he lost his grip on the stone and grabbed the handle with both hands.
For a moment he looked at his knife and felt a sense of melancholy. It was a fine blade that had seen him through many troubles. As his shoulders screamed in at him for his delay he said a quick farewell and reached back up to the cleft, grasping it with his left hand. He exhaled and let go of his dagger returning both hands to the cleft. With a deep breath and an abdominal grunt he pulled his leg up caught the sole of his boot as lightly as possible on the handle of his dagger. When it did not give he pushed down slightly and relieved some of the weight from his arms. Before his muscles gave into complete failure he pushed himself as straight above the handle as he could and heaved with his right leg.
For a moment time slowed down. He felt his weight slowly leave the handle. For the split second before he was in the air he felt, as well as heard a sharp metallic retort, the sound of unbreakable steel breaking, as the knife broke off at the hilt. He flung his arms upward and prayed to gods he did not believe in. Just as he felt himself reaching the apex of his short jump he felt the edge of the cliff and clutched at it with not only his nimble fingers, but his lust for life and unwillingness to accept defeat. With his last bit of energy he kicked off the handhold that had saved his life the first time and flung himself up over the edge and again onto solid ground.
As he lay on his stomach, panting against the rock, he softly kissed the cold stone. After a moment he rolled over onto his back and scooted against the wall, leaning on his pack. The adrenaline level in his body slowly was returning to normal and he felt the unfortunate exhaustion that momentarily came with it. Much as he would love to, this was probably not the best place for a nap. Even a well earned one. He reached behind him and pulled his waterskin from its pouch and drank deeply. The water, still cold from the winter chill outside refreshed him and helped ease the ache of his muscles.
Loki sat for a moment, focused on breathing and then turned his attention to the bridge that was not there. The chasm he had come to had been connected by what he at first had thought was a stone bridge. As he looked across the gap into the darkness where the tunnel continued he could make out nothing save for the wall, illuminated however dimly by the river below.
He reached over and picked up the torch he dropped when he had fallen, a miracle and a half that it had not plummeted off the side. He pulled a small candle from the side of pouch and lit it from the flame, after making sure the candle was properly lit he aimed and heaved the torch across the gap and into the tunnel on the other side.
The torch hit the stone and bounced back farther into the cave. As it did Loki caught the quick flick of a humongous tail as it darted back into the tunnel. With a raised eyebrow he ran through the list of creatures he knew about. He'd seen all manner of flora and fauna, from pigmy elephantine to bees the size of bread loves, and while he couldn't say he knew of anything resembling stone that was big enough to cross the gap, he always gave credence to the impossible...
He studied the distance of the gap, surmising that there was no way he could leap that distance. He swore softly as the wax from the candle melted onto the fingerless black gloves he wore and dripped some on the stone before setting the candle into the wax and letting it sit. He pulled his pack out from behind him and rummaged around inside, coming up with a wrap of cloth. He opened it up to reveal dried meat, and a hunk of cheese and trail bread both. As he pulled off a chuck of the meat he contemplated the chasm.
He leaned slight out and looked above to the ceiling of the fissure. It was covered in stalactites, some only inches long, some several feet wide at the base. He notice several twin spires, many of which had a column of stone running between them. While he finished off his cheese and chewed a bite off the bread, he judged the distance to a large pair roughly near the middle. He looked at his pack and counted the tightly coiled loops of rope lashed to the front. With eleven loops he had roughly sixty-five feet left. He could do it, but it would leave him with only ten feet left, if any.
Popping the last piece of bread into his mouth he tucked the cloth into his pocket and stood up, brushing himself off. He unlashed the rope from his pack and unsheathed the sword at his hip. With knowing hands he tied a quick pendant hitch knot around the hilt. With the free end in his left hand he spun the sword around with his right. As the swing built enough momentum he squinted at the hole he was aiming for and heaved the sword. As it sailed through the air it clanged once against the inside of the hole and then slid through. He slowly pulled on his end of the rope, using the weight of the sword to swing it toward himself. When it swung close enough he reached out and snatched it. He untied his sword, sheathed it, and tied a sturdy slipknot with a double overhand to keep it from untying and pulled it back up to the stone spires above.
Reaching down he pinched out his candle and slid it back into its section of the pack before slinging it on his back. He cinched the leather straps tight to his chest and took a deep breath. With one last look over the edge he jumped off the cliff.
For a moment he felt the rope fall but before he had time to react it cinched itself tight and swung him across the fissure. As his momentum carried him across he looked sideways and saw the cavern going on into the darkness in both directions. His arc carried him into the recess of the tunnel and he nimbly hopped off the rope. With his free hand he reached down and grabbed the torch. It was growing dim and wouldn't last much longer, but for now it would do. He took the rope over to the side of the wall and wedged it into a small crevice for his return trip.
