A figure stood in the entrance to a passage that had not seen a visitor in too many years. It was once widely used by any and all, but it had dropped from the memory of the people, one by one, as it grew to be a myth, a secret, some sort of legend.
It had been carved into the base of a cliff, having somewhat on an inviting mouth that displayed no sharp teeth or dangerous claws. The cliff itself was the opposite – it spread as far as the eye could see on either side of the cavern, and on misty days, the top of the cliff could not be seen. Maybe it was for the better, as the rock formations near its top looked like demons had perched there and were watching all that entered and left their place of guarding.
It was tall enough to hold wagons and horses and wide enough to allow easy passage in either direction. No one really knew when it was built, or how, for that matter, but it was general acceptance that it was built by magical means, as even the best engineers could not explain the intracate architecture it held. The walls were made of the earth around them, as if it had been dug out by brute force. Support arches held the roof above them from crashing down, when in reality it would never collapse, as well dug as it was.
The arches themselves were made out of a type of clay, a red clay that blended into the ground around it. They had inscriptions at their bases as if they were some sort of enchantment to help them stay upright. They also seemed to allow each support to radiate with a soft light, enough for one to see to the next arch, but never bright enough to blind one's eyes.
There were still the tracks left by wagons imprinted in the ground, as sort of a testament to whatever these caverns may have been used for. Each wagon basically traveled in the path that the one before it had used, so the wheels dug into the same spot each time any wheel passed. They made for a straight track from one end to the other, not hampered by turns or rocks in their way.
A strange smell lingered in the air, the figure noted, as he stepped into the mouth, rock formations creating a gaping - and sharp toothed - mouth. It smelled of some dead animal, or animals, as it stagnated in the air. There was no cool breeze that blew through the entirety of the length of the hall, but there were certain areas in which winds would seep in from above and spread into the air nearby.
The light from outside could no longer be seen as the figure, its pace rushed in an easygoing manner, continued forward in the cave. There had been no threats as of yet, as the only signs of danger were the bleached skeletons that lay against the wall, dead for perhaps centuries. A shield lay at his side and a sword lay broken in three at his feet. It looked as if he was thrown against the wall, snapping his neck, killing him instantly. His head now lay near his shield.
The figure looked again at the space before him and noted footprints. No tracker himself, they seemed fresh to him; the ground around it was a little moist, and it had rained only a few days ago. He noted the large footprint of a pointed sole, as in a boot of a plate mail that covers the entire body. A curious thing he noted was the spacing between the sets of feet; for each of his three steps, there was one step for the shadow.
The figure's head rose once more, peering into the shadow. A faint echo of a sound reached its ears, giving rise to a state of alertness. It focused the senses of hearing ahead of its position, hoping to catch once again a sound in which to cross the almost silent enemy. The clank of metal was heading his way, but it was as if it was under a magical silence; trained ears would not be able to pick up the subtle sounds of the silent sliding metal, yet this thing had heard it.
The being closed its eyes as it tried to form a mental image of the beast in his mind. What could it be, it thought, going through each and every living - and dead - creature that it had ever encountered before. But a magically enhanced metal, along with a trace of a panting lead it to believe it was a mortal that was travelling down the cavern.
As quickly as it began, in the few moments he had caught it, it stopped.
Eyes opened as they peered down the hallway, searching for signs of movement.
The eyes focused on a dancing bit of light, twinkling off of some sort of metal helm. A skeleton against the wall, it thought, but it was wrong; the light was moving with the movement of some being, the light glancing off in different directions with each small movement.
Another moment later, the intruder to this place was lying flat on his back, a figure in dirty armor standing above him, a shield at ready and a sword lying relaxed at its side. From the helmet came a deep voice, sounding almost as if it were already dead: "I have been expecting you, Avalarin. I am your first test, but let me reassure you: welcome to your tomb."
The cloaked figure on the floor jumped up at ready, a sword set dangerously ahead of him, hovering between he and his opponent. "What is this," he scoffed, "some sort of story? I know not why I am tested, but let me reassure you: I shall pass."
