Author’s Note: WARNING! This is an extremely niche story with a lot of fucked up content. If fucking zombies or getting covered in rotten ichor disgust you, turn away now. If you want to watch a 19yo priestess fall into a pit of corruption and decay, stay tuned for more.
**Chapter 1: Scoundrels & Shortcuts**
Althea Amberhearth sat at her usual spot in the Black Crab tavern. Few windows and a scarcity of candles meant the establishment rarely rose above dim light. Probably so that the customer base would fail to notice the numerous stains littering the wood floor. A shame the lighting did little to stymie the stench, as the sickly sweet scent of old ale trickled into the young woman’s nose. She idly flipped her loose, blonde braid from one shoulder to the other and glanced back toward the wooden door. Still no sign of her traveling companions. Looking down at the table, she slowly pushed the cup of cloudy water away from her. No, she would abstain from drinking anything here. The Black Crab was a place better suited to meeting contacts rather than dining or drinking. Althea cast furtive glances about the pub, noting the numerous individuals bearing black leather armor and heavy scars. Indeed, not her usual crowd, but thankfully no one had bothered her since she arrived. Althea plucked her small prayerbook from her pouch and flipped to the silk string bookmark.
“Helestria, light of life and mother of hope, guide my path on the journey ahead. May my journey be fruitful and my bounty plenty