He looked cautiously down the dark tunnel. The darkness was so complete going back, he had no way of knowing if the bridge snake was within ten meters or ten miles. With an ill feeling he pulled his sword from its sheath. Nothing felt as comfortable in his hands as a dagger. He was an expert in the deadly science of any blade, but it was only with a dagger that his mastery became a true art form.
He slowly made his way down the tunnel, his ears alert for anything above the velvet sound of his own footsteps. The walls of the tunnel were rough and JAGGED. They didn't seem to be made from hewn stone. The knot in his stomach tightened as he continued down the tunnel. At place along the wall there were deep gouges that ran for several meters. They weren't smooth or precise, but rather they seemed to meander along the walls, sometimes rising up and crossing over the ceiling. The further he went, the more he began to get the feeling that this tunnel was not man made. It seemed more like a burrow.
His apprehension grew, but while most people would start to give in to fear at this point, Loki merely acknowledged the emotion and rejected it as unnecessary and dangerous. Fear clouded the mind. When it came to a split decision, Loki knew he could not afford to be distracted by the cold tension of FEAR crawling up his back. He was always aware and always expecting. It was essential.
As he made his way deeper into the Earth, his torch started to flicker. Its shine dying down to a mere glow. He stopped and crouched low to the ground and sheathed his sword, reaching out with his free hand to touch the wall. For a moment he watched the torch. Its flame flickering in the silence. With a last sad sputter the flame flickered out and Loki was lost in darkness. He quietly set the dead torch on the ground and sat unmoving, his hand pressed against the wall for direction.
As his eyes accepted the darkness and stopped trying to focus he relaxed his mind and let his other senses intensify. In the realm of subterranean night he listened to the soft echoes of the Earth itself. He flared his nostrils and caught the faint smell of brimstone. He slid his hand across the wall and could feel the slightest bit of warmth coming from the granite. He touched his other hand to the ground where he found a thin layer of powder. He touched a finger to his tongue and received the equally dry and bitter taste of sulfur and ash. He took a deep breath and held it. Closing his eyes for the simple mental act of it and focused on all the sounds of the silence. He ignored the sound of his heart, thumping slowly and powerfully in his chest, and instead focused on whispers of echoes, sifting through the quiet noises the mind makes in the deepest of silence.
He felt his ears give a physical twitch as he heard the most faint of sounds. A sound of velvet on glass. He turned his head slightly, listening closer. In the instant it took his reflexes to bellow at him Loki rolled away from wall and drew his sword. As he rebounded off the opposite wall he rammed his shoulder back into the thing that had lunged at him in the quiet, slamming it against the stone and pinning it for an instant. It was all he needed, in the first half of the heartbeat, he felt it begin to struggle, felt the unstoppable strength of the creature, felt his hold already start to buckle. In the second half his sword had already completed its journey and rammed its way into the hide of the beast. He felt its insides resist and then part to accept his blade, and then the bone jarring impact as it came out the opposite side and met the wall. The creature gave a mighty heave and flung him into the air. As he hit the ground he rolled backwards onto his feet and froze.
In the darkness his ears told him what his eyes could not. He heard the creature thrash once, heard the sword clash against the stone and finally felt as well as heard the dull thump of the beast collapsing onto the floor. In the silence he heard it give one final shudder and he was again alone.
Loki was always a man who understood pride. Pride, and confidence. These two concepts were intertwined and forever bound. And he had an abundance of both. He considered it a necessity in his line of work. One could not afford to doubt oneself at an opportune moment. And above all else, Loki was an opportunist.
There were times, like now, when someone of lesser mettle might question the decisions that had led him to his predicament. It was understandable. Hanging several thousand feet above a cavernous opening in the Earth, the indiscernible bottom of which besides being snaked through with a glowing stream of molten rock, was undoubtedly covered in ultra-sharp granite and other equally unfriendly terrain. But not Loki. While he had certainly been in more hospitable positions in the world, he'd also been in worse. Although as he took stock of his current situation, he admitted jovially that this was indeed one of the worst.
He glanced back up the rock wall toward the cliff he had been standing on seconds before, now a meter above him. While the cliff was unquestionably still present and in the same location it had been for the last few millennia, the stone bridge that had spanned the gap across to the far wall was not. Even though he had been somewhat immersed in falling at the time, he was reasonably positive that it had leapt back across the gap and into the recess of the tunnel on the opposite side. This he DECIDED was a most unfortunate thing for a bridge to do the moment he stepped on it.