Eyes within the animated armor opened, revealing their green orbs to the sword before him. "You have not heard the half of it!" The scream echoed through the cave, shaking the walls and loosing dirt to fall to the floor through its entire length. "Let your eyes not deceive you, infidel..."
Avalarin noted the tensing of the armor, as if it really were human; it sensed an approaching presence, but did not see its path before it passed him, leaving him once again on his back, a new bruise on his shoulder and a slash on his arm. He looked behind him and saw a trail of the armor, some sort of aftershadow left in its wake. He stood up once again in order to prepare some sort of attack against his foe's blinding speed.
All he could see was a raised shield and a trailing sword as it forced him backwards, his own sword not yet at the ready. The shield knocked into his gut as the sword sunk into his chest, momentum throwing him backwards and wrenching the sword form his body. He involuntarily flipped once in the air as he attempted to land, but he was moving too fast to stop as he planted his feet futilely, only causing him again to fall backwards as he still flew backwards. He again was lying prone in the air as he sunk his sword into the ground to slow his flight, eventually causing him to stop as he lay gripping his wound.
He wondered just exactly how far he had gone in his temporary journey through the air. He lay still as he struggled for breath, trying to think of a way to defeat something that he could not see, so fast did it charge that he could barely sense it. His eyes had lied to his mind, telling him that the armor was not where it was, while his instinct and his ears told him that it was closer than it looked.
"Could it be that I will have to fight blind?" he whispered to himself.
No, he thought; he had attempted once to fight blindly before, but it ended in his weapon being knocked from his grasp. It was a friendly duel with a shadow master - a blind one at that. He had been told that there were slights of the hand and tricks of the mind to show an opponent that something was there that was somewhere elsewhere; he had not given the lesson a second though: until now, that is.
He stood once again, this time not trusting his eyes. Another sound caught his senses as he readied himself once more. His mind formed in image of a rushing shield: yet another charge. Rocks were sent flying into the air from where the other being had stood before, on their way to hit the ceiling above them. “Matsu ran seliuth mah!” A shield formed around his left arm as he raised it in time to meet his rushing opponent. The protections met with a resounding clash of swords, a wave of sound spreading from their positions, so loud that it blew over skeletons and rocks out of the positions they had lain in for so long.
He raised his sword, his eyes still shut as he felt his opponent's sword ring on his own. His shield moved to a position above his head as his sword swung from the right, two blades meeting metal. Even before he could think of his next move, a plate smashed into his face, sending him tumbling backwards in a flurry of cloak and sword. He landed on one knee as he intercepted yet another blow with his left hand as his right cut upwards, glancing off of a sword.
Sensing danger from behind and sensing the being no more before him, he hopped into the air, his shield below, as his sword came straight down. Shadows rushed under him and past, the tip of his sword catching a shoulder as a blade met his own shield. He opened his eyes, still in the air, seeing a dash of red on the tip of his own weapon. Dirt was being agitated on the ceiling of the cavern as footsteps created rises of earth as they approached him. His magical shield was too late in its rise from beneath him as he caught a sword that broke through his mail and through, straight through his body and meeting the chain on the other side, cutting through muscle and flesh.
By instinct, his sword slashed above his head, catching nothing but the ground. He noticed that the sword that had once punctured him was now gone, and he heard yet another movement, again from behind. The cloak attempted a turn in midair as a shield tried to protect its owner, a sword at ready behind him, ready to swing in a wide arc ahead of him, in the direction of the sound.
Metal smashed against magic as the two collided in midair, the swords halfway through their arcs, their destinies lying in their strikes. The blades struck one another as both combatants dropped their shields, one from its arm and the other from his mind, grasping their swords with both hands, delivering strikes, cuts, slashes, parries and blocks in a blur of motion. The armor's straight thrust was knocked aside by the cloak's parry, who countered with a slash back towards his opponent; the swing was met by a two-handed block, which afterwards was followed up by a slice to the cloak.
