The Underdistrict

The rain was falling in sheets as four very different individuals stood outside the temple and a fifth pressed her snout to the bars of the interior: 

There was a large male reptiloid shouldering a large sword, a male rat in a coat, a female ferret wrapped in a cloak, and an otter priestess. The one within - a female meerkat - stared at the four quizzically. Standing some feet away in a semicircle was a mob of various beasts wearing masks and cloaks, staring and waiting for the smaller group to make a move.

“Enough of this prattle,” Draknor growled, heaving his greatsword onto his shoulder. “Where is the alternate route out of this temple, otter?”

“Through the Underdistrict,” the cleric said solemnly. “It might as well be the Abyss.”

“You mean the sewers, don’t you?” Farah said with a twinge of disgust.

Suddenly, the highborn voice of the patriarch of Vulane could be heard from beyond the void separating the temple from Veilwinter’s troops.

“You can’t run forever,” he said. “The sewers were not meant for mortals.”

“Damn magical hearing enhancements,” Farah said, partially to herself.

“I thought you left to ‘convince the dean’ to let you in!” Amber replied.

“Negotiations fell through,” the patriarch’s voice responded coldly through the barrier.

“Why are you antogonizing him?” Skreet hissed to the meerkat.

Farah cursed her own forgetfulness - and wished she had made that great come-back to the old mage that Amber had.

“Listen,” Farah said to the others in a hushed tone, “I’ve been through the sewers before. They stink, full of weird ones. But… ah, they’re not as ominous as the eavesdropper over there wants us to think.”   

Draknor tried leaning down to the little mammals but had difficulty hearing.

“What was that?” He almost yelled.

“The ferret thinks she is stronger than the Abyss,” the hollow voice of the patriarch called through the barrier.

“It’s not the Abyss, completely different.” Farah replied, “Now shut it.”

“‘Completely different,’ she says,” Szal responded.

“Stop responding to him.” Skreet grunted.

“Yes!” Szal laughed. “Be a good ferret and follow your leader!”

Farah made a rude noise in response. 

The otter Thallara drew the group's attention back, “A place most fowl.” She lowered her head and whispered - her voice as soft as rain. “Even Szal is afraid of that place.”

“Well, that’s saying something.” Skreet muttered. 

“You’ve been in worse places, Skreet,” Amber responded.

“Skreet? Snickertooth?” Szal’s voice came again, roiling through the night air. “Detective Skreet Snickertooth?”

“Hey Slick,” Farah said, ribbing the rat detective. “That’s you!”

“Associating with a thief and an escaped war criminal?” Szal asked. “How low you have sunk, sir. Have you no shame?”

Skreet flattened his ears. “This place isn’t exactly a shining example of morals. I’ll take all the help I can get. And how’d you know I was a detective? Amber, have you been writing more unauthorized biographies of me?”

“No no, sir,” Szal said with an audible sneer. “...Merely an old friend of yours.” 

“I’m sorry Skreet!” Rusty’s voice could be heard yelling on the other side of the barrier. “When I saw your wanted poster and the reward, I-”

“-YOU CALL ME A WAR CRIMINAL?” Draknor roared, making his way to the entryway to the temple.

Szal then continued. “I was merely referring to the circumstances of your indentured servitude!” Szal said back while Skreet, Amber and Farah were climbing on Draknor, trying to hold him back. 

“...And how you abrogated your responsibility to the field which you set ablaze!”

“Lies, and slander, fox!” Draknor rumbled.

“Easy Draknor. I don’t believe him.” Skreet grunted. 

“I just don’t care.” Farah added. 

Amber said nothing as she scrutinized the terrier that had spoken earlier, she remembered him. A staunch, by-the-book constable. Now? He seemed so different, as if he was someone else entirely now. She could see the animosity between him and Skreet now. The look of hurt and betrayal Skreet hid beneath his gruff exterior.   

Amber concentrated on her companions: she was secretly a soulsinger, but had not used her abilities in quite some time. 