He resolved to worry about the leaping bridge as soon as he was in a more people friendly environment, and instead turned his mind toward the task of getting off the afore mentioned wall and to said environment.
It was only by sheer reflexes and as always a little luck that he did not end up with a long drop and a quick stop. While the wall offered precious few handholds, his fingers had nonetheless caught one and abruptly halted his descent. His muscles burned from the effort of holding his weight, and were it not for the healthy dose of adrenaline running through his veins he would have already lost his grip.
The piece of stone he had latched onto jutted slightly out of the wall, and as he examined it he saw that it was in fact the tip of a large chunk that was breaking away. In a few hundred years the crack running lengthwise down the wall that was only now a few meters long would lengthen, meet the rift on the opposite side, and ultimately separate, falling away to add one more jagged piece of stone to the bottom of the fissure.
Carefully he tried to wedge his foot into the crack, but while he could get a second grip with the tip of his boot, it was simply to small to gain any real purchase on. Flexing his shoulders, he released his grip on the stone cleft with his right hand, reached behind his back and pulled his dagger from his belt. He spun it quickly in his hand and with a mighty grunt slammed the blade into the crack, burying it up to the hilt. As the force from his swing reached his wrist he lost his grip on the stone and grabbed the handle with both hands.
For a moment he looked at his knife and felt a sense of melancholy. It was a fine blade that had seen him through many troubles. As his shoulders screamed in at him for his delay he said a quick farewell and reached back up to the cleft, grasping it with his left hand. He exhaled and let go of his dagger returning both hands to the cleft. With a deep breath and an abdominal grunt he pulled his leg up caught the sole of his boot as lightly as possible on the handle of his dagger. When it did not give he pushed down slightly and relieved some of the weight from his arms. Before his muscles gave into complete failure he pushed himself as straight above the handle as he could and heaved with his right leg.
For a moment time slowed down. He felt his weight slowly leave the handle. For the split second before he was in the air he felt, as well as heard a sharp metallic retort, the sound of unbreakable steel breaking, as the knife broke off at the hilt. He flung his arms upward and prayed to gods he did not believe in. Just as he felt himself reaching the apex of his short jump he felt the edge of the cliff and clutched at it with not only his nimble fingers, but his lust for life and unwillingness to accept defeat. With his last bit of energy he kicked off the handhold that had saved his life the first time and flung himself up over the edge and again onto solid ground.
As he lay on his stomach, panting against the rock, he softly kissed the cold stone. After a moment he rolled over onto his back and scooted against the wall, leaning on his pack. The adrenaline level in his body slowly was returning to normal and he felt the unfortunate exhaustion that momentarily came with it. Much as he would love to, this was probably not the best place for a nap. Even a well earned one. He reached behind him and pulled his waterskin from its pouch and drank deeply. The water, still cold from the winter chill outside refreshed him and helped ease the ache of his muscles.
Loki sat for a moment, focused on breathing and then turned his attention to the bridge that was not there. The chasm he had come to had been connected by what he at first had thought was a stone bridge. As he looked across the gap into the darkness where the tunnel continued he could make out nothing save for the wall, illuminated however dimly by the river below.
He reached over and picked up the torch he dropped when he had fallen, a miracle and a half that it had not plummeted off the side. He pulled a small candle from the side of pouch and lit it from the flame, after making sure the candle was properly lit he aimed and heaved the torch across the gap and into the tunnel on the other side.
The torch hit the stone and bounced back farther into the cave. As it did Loki caught the quick flick of a humongous tail as it darted back into the tunnel. With a raised eyebrow he ran through the list of creatures he knew about. He'd seen all manner of flora and fauna, from pigmy elephantine to bees the size of bread loves, and while he couldn't say he knew of anything resembling stone that was big enough to cross the gap, he always gave credence to the impossible...
He studied the distance of the gap, surmising that there was no way he could leap that distance. He swore softly as the wax from the candle melted onto the fingerless black gloves he wore and dripped some on the stone before setting the candle into the wax and letting it sit. He pulled his pack out from behind him and rummaged around inside, coming up with a wrap of cloth. He opened it up to reveal dried meat, and a hunk of cheese and trail bread both. As he pulled off a chuck of the meat he contemplated the chasm.
He leaned slight out and looked above to the ceiling of the fissure. It was covered in stalactites, some only inches long, some several feet wide at the base. He notice several twin spires, many of which had a column of stone running between them. While he finished off his cheese and chewed a bite off the bread, he judged the distance to a large pair roughly near the middle. He looked at his pack and counted the tightly coiled loops of rope lashed to the front. With eleven loops he had roughly sixty-five feet left. He could do it, but it would leave him with only ten feet left, if any.