Avalarin, his sword in position, knocked aside the advancing sword and headed straight forward in a thrust, an unexpected move as curved blades are not meant for thrusting; yet even before the tip of his sword had touched the mail of his opponent, the flat blade of a sword intercepted the attack and Avalarin withdrew his own, just in time to block yet another swing aimed at his head, his right hand on the hilt of his blade as his left balanced the other end, holding the unsharpened side firmly in his grasp. The movements were nearly invisible, the skill and speed of the two made it possible.
The armored shadow had both hands on its hilt, pushing forward and down with all of its might in an attempt to force the animated cloak back into the ground. Tattered fabrics of the cloak fluttered around the two in slow motion, their mesmerizing patterns flowing at unnatural speeds. They were twisted this way and that and around the man's arms and legs, the cowl long fallen from his face. Eyes peered into a dark helmet, the eye sockets radiating a sharp green. Narrowing, the orbs continued their onslaught, the eyes closing once more in a deep concentration.
Strikes were given, yet never taken, as each and every blow was met by another blow, the attacks so fast that the sound made was one continuous ring, rather than the many sharp and short sounds of a normal duel. The note continued for what seemed an eternity as neither combatant began to wear out, showing no signs of weariness from this seemingly eternal trade of blows. Rocks and dirt that had left the ground before had yet to hit the ceiling, their destination still reaching above them.
The two twisted and turned, dancing in the air, trying to outwit their clever opponent, yet never succeeded in doing so. When one thought that it was about to strike their opponent, they struck only their weapon; when one saw an opening, it was quickly taken yet just as quickly covered by the other. Arms pumped up and down and down and up, raised and lowered and lowered and raised, sent forward and back and back and forward, moved left to right and right to left as the trade of glancing blows continued.
Attacks proved futile to one another as each only met the other's blade, their frustrations with the length of this battle growing with each passing half-moment. Avalarin felt the stare of the green orbs peering at him, trying to convey a message of some urgency. He opened his eyes and immediately stopped his attacks; the armored figure did the same. The combatants fell to the ground, the cloak rising and lowering with each breath taken as the man within quietly, and carefully, struggled to regain his breath, his sword still at alert, yet at his side and down. His left hand held his side, punctured earlier by steel. The armor had driven its sword into the ground, leaning upon it as if had trouble in its effort to stand.
Dirt and rocks showered the floor, waiting yet to be still and finally settle.
"You are not the being I expected," confessed the helm. "There have been many who have tried to gain access to the temple which lies at the end of the path behind me, yet their bones are now decoration for this long and lonely tunnel." The sword still rested in the ground before the steel, the gloved hands resting on the hips of the armor.
"It is good to know that I am not some decoration," Avalarin admitted. His cloak was lying still over his shoulders and down their length, his sword still in his hand as it rested upon the ground, as if its weight were too much at this time to be held normally by its master. His breaths were long and slow, trying to catch up for the previous moment's expense, yet labored to the point of an echo resounding throughout the entirety of the passage.
"You will do as I bid." The armor sheathed the blade it once held.
A quizzical look spread across the face of the man of the two. "You expect me to believe that-" His voice was cut off with the wave of an armored gauntlet.
"I ask that you trust my certainty that this quarrel is not settled. May we finish it later, but for now, you must follow me." The armored figure turned around, facing the distance that it had come from. The silver armor shone in the dark area, shimmering from an unseen light. The right shoulder had a particular point of interest: three finger-like spires clawing at the air. The left shoulder had no such adornments, except for the long, uninteresting cloth that hung form that certain piece of armor. The cuirass melded straight into the glistening greaves that fully protected the legs, a deceiving rigidness apparent but untrue. The boots were under the leg plates, a nearly seamless transition between the two things. By the speed and grace with which this figure moved, it was as if it wore no armor at all to hinder its movements; it looked as even though the armor bent in and upon itself, allowing for the ease with which this figure moved.
