Chapter 7
Unlike the rest of the transition plane, this place was solid white, and so bright that it hurt his eyes. Fistbeard could barely make out where the floor met the walls of the incredibly sterile room he was in. He looked around, but find neither an exit nor Iago, and after waiting for a few minutes, decided that Krag had either stayed in the dungeon or had wound up somewhere else.
He walked up to a wall and pressed his hands against it, hoping to learn what it was made of. Fistbeard frowned as he examined it and failed to identify the material. It did not feel like stone, brick, wood, metal, or any other building material he was familiar with. If he had to give it a name, he'd call it white; it was simply there, taking up space, feeling neither cold nor warm to the touch, and looking like the complete opposite of black nothingness. He moved on to section after section, but each was composed of the same unyielding mass that, as far as he could tell, had no weakness nor secret entrances in it.
Fistbeard drew back his hand in frustration, formed a fist, and rammed it into the wall as hard as he could. There was a sharp crack as his arm jolted from the shock of impact, but there was no discernible effect on the barrier. Fistbeard drew a flask of whiskey from his tunic and drank some of the liquor to soothe the pain in his knuckles as he contemplated what to do. Breaking through was likely impossible, and from what Iago said earlier, probably not the wisest thing to do in any case. The room had no exits that he could discern; there were no exits out, secret doors in the walls, or even a trap door in the floor.
It was beginning to feel like a trap. Who knew what it was that Iago had activated? He should never have let Iago go unsupervised in his condition; it was foolish and reckless of him. Fistbeard knelt down next to one of the walls and pressed his forehead against the whiteness.
"Moradin, I don't know if you can hear me in a wretched place like this," Fistbeard prayed, "But it hasn't been going well, and the world could really use a bit of luck considering that the Far Realm's breaking through, but I guess you knew that... Well, of course you would, you're a god. Hell, you probably know about me and what kind of trouble I'm in too, so I don't know why I'm praying. Never saw the point in it, to be honest, since you know what we'd ask anyways, but I guess what I'm saying is that I could use any bit of help, and I hope you can spare some time from protecting dwarvenkind, smiting the drow, and drinking with the greatest heroes of our people to lend a hand. Amen."
Fistbeard remained motionless for several minutes after he finished, waiting for anything to happen. The room remained as sterile as ever. Fistbeard gave up and turned around to sit against the wall. This was not going well, and he hoped that Krag and Iago were not trapped like he was.
Seeing nothing else to do, Fistbeard fished out his pipe and lit it. If he was going to be trapped for all of eternity, he might as well take some time to enjoy himself. The tobacco was a fine mix, and he found it rather soothing, especially after the whiskey. Speaking of whiskey, he might as well have some more. Fistbeared retrieved a keg out of his haversack and drank several mouthfuls. While the taste was still on his tongue, he puffed on the pipe and savored the flavor of the tobacco as it mixed with the alcohol, and inhaled the fragrant scent of the smoke as it rose into the air.
Fistbeard targeted the cloud of smoke as it hovered right above him and blew a smoke ring into the center of it, causing the cloud to burst. He watched the ring as it rose higher into the air and then disappeared. Fistbeard blinked. That was definitely not normal; it did not dissipate, it simply vanished. He inhaled a mouthful of smoke and blew another ring straight up, and watched it closely. As it went up, it drifted towards the wall and disappeared as well, as if it had floated out of the room.
Fistbeard stood up and threw his pipe into the air; it traveled over the wall and landed somewhere on the other side. Of course it did; he had forgotten to check the ceiling and assumed that the room had one. Fistbeard whispered his thanks to Moradin and pulled a collapse able ladder out of his haversack which he placed against the wall. Fifteen feet above the ground, he felt an edge and saw his pipe on the top of the wall.
He stepped onto the top and picked up the pipe before looking around. This place was not just one room, it was another maze. He could see other rooms as he stood on the top of the wall, as well as the corridors linking them, all made out of the same white mass and under a blank sky. Fistbeard strained his eyes as he looked around, but he could not find Iago, Krag, or any other form of life in his vicinity.
You have to feel it. Iago's words echoed in Fistbeard's head. He had initially thought that the warlock was crazy for opening his mind to this place, but it seemed to work and Fistbeard really did not have much of a choice if he wanted to find the others. He closed his eyes and attempted to enter into a meditative trance for the first time since he had finished monastic training.
He cleared his thoughts and in his mind's eye, he saw the same white nothingness that he has been surrounded by when he first set foot into this new labyrinth. The image distorted somewhat, and spun around; he caught glimpses of other places and creatures that remained blessedly blurred and distorted. The images passed by rapidly, increasing at a dizzying speed, until they suddenly stopped and settled on the familiar figure of Krag's dead body lying in a pool of his own blood. An emaciated humanoid in disgusting, resin like armor stood over Krag's corpse and split open his abdomen with a scalpel thin dagger. The creature reached in with its long, tendril like fingers and pulled out foot after foot of Krag's intestine, raised it to his face and gave off a horrifying screech.
Fistbeard's eyes shot open. He heard that screech; it was ringing in his ears, and it came from his left. Fistbeard readied himself for combat and ran along the top of the wall towards the source of that disturbing cry, hoping that he would arrive before the creature could cause any further harm to Krag.
Ten feet later, he found himself falling off of the wall as he mistook empty white space for a solid surface.