Popping the last piece of bread into his mouth he tucked the cloth into his pocket and stood up, brushing himself off. He unlashed the rope from his pack and unsheathed the sword at his hip. With knowing hands he tied a quick pendant hitch knot around the hilt. With the free end in his left hand he spun the sword around with his right. As the swing built enough momentum he squinted at the hole he was aiming for and heaved the sword. As it sailed through the air it clanged once against the inside of the hole and then slid through. He slowly pulled on his end of the rope, using the weight of the sword to swing it toward himself. When it swung close enough he reached out and snatched it. He untied his sword, sheathed it, and tied a sturdy slipknot with a double overhand to keep it from untying and pulled it back up to the stone spires above.
Reaching down he pinched out his candle and slid it back into its section of the pack before slinging it on his back. He cinched the leather straps tight to his chest and took a deep breath. With one last look over the edge he jumped off the cliff.
For a moment he felt the rope fall but before he had time to react it cinched itself tight and swung him across the fissure. As his momentum carried him across he looked sideways and saw the cavern going on into the darkness in both directions. His arc carried him into the recess of the tunnel and he nimbly hopped off the rope. With his free hand he reached down and grabbed the torch. It was growing dim and wouldn't last much longer, but for now it would do. He took the rope over to the side of the wall and wedged it into a small crevice for his return trip.
He looked cautiously down the dark tunnel. The darkness was so complete going back, he had no way of knowing if the bridge snake was within ten meters or ten miles. With an ill feeling he pulled his sword from its sheath. Nothing felt as comfortable in his hands as a dagger. He was an expert in the deadly science of any blade, but it was only with a dagger that his mastery became a true art form.
He slowly made his way down the tunnel, his ears alert for anything above the velvet sound of his own footsteps. The walls of the tunnel were rough and JAGGED. They didn't seem to be made from hewn stone. The knot in his stomach tightened as he continued down the tunnel. At place along the wall there were deep gouges that ran for several meters. They weren't smooth or precise, but rather they seemed to meander along the walls, sometimes rising up and crossing over the ceiling. The further he went, the more he began to get the feeling that this tunnel was not man made. It seemed more like a burrow.
His apprehension grew, but while most people would start to give in to fear at this point, Loki merely acknowledged the emotion and rejected it as unnecessary and dangerous. Fear clouded the mind. When it came to a split decision, Loki knew he could not afford to be distracted by the cold tension of FEAR crawling up his back. He was always aware and always expecting. It was essential.
As he made his way deeper into the Earth, his torch started to flicker. Its shine dying down to a mere glow. He stopped and crouched low to the ground and sheathed his sword, reaching out with his free hand to touch the wall. For a moment he watched the torch. Its flame flickering in the silence. With a last sad sputter the flame flickered out and Loki was lost in darkness. He quietly set the dead torch on the ground and sat unmoving, his hand pressed against the wall for direction.
As his eyes accepted the darkness and stopped trying to focus he relaxed his mind and let his other senses intensify. In the realm of subterranean night he listened to the soft echoes of the Earth itself. He flared his nostrils and caught the faint smell of brimstone. He slid his hand across the wall and could feel the slightest bit of warmth coming from the granite. He touched his other hand to the ground where he found a thin layer of powder. He touched a finger to his tongue and received the equally dry and bitter taste of sulfur and ash. He took a deep breath and held it. Closing his eyes for the simple mental act of it and focused on all the sounds of the silence. He ignored the sound of his heart, thumping slowly and powerfully in his chest, and instead focused on whispers of echoes, sifting through the quiet noises the mind makes in the deepest of silence.
He felt his ears give a physical twitch as he heard the most faint of sounds. A sound of velvet on glass. He turned his head slightly, listening closer. In the instant it took his reflexes to bellow at him Loki rolled away from wall and drew his sword. As he rebounded off the opposite wall he rammed his shoulder back into the thing that had lunged at him in the quiet, slamming it against the stone and pinning it for an instant. It was all he needed, in the first half of the heartbeat, he felt it begin to struggle, felt the unstoppable strength of the creature, felt his hold already start to buckle. In the second half his sword had already completed its journey and rammed its way into the hide of the beast. He felt its insides resist and then part to accept his blade, and then the bone jarring impact as it came out the opposite side and met the wall. The creature gave a mighty heave and flung him into the air. As he hit the ground he rolled backwards onto his feet and froze.
In the darkness his ears told him what his eyes could not. He heard the creature thrash once, heard the sword clash against the stone and finally felt as well as heard the dull thump of the beast collapsing onto the floor. In the silence he heard it give one final shudder and he was again alone.