It began to move down the darkened corridor as it left light footprints in its wake. It stopped, suddenly realizing that her past foe had still yet to move, had even yet to be replaced within its sheathe. "Will you not follow me to the place where you are to go? Or shall I leave you here alone in the dark, to find your own way out of this place?"
"What other choice is there to take?" The sound of a sword losing its teeth was heard by the helm as the folds of a cloak that were once moving began to once again settle. No other sound could be seen as no other sight could be heard. Specks of disturbed dust fluttered in the air around the being, the low light reflecting from the matter, cause a slight glistening of the area.
"Good. Then I shall not lead you to your death. I will await you at its end."
The armor turned on its heels as it rattled, a strange shadow enveloping the luster of the shiny steel, dulling the armor as it moved farther away. With each step, parts of the armor became like far away stars as they fell to the ground and disappeared, leaving less and less of the being in sight with each and every step it took, with a greater part disappearing with each passing stride. At last, only the greaves were to be seen before they vanished into the air, leaving not a trace – not even prints.
“Then I shall be off.” His right arm upon the sword at his right hip, he began to swiftly walk down the passage, his eyes adjusting to the lessening light. He reached the point at where the armor had completely disappeared, and studied the ground for any trace of where it might have gone. Yet the closer he looked at the ground, the more it looked like nothing had been here before. It was almost as if he had always been alone…
~~~~~~~~~~
In the pitch black of the cave, his eyes long adjusted to the darkness, the echoes of his footsteps sounded down the hall and back into his ears. It was almost as if the vibrations of his footsteps went throughout the walls and the ceiling made of dirt, causing some of them to finally be disturbed after centuries of rest. He had not passed a corpse of any kind for some time, a sure sign that nothing had been here in ages – or that someone, or something, had disposed of them. Magic had stemmed the healing of his wound, but he was not learned enough in restoration to do much more at the time.
The slope of the hallway began to rise once more, pointing back up to the surface – almost simultaneously, the walls of the great hall were beginning to look like they were built, and that he was inside of a structure of some sort, and no longer underground. Further down, an unlit torch hung from its perch on the wall, right beside a wooden door. Intrigued, Avalarin stalked closer to the door, his footsteps now silenced with caution as his hand slid toward the hilt of his sword. Crouching below the torch, he tried to steal a glance between the wood that had made the door, but found only dirt. Baffled, he tested the door, and found that it would not push in.
Slowly he stood back up, his sword unsheathed in his left hand as his right hand held the handle of the door, his hand ready to pull it out as he pressed his back to the wall between the door and the torch. The stone here felt cool, smooth in most parts, but a rough edge dug into his back as he shifted to make himself more comfortable.
His feet set, his muscles tensed as he prepared for the worst – a trap door, a room full of attackers – he knew not what to expect. Jerking the door so hard that it almost flew off its hinges, he sprung from one side to the other and quickly glanced into a wall.
A door had bee placed in front of dirt – not even a room was held closed by the door. The wooden door slammed hard into the stone, shattering most of it, as Avalarin stared into the brown dirt.
“Odd.” He wondered why anyone would put a door that lead to nowhere in a place like this, especially for the first ‘door’ to be seen in who knows how far he had walked. Whatever the case, he remembered where he was, and that he was going somewhere, and moved on.
Yet another door was passing on his right, then shortly after there was one on his left - looking further down the hall, there were even more doors. All were similar, with barely any differences in the low light of the cavern. Near each door was yet another unlit torch, with the same handle length, the cloth arranged in the same way, with each fold found in one also found in every other one. Each handle was rusted brown; each door swung out, with the handle on the right side of the door, placed a little below its center. Each inconsistency found in the wooden planks of each door was found on all of the other doors, in exactly the same place, looking exactly the same way.
Each door stood opposite of a wall; but there was nowhere one could walk where one did not pass a door, continuing for as far as the eye could see. He had not the patience to check behind each and every door – his destination lay somewhere ahead of him. He did not want to waste the time opening every door, only to find a wall of dirt awaiting him on the other side.
Replacing his blade it its sheath, he walked on.
