The sun is hot on my back, my torn cloth tunic little protection, as I skulk between shattered columns and walls that can barely be called such towards the safety of trees that just never seem to get closer. A little over a week ago I was part of a mercenary army, hired by a minor lord of Tarsium so he could make a name for himself. I suppose he has but only as a deluded fool, his corpse currently rotting somewhere behind me along with most of his mercenaries. The horde of northmen we were seeking to destroy fell upon the camp in the dead of night, slaying many as they rubbed sleep from their eyes or staggered from their tents, and it was only because of a few hard shafts that I was awake. I don't know what happened to my bedmates in the confusion of our escape, it was a mess of swinging blades and crimson, but I've been alone since, hunted by the damned barbarians.
I stumble, exhausted, and fall heavily to the ground within the just-discernible outline of what had been a large chamber. There's a moment before the soil and stone crumbles, sending me plummeting down into a previously-hidden tunnel. Groaning I rise to my feet, my eyes flicking up to the hole in the ceiling above me. I instantly discard climbing out, the ceiling is too high for me to reach even with the rubble pile, and so I glance around. Pictograms, similar to ones found in Nahoy's sprawling undercity, are on the walls and I take a moment studying them before turning to start walking in the direction I'd already been heading. I'm a bit giddy as I shuffle through the ancient corridor, a preserved relic of long-gone Leucia that once ruled the world, because visions of treasure are filling my mind and spurring me on. The appearance of an intersection, or at least the disappearance of wall beneath my fingers, makes me halt and I carefully step back until I'm feeling the wall again. With a scowl I pull off one worn boot, placing it on the floor, and then retrace my steps, hands groping for any indication that sconces were ever used.
I let out a sigh of relief upon touching a long stick emerging at an angle from the wall, tugging at it until it comes free. It feels like wood, although I wouldn't care to guess how old it is, and I tear strips of fabric from my tunic before wrapping them around one end of the stick. It's the work of moments to light the torch and then I dash along the corridor, quickly reaching my lonely boot. With the light from the torch I can see that the intersection is where another passage joins the central corridor and I pause while deciding which direction to take. The pictograms nearby claim that the new passage will lead to what had been living quarters and that's what decides it as I shrug and continue.
It becomes lighter, and hotter, as I make my way along the corridor, my dying torch becoming irrelevant. I'm agog when I finally enter a room, staring at the ornately-decorated braziers glowing in each corner. Wiping an arm across my brow I again scowl as I register the nearly-naked man seated at a table at the chamber's center. He is of eastern stock, with slightly darker skin than my own, and rises, grabbing a sword of ancient design from where it'd been lying on the table. Words in an unknown tongue fall from his lips but I shrug with ignorance, hurriedly drawing my own sword as he starts advancing on me. With contempt my torch is batted from the air, not even slowing him down, and then the sound of clashing metal rings out.
After just a single exchange I can tell this man is far better than me despite his gaunt appearance. I skitter back until feeling a wall against my shoulders, desperately parrying his blows. A quick duck prevents me from losing my head, his blade scattering sparks as it scrapes the rock, and I roll. A hiss escapes me as his sword cuts into my back, I can feel blood welling up, but I manage to avoid more, crashing into a brazier with a yelp. I spin as I hear my opponent's footsteps, my sword pointed upward, and there's a second of silence when he runs onto my blade. The man slumps after I withdraw my sword, his heart split, and I stay on the floor to catch my breath, using the time to survey the room. Doors are set into the wall opposite where I'd entered, presumably what the man was guarding, and there's a passage on the left wall, going in the same direction as the corridor I'd walked past.
The appearance of one man might mean the appearance of others and so I cautiously venture along the corridor, sword held out before me. I enter a smaller chamber, a bed on one side and a handful of strange-looking plants on the other. The fact that only one bed exists puts my mind at ease and I quickly return to the large room, softly padding over to the closed doors. They're thick, strongly-made, but glide as I push on them. Beyond is another large chamber but disappointment fills me as I stare at the bare space, able to count the gems I can see with fingers to spare. I scoop them up, using the dead man's loincloth as a makeshift bag, and cast a last look around, sure I'm missing something. Why else would someone make their home down here if there's nothing to protect? Despondent I drop heavily onto a seat at the table, glancing at the sheets of paper strewn across it. There are more pictograms, notes on the controlled breeding of plants, and a suspicion grows in my mind as I recall what I'd seen in the bedchamber. Hurriedly translating the pictograms in my head as I skim over them I eventually halt, scarcely believing what is on the paper, and gaze at the dead man for a second.
An actual warrior of Leucia! Left behind to guard this hidden complex when that empire abandoned the west centuries ago. I briefly imagine that scores of such complexes still exist before shaking my head to be in the present. The plants in the bedchamber are the treasures here, able to rapidly heal any injury and prolong the lifespan of those who consume their leaves. My thoughts turn to the logistics of moving a plant to my tavern, to my actual escape from this place, and I gather up the papers, returning to the bedchamber. The guard must have had a way out, some way to keep the braziers going, and I let out a cry of triumph as gears turn, a section of the ceiling moving out of place. Dirt falls through the hole, followed by glorious sunlight, and I bask in its magnificence for a moment before carefully ascending to the surface.
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