The rat’s soulsong was that of a low, strumming guitar as he silently kept his composure - intrigue and mystery. The reptiloid’s was that of a warhorn echoing across the hills, while the ferret’s were soft chimes. Amber turned her attention to the otter herself, who sounded like a gentle choir.

“Thallara,” a voice said from some indeterminate source. Skreet thought - for a moment - that the voice came from a nearby wall of vines.

Out of pure shadow, a female weasel in dark cloth and boiled leather appeared in front of the group, a glowing gem in hand.

“From Selthia,” she said in a bored tone of voice, “with thanks.”

A Shadowdancer, Farah thought. Illusionist and rogue. She was probably a lousy thief if she needed to rely on magic. 

Draknor tilted his head. The name “Selthia” sounded familiar. 

Yes. She was the Vixen ‘Witch Queen’: the one that had always presided over the fights in the arena! The one that seemed to run the entire operation there. 

He considered sharing his insight but said nothing, merely watching the strange messenger.

Thallara turned, still composed and reached out to the weasel - who quickly pulled her paw back.

“We consider the debt repaid... and then some.”

The otter cleric sighed and nodded as the weasel’s paw unclenched. “The ward will only work for a few hours. Better get a move on,” she said mischevously as she melted back into the vines.

Amber could hear a sleazy, faint, tavern tune coming from the creature, and then slowly fade only a little bit after the weasel herself did.

“Pshh,” Farah scoffed. “Not impressed.” 

Everyone ignored her.

“So what now?” Skreet asked. 

“Go!” The otteress said, tossing the gem to Skreet. “You heard her - only a few hours. The Underdistrict awaits, and Szal and his Silvermasks will be following you as soon as he realizes what has happened, as will many other things.”

With a clunk of her staff, Thallara opened a secret staircase in the bricks under their feet.

“Me too?” Amber asked.

“Yes, yes,” Thallara said, urging her along by touching the meerkat’s elbow gently. As the cleric did so, Amber could feel a weight - a weight she didn’t even know was on her - lifting.

Amber breathed a sigh of relief as the secret staircase awaited her. 

“And next time a cleric asks you a question, do not lie or obscure.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Amber replied.

Skreet led the way down, followed by Farah, then Amber, Draknor brought up the rear already not looking forward to the confines below. The first thing they noticed aside from the encroaching darkness was the stench. They were definitely near the sewers - perhaps in them.

“Ugh, I hate sewer jobs,” Farah grumbled.  “You wouldn’t believe how many times my line of work has taken me here.”

As soon as the floor gave way to the wet stone steps down into the dark of the Undercity, a great odor presented itself to the troupe: the sewers and the slaughterhouses that supplied meat to Vulane all congregated down there, along with ancient cemeteries and the accumulated filth of the world’s “dirtiest city state”.

“Well, here I am reinforcing rat stereotypes.” Skreet muttered to himself.

Draknor kept as low as he could manage his horns scraping the ceiling.  

Amber stuck close to the others. “Are there… dangers here?” 

Farah relished the fear in Amber’s voice. “I know this is where the necromancers and vampire cults hang out, along with real bad guys.”

Drip. Drip.

“Necromancers?” Amber whisper-hissed as they descended. 

The gem Skreet held was giving off a pale light the further down they went providing some illumination. The Underdistrict itself was a ramshackle version of the world above, and to Draknor’s relief the ceiling started getting higher and higher until the bioluminescent moss on the ceiling overhead resembled the false stars of the true sky above Vulane.

There was a droning noise echoing through the streets. 

“Got to be nuts to live down here,” Farah quipped.  

“Or on the run,” Skreet responded.

“Or very impoverished,” Draknor added.

Skitter skitter skitter. Clatter - crash.

The group readied their weapons, not knowing what they might encounter. A opossum in rags ran before them muttering to himself and making chittering noises, his mind clearly gone. 

Draknor suddenly spun around as he caught a stun spell on his sword. The Silvermasks had caught up to them already it seemed. At least a dozen were running towards the group, their eyes ablaze with magical violet fire. 