But he stopped. He looked to the sides and the doors were gone – he turned around and saw that he had not passed any doors. There were no longer any doors, even though he had gone no more than ten steps.
A pebble shifted on his left, and so did another one behind him. Even though he could see, he was blind against what he felt was now keeping him company, not leaving him be. There were one thousand doors just before, and there were thousands of possibilities – but now there was only one choice to make.
Leaning to his right, he threw his left shoulder back, feeling the wind it made as it passed on his harm, and seeing the movement of his cloak to the change in its surroundings. He brought his left leg up and crossed over his right, falling into a roll as something sliced through and into the dirt where he was once. Still he could not see his foe.
He sat crouched, looking frantically for some sign of movement. Senses warning, he jumped to his left and quickly placed his hands down to keep him in the air as he pulled his legs into the air from behind. Something cut through the earth like a spear or thrown javelin. He pushed himself into the air and rolled once more, assuredly landing with his feet on the wall. Arms shot up from below him as he sprung back off of the wall and into yet anther roll, this time stopping as skewers tore through the area he might have rolled in.
Feeling lucky – very lucky – he sprang onto his feet and broke into a run.
He ran one way along the floor of the cavern, taking the odd step off and on to his left and right to avoid the many arms of his still unseen foe. He ran along the wall of the cavern, going side to side, his feet nearly hitting the ceiling as still the arms almost predicted his movements, nearly stabbing him in the process. Bits of rock and dirt were falling from above, and the earth was pushed from behind the stone, causing the granite to fall onto the soft dirt ground.
He quickly turned around after seeing some of his footprints – he had been running in the opposite direction of his destination. He needed not to backtrack, but to move forward with each and every step. Using the floor once again, he leaped from point to point, bouncing off of the walls as the arms and spears became even more vigilant in their hunt for its prey. Entire areas of the cavern, right behind the cloak, were shrouded in sharpened tentacles, like a hare running through a room of bear traps.
They began to cover the cavern completely as the man picked up his pace and ran faster along the walls and ceilings of the passage. The ground began to fall away in bits and pieces and first, but soon enough, large parts of the floor were falling into a black void below, never to be seen again.
Still was the cloak fluttering about him as he narrowly avoided yet another bite from the arms. He jumped from one side to the other as an entire wall of blades had protruded from the wall and into his path. He slid under yet anther opening, nearly losing his speed and falling into the abyss himself.
The felt something odd, as there was now not a thing hindering his movement. After a quick glance behind him, it was concluded that he no longer wore a cloak, but a short cape whose only purpose was to look odd and provide a cowl.
He felt the earth shaking about him, and chanced one last glance behind him: a missing floor and tentacles were all he could see. His foe was now desperate for some reason: slowly, it began to consume entire chunks of the passage as it bit down, sharp points quickly protruding from the walls and in the same moment retracting back into the walls.
He was now running on the ceiling: moving left and right would slow him down just enough to let himself be eaten by his unseen avdesary. He could feel the earth move each and every time a part of the passage became a death trap, as they sounds of the disturbed rock were heard closer and closer together, until it sounded like a mad rush within a castle building, a multitude of stomps and screams all trying to reach the exit before the other.
He felt the stinging of the points at his feet as they cut the top of his skin as they passed. There would be no escape from this death trap.
He managed to gather the will to have one final leap, hoping that he would fall into the unknown and land on something familiar, lest he be eaten alive by a giant monstrosity he had yet to lay eyes upon.
He surged forward and leapt from his line on the ceiling, feeling a tooth sink into his boot and snap off as he fell for what seemed like an eternity.
He landed on a rock, and beneath the rock there was dirt, and around the dirt there was grass, and more rock, and more dirt, and a strange animal looking rather curiously at the being which was now intruding on her territory.
An acorn was thrown at the intruder, and as the animal quickly realized that this trespasser was indeed many times bigger than she, she scurried away and into the nearest tree.
The intruder had leapt from the end of the inside of the cave to the slope leading to its mouth.