The Tunnels of Woe

Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other

Chapter 2 Part 1: A Veni Man's Gambit

“Desperation breeds vigor and stout limbs. Now ye take haste nephew, and release our fuel reserves. We will need every drop like a blind man waylaid in the wastes of worms,” Uncle Curroz pushed his deckhand toward the deepest bowls of their vessel where the last the sealed vats holding the last of their fuel and energies of magic and faith that were beyond a mere mortal’s understanding. Some were stable, and took flames as fierce as Greek fire to ignite. Still others could curse your flesh with boils, or even transform you into undead monstrosities best left in the horrors of the wizard towers they were first conjured.

No normal burning fuel would serve the Veni man in his task in the realms between reality and terror. In this the refinement and consumption of various fuels was paramount to the man of the tunnels. Without them many of the fantastical devices, crafts, and relics were weakened or turned to dead weight in the cabin.

Though many fuels could be used to power or enhance the various tools and magics of the worlds from which they traded that were connected to the tunnels, space on a cartographer's craft was limited. Moreover their voyage had been fruitful, but long, and sapping on their supplies. They were reduced to their reserved and most important fuels.

First was distilled tree sap from the Godtree itself. Blessed by the church, and churned in the vats of the various guilds descendant down to the original Veni men called from their wanderings in the void by the Godtree. This when introduced to soft lead produced a reaction of released heat that burst ill made chambers of containment, but produced energy for vast amounts of thirsty machinations of the workshops including the screw beneath their skiff.

Without this gift of the Godtree their vessel would be down to oars and harsh words of her two man crew. Releasing their reserves of Voidsap, as the dock worker called the gift, meant that Uncle Curroz intended to use all speed possible at the risk of running dry and adrift in the tunnels. That was fair with the monster on their heels and their vessel free for the time being, but the second reserve was another beast.

There in a chamber in the bowels of the ship far from the compartment holding their voidsap vats was a compressed chamber formed of brass and copper etched with silver and steel depicting white flames and dragon heads of old. A warning clear as day to any Veni man or even the most carless of deckhands. These were not chambers to be damaged or dealt with lightly. Within was the fuel more mysterious, and less predictable than the passages themselves.

Leaving the arbalest leaning against the cabin wall Tirro raised the trapdoor and dropped gently down the steep staircase which was far more ladder than stair. There on the deepest deck of their tiny ship was a scene out of a mad tinkerer's lair in worlds where those wrapped in white coats craft and scheme. Metal tubes and glass beakers with hoses and nozzles surrounded the dragon edged tanks filled the compartment. For the fuel of pure magical prowess was most potent in vapor rather than fluids.

Even drawing near to the vat Tirro could see the metallic prison pulsing with reckless power and energies the mortal man was never meant to grasp.The sight made Tirro’s skin crawl and his senses scream with passing haze which took the form of an energized fog that seemed to lay weight on your shoulders like ghostly fingers. Still, without the whispering gas one could not bend the tunnels to their will save with the prayers of saints and the power of the God of Heavens’ armies.

Yet this method was unreliable, and even a small sin may break the protection of the God of gods in ancient evil places. And yet without a proper man of the cloth to bless the physical form of magic itself the gas' properties only produced a simple combustion no better than the gasses of the ground that Golems mined in mountains deep. More was required to create the whispering gas. The energy of magical creation itself. This was what they powered their generators of the deep with. With this the tunnels may change to your will, or maintain and ignore the chaos at the core of their creation.

Taking a deep breath Tirro double checked the gauges before pulling out a rope from behind the vat, and tying down a valve. His task done, he turned four more valves before scurrying back up the ladder, the wail of the churning gas reaching his senses even before he slammed the trapdoor back in place. This much excessive energy would allow much use of their generators to find another sanctuary from their screeching stalker in the shadows, but there were side effects.

Tirro held his gaze to the deck as he marched out of the cabin hearing the whispers, and feeling waves of cold and heat. A splash of a salty spray and the cry of a gul overcame him before passing by as all the images conjured by the whispering gas always did. Whether hallucinations or visions of worlds and lands both strange and familiar no priest of scholar of repute could agree. For a simple deckhand such as Tirro he felt them as real as his mother's arms as she embraced him before he passed into his apprenticeship. A thought that brought a shimmering mirror between Tirro, and the cabin stairs.

There in the depths he saw burning farms of strange make with twisting metal towers spinning madly in the churning winds of mountain valleys surrounding a peak. There was a mass of monstrous dwarf-like beings crushing men with burning axes and immense strength despite their miniscule statures. The men fought with vigor using with what looked like small crossbows containing no bows or bolts that nonetheless released burning waves of light that ignited and melted away swaths of their diminutive enemies. Despite their valor ever more women and children were carried away into twisting black portals the dwarf monsters ignoring their horrid casualties.

Purple eyed and silver haired were the fell men amongst the yellow golden clouds, and there more demons and tiny hooded figures were conjured against them before the vision faded away. Such was the madness of the whispering vapors.

Tirro never could fully adapt to their nonsense, but usually they only used a small portion of gas for their needs so one only had to deal with their insanity driving visions when overflowing the engines. Tirro trusted his Uncle knew his business, but nonetheless doubt came creeping on his senses which would have led to more visions if Uncle Curroz himself hadn’t dragged him back on deck and slapped sense back into his nephew.

“What would ye mother think of ye inhaling the madman’s brew like an addict on the canals? To your post boy, we will need every drop of wit and fuel we retain. Now…” Tirro halted his mad dash to his post at the abrupt pause in his Uncle’s tirade. Looking at his Captain the deckhand saw fear edged like stone into his face, and following that petrified glance out into the darkness beyond their lamps Tirro saw why.

There a mass of darkness swelled fear and terror oozing from its being. As he watched Tirro saw six wings spread from the mass and red blood oozing eyes open in their thousands across the hellish sphere. A lone horrific shout sounded as each eye glowed red in the shadow. One more mournful cry from just a tunnel away told Tirro their horror had come upon them.

The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.

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