Auld Lang Syne

Gobhollow grew damp as they descended, evidence that tides came and went rapidly in this hollow pit. While they would be safe for over a day, they certainly couldn’t be caught down here flat-footed.

The whole mixed orc-family wandered down through layers of history. Some stone hovels at the very bottom were speculated—per a lengthy lecture by Grog—to belong to early human fishing hamlets.

“There’s a lot of ‘ifs’ to that speculation,” Grog went on to explain. “It depends on whether or not there was an actual inland sea here in those ancient days.”

“Hmm. Not a lot of goblins in Gobhollow,” Skott began.

“About that! We’ve got theories for days!” Grog continued to rattle off various theories.

It wasn’t terribly important to their task at hand, but the theories hinged on ‘gob’ meaning something different from goblin back in the day. Grognar suspected it meant ‘meeting place’. At any rate, these ancient Aeirunians built their settlement on a vein of blood-obsidian. This wouldn’t have been terribly useful for anyone before advanced magical theory was developed centuries later. But it was incredibly useful as a portal-developing medium in the modern day.

“We found it on accident,” Grog said. “While digging further down, looking for the earliest settlements.”

Just then, Skott spied something curious over by the white-stone ‘wall’ keeping the sea out.

“Ah. Should have brought some binoculars in my pack,” he said, motioning towards the distant figures. “Can anyone tell what’s over there? I mean, I’d ask ‘what do your orc eyes see?’ but I don’t think anyone would get the reference.”

“I have you covered, father.” Grog opened a pouch on his own pack. “Funny you should say that. The optometry school of the mage’s college has found orcs to have eyesight approximately two percent less than a human, on average. Well within the margin of error. And—oh, here it is.”

The half-orc scholar pulled out a bronze cylinder, then unfurled it into a long spyglass not unlike what a pirate would use. “Try this.”

Skott looked through the short end of the spyglass and scanned the far end of the chasm. Massive wooden stakes had been erected to help shore up this narrow outcropping of rock keeping the sea at bay. Curiously, a group of five or so figures milled about by these supports.

“There wasn’t another group of visitors logged at the base camp, was there?” he asked.

“Not in many weeks,” Grog said. “Summer semester always has a lull in dig work.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Skott handed the spyglass back.

It was something they’d have to address later. Grog said he’d report it to the college and this distant group of far-off unlicensed excavators could face a moderate fine, maybe trespassing charges.

The group approached the ‘ground floor’ of the excavation. A narrow gap hewn into the wall offered passage down further still.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to have to go underground…” said Sethset.

“Caverns are chokepoints,” Skottson said. “Leaves us open to be separated. Last thing we want to do is get trapped underground.”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Grog countered.

“I appreciate your concern.” Lamora put a reassuring hand on both her guard’s shoulders. “But there’s only one other party for leagues around. And it would take them a full day to navigate the excavation grounds and make it to our location.”

“Very well, mother,” Sethset said in a tone that made it clear he was still apprehensive.

Lucy and Grog—hungry for adventure and further scientific advancement, respectively—rushed into the underground fissure. Sethset went next to ‘secure the area’ while Skottson waited with their mother-slash-prime-ministress outside. For Lamora’s part, she waited for Skott to make the first move.

“Oh, after you,” Skott said.

“No, Skott of Omaha, I insist,” Lamora countered.

The pair stood there. Lamora crossed her arms but had a smile on her face.

“From a security perspective maybe you should go first, mother,” Skottson said.

“Alright, alright.” Lamora reluctantly moved first, followed by Skott the younger. With a stifled chuckle and a shake of his head, Skott of Omaha followed suit.

+++

“Yes, there’s clear evidence that even earlier Aeirunian civilizations lived underground,” Grog continued to exposit some of his latest coursework. “Of course, dwarven mine-cities exist to this day, but a simple look at the height of doorways make it clear the coastal settlement was at least host to a significant population of taller species.”

The underground city remained damp and covered in a thin layer of bioluminescent moss. Irrigation ditches remained flooded with tidal seawater, where before they would have funneled fresh water from the surface down into subterranean storage basins.

Grog continued. “… now, given blood-obsidian’s use as a portal-generating medium and the fact that most veins are stored underground, this brings all sorts of interesting implications. Though of course we’re well into the realm of speculative pre-history at this point.”

Despite being well beneath the surface, even the excavated portions of this ruin contained a relatively spacious plaza or avenue. Areas that could conceivably have been a market or a town hall were marked off with a magically-enhanced hydrophobic string to survive even decades of tidal action. Indeed, this central square was surrounded on three sides by (what scholars assumed were) municipal buildings, while the ‘west’ face was blocked by a sealed-up stone archway.

“What’s in there?” Skott motioned to the archway.

This arch was a good four times a human’s height. It was blocked by two stone blocks like swinging doors, both tightly wedged in together.

“We think it’s a vault, actually,” Grog said.

Even through significant grime and glow-moss growth, some jeweled adornments still shone through.

“Surely there’s treasure in there,” Lucy declared. “Imma open it!”

Grog shrugged. “A dozen graduating classes have come and gone, and nobody has figured out how the devil to open it, though.”

“Worry not. I shall succeed where your frail scholars have failed.” Lucy scanned the vault. “Hmmm. An elaborate series of counterweights… See?”

The she-orc pointed to brass cylindrical objects hanging from the ceiling, partially disguised as ornamentation. While Grog protested that the college had identified these as a series of pulleys, there was no way to get up there along the slippery walls. At least, there was little the small teams of mages who’d excavated this place could build in the relatively short time periods between the shifting tides.

Said mages were squishy, however, and nowhere near as reckless as Lucy. She clambered along the face of the vault door and up along the archway. The nearest counterweight was just out of reach of what a sane person would risk.

“Hey, don’t try it. We can have someone come back next expedition with a ladder,” Skott started to say.

Lucy jumped anyway with a ‘wahoo!” her long nails just barely grabbed onto the lowest lip of the cylindrical counterweight. The momentum carried her forward, and she used it to find a less perilous handhold on the second counterweight.

“Lucy-Kignora, you cease this wrecklessness right away,” Lamora began.

“Hmmm. It’s an interlocking system,” Lucy said. “Seems to be gummed up by moss. Ah, if I just free that one…”

Lucy swung, then leapt to the thirdmost counterweight. She climbed up a slippery chain, tethering the whole ensemble to the roof. She pulled a great clunk of moss-gunk off the chain, and…

The counterweights, egged on by the extra weight of a half-orc adventurer, clanged together as they slowly descended to the ground. Lucy dismounted to the ground when it was remotely safe to do so, bu by then gravity was doing all the work. Ancient rust-proof pulley systems moved around in the background, and two several-ton sealed-tight blocks moved outward like an opening windowsill.

What awaited was another wall—a mural, in fact—its contents kept in shadow, pristine through the ages, with a few gleaming jewels to hint at its contents…