Chapter two: Uncover a Dungeon

This follows up from the first chapter; the great dungeon… read it first!

Grendel awakened, his eyes clearing. He felt as though the great exhaustion he had felt previously had ebbed off, its effect diminished, as though a large, comforting, gentle wave had swept over him and drained the feelings off, leaving nothing left except a perfect, unhindered sense of peace and relaxation. He was sitting at a small, wooden bench, positioned as one in a circle of benches, surrounding a fountain with a large opening. Behind his bench, rising in steps, were more rings of benches, almost like an amphitheatre, until, at level ground several feet above his head, a final ring of gorgeous fountains enclosed the entire area. Grendel looked around and noticed, for the first time, the other occupants of the chamber; there were three.

Sitting higher on the rings of benches, an aged, old man sat, his face and hands cold and irresolute, betraying no hint of his personality. In his hands, he held a thick book, bound in a perfect, white covering. He sat with the sense of a man who did not like to be disturbed; the spectacles on his nose explained his position as a scholar. Grendel examined on; to his right, sleeping without disturbance on the bench beside the central fountain was a small, vulnerable child, a girl. This girl was in complete contrast with the stiff, aged man above her. In her hand, she held a cracked wooden bow that had been repaired and bound with thick fabrics. On her face was a small cloth bandage that hid her chin and forehead. This placed her, in Grendel’s mind, as a damaged, careless, and novice archer of minimal status. He examined further and realised that she was wearing torn, frayed clothes that had, most evidently, not been cared for quite properly. Perhaps she was poor. He pitied her, but his eyes traveled further. Sitting almost directly opposite him, masked from the sheer columns of air and vapour the fountain belched forth, was a magician; the strong magician that had protected him from the reptilian monster in the dungeon. As he stared, the magician noticed and walked over. He was an old creature, a being of considerable age and wisdom.

“I see,” said the magician, “that you have awoken from slumber.” he smiled and held his hand for Grendel to shake. “Hullo. I am Alcaster, the priest of Ellinia…” he looked at Grendel with a fond expression. It was he that Grendel noticed the most. This magician wore thick, white robes of splendid perfection, flowing unflawed down his figure, ending in thick, white boots, their golden ends appearing from beneath the robe. In one hand, he held a tall, white staff, painted with perfect, symmetrical brush strokes, ending in a round, crystalline orb that glimmered and glowed with a magical aura, almost effortlessly. This magician brimmed of excellence, from the point of his hat, it spread down his hair and through the thick, whitened cape on his back.

“Have your wounds finished healing?” he asked. “This is the sleepywood hotel; a mere exposure to the depressed and it will leave its imprint; those injured will heal, those who are saddened will recover to joy, and those who are impaired change their perspective of life.” he chuckled somewhat and looked at grendel. “Come, follow me.”

He led Grendel from the hotel, moving through a thick, oaken door. As he passed the two other occupants, the girl stirred and looked up with perfect, blue, iridescent eyes at Grendel and he realised, without noticing, that she was not quite as young as he had guessed. She was no older than he, certainly, but not far beneath him in age. She held this stare until the two magicians had vacated the hotel and exited their positions. Outside, Grendel contemplated.

Alcaster led him down a series of steps in the main room of the hotel. He nodded at a woman in the corner, who sat on a wooden chair, dressed in thick and innumerable dresses, making her appearance somewhat exaggerated. She smiled back and took a small drink from the mug in her hands as they exited the room, out into the village. Grendel had almost forgotten it whilst his mind had slumbered in the hotel. He now recalled the instant he had, in a thick stupour, witnessed the location. At that time, the village had slumbered, as he had, through the thick nighttime. He looked around the village and smiled as he witnessed the villagers of Sleepywood: old people walking with small, faint steps; women, traveling in large groups pointing and staring and laughing at different things of various levels of interest around the village; strong, bold men walking with deliberate, purposeful strides, and small, able children scuttling about like mice, moving between the crowds of elders, who seemed not to notice.

“This,” said Alcaster, “is how sleepywood is run; it is similar to clockwork.” he nodded his head as he passed through the crowd, people oftentimes turning to stare or bow with respect as he walked.

“I note that you are quite popular in this village,” said Grendel. “It is with little shame how these people pour their respect.”

Alcaster did not reply, but smiled dimly, as though quite deep down, he enjoyed all the attention. But from the outside, like a soldier, he did not betray his inner desires. He acted the perfect, immobile, professional magician with endless grace and charm. Although Grendel could expect this, he was in debt to this magician, to Alcaster. He would respect him as much, if not more, than everyone else.

“Grendel, I think it is time to teach something to you,” said Alcaster, looking around the village. He spotted a small shop in the corner and maneuvered his way, with ease, toward it with Grendel in tow. “This is the weapons and armours shop,” murmured Alcaster as the shop largened. “I will talk; I will purchase your items.”

He opened the door with one hand and walked forward. The shop was not large, in fact, it would seem almost cramped. It was a simple shop: along the walls, small staffs and swords were arranged in a manner that seemed to absorb the interest of shoppers. A luxurious wooden counter stood at the far end of the room, several lanterns perched on its polished surface. Small framed paintings hung behind the counter; vast, detailed, panoramic views of the scenery around victoria isle. A tall grandfather clock sat against the far wall. A man stood next to the clock, smoking a small, wooden pipe and reading a tabloid from a paper.

“Hullo,” said the man, “I understand that you are anxious to purchase some weapons?” he looked hopefully at Alcaster, the elder of the two.

“Hullo Christopher,” said Alcaster, looking, with a slight smile, at the shopkeeper. “This is grendel, a beginning magician. I am here to purchase some new items… do you remember the order I placed last night?”

“But of course,” exclaimed the shopkeeper, delighted, “we would not forget an order. it will take several seconds to process.” he vanished through a thin, wooden door behind the counter and reappeared several minutes later with a thin, woolen robe and staff, both perfect and unblemished and of utmost quality. Grendel leaned forward to feel the fabric of the robe and realised the feeling; it was similar to that of his own when he had first purchased it. “Finely hand knitted,” said the shopkeeper softly, watching Grendel touch the cloth, “sewn from brown sheepskin wool, it is a fine item for collection.”

“Yes, I much agree,” said Alcaster, taking the item and folding it carefully over his arm, gripping the purchased staff along with his own. “Thank you for your services Christopher. I will return presently.” he steered Grendel toward the door. “I would like you to wear these,” murmured Alcaster. “There are special additions; it has been, as the proper term demands it, scrolled excessively. This will help.”

Grendel nodded, and then followed Alcaster further down the path that led through the village. It wound past several more shops and through an arch at the extreme end of the village. The further they progressed, the less crowded the streets became; it was as though a sudden gloom had fallen and pressed upon the end of the village.

“Grendel,” said Alcaster with a warning in his voice, “there are caves that lie beyond this village,” he muttered, “these caves are dangerous. Do not leave me; I am the single source of protection in these caves; nothing can be more important and imperative for the moment than remaining near me. Do you comprehend?”

“I understand the situation,” said Grendel quietly, looking at Alcaster with trust. “I will follow.”

“That is good,” murmured Alcaster, turning to walk through the arch and into the wild, untamed dungeon.

continued…