“I’ll, uh, let you handle this!” Amber squeaked as she ran ahead. Bizarrely, the Silvermasks all had the same deep, thrumming soulsong - with the same tempo that they would march through town with.

Draknor met the charge of an axe-wielding badger, turning the blade and retaliating with an upward slash. The badger fell, but there were more threats. Skreet used his sticks to bludgen a coyote mage who ventured too close, as Farah zipped inbetween their foes, struck with short sword and handaxe, and pulled back, her necklace protecting her from spells. Draknor roared as he charged into their enemies. 

As Amber moved ahead of the scuffle she pulled up short as a pair of deranged hyenas eyes her. She could tell they weren’t silvermasks as their soulsong was a wild, savage drum. Their jaws salivated at seeing the meerkat.  

“Oh, no,” Amber gulped. “Help!”

The others - heralded by Skreet’s amber light - caught up to her as more Silvermasks were pursuing, and the hyenas flinched at the gem’s light and shied away.

Hissing. Whispers down the dark alley they had just run through. A decidedly alien soulsong filled with sounds that Amber didn’t recognize. She resolved to stick with the others, the gem Skreet carried was keeping other things away. But it seemed to attract the Silvermasks. 

More violet lights from their formerly-vanquished foes as they stood to their feet. 

“Let’s get a move on, everyone,” Skreet hissed.

Then red eyes seemed to join them.

“What good is that stupid gem if all the evil of the underdistrict is gonna follow us?” Farah asked.

“It’d be worse if we didn’t have it.” Skreet grunted, “It’s also not going to last. Keep moving!” 

The group ran as curses flew towards them, Draknor couldn’t possibly block all of them and Farah’s talisman had its limits. There were skittering scurrying noises as multilegged horrors scurried after them in search of an easy meal.  

That’s when Draknor struckdownwards on a strange object he had never seen before: some kind of large, slimy cube full of the bones of former creatures.

“Gah! What in the Hells?!” 

“Run!” Farah screamed as Draknor tried to extract his sword from the slowly reforming... thing.

“I can’t leave without my sword!” Draknor yelled back as red eyes viewed him hungrily and violet eyes watched. Suddenly, he could feel several creatures jumping on his back.

Slorp. Slorp. His sword was slowly entering the strange, slimy creature. 

“The damned thing is... *grunt* digesting my weapon!”

Draknor grabbed one from his back - a black rat with burning red eyes and black robes - and slammed them into the cube as he tugged his weapon out. Skreet hammered the foes with his sticks as Draknor roared and swung his sword in a wide arc. Getting enough space the two fled as Farah backstabbed a weasel that was trying to cast a spell.   

“Keep moving!” Farah shouted.

A poisoned barb from some giant insect barely missed Skreet as more and more threats were becoming attracted to the violence, and fear. The group had broken into a full sprint, and that’s when Skreet noticed the light from the gem narrowing, pointing them down a narrow alley.

“Uh, this way I hope!” Skreet shouted as the mass of goo and eyes and armor and chitinous legs behind them were scurrying to catch up.

The group scrambled through the tunnel being forced to go single file as it narrowed. They could hear things were still chasing them, mammal and non-mammal alike. They were literally scrambling over each other. 

The group looked at themselves and the wall that they were facing before Skreet felt along the slimy stones and inserted the gem into a perfectly-shaped socket after they were sure the monsters were gone. With a small clatter, the wall gave way to yet another staircase, this time going up.

After ages of walking upwards, they found themselves in a vast, dark cellar. They quickly shut and piled various casks and tools onto the trap door they had just exited. 

“Ugh,” Farah grunted. “Please tell me we’re in the cellar of a bathhouse.” 

“Or a tavern,” Amber said, eyeing some of the labels on the wine bottles and ale casks.

Note: To see the previous chapters in the story, head over to https://veilwinter.com/?blogcategory=%22In+Vulane%22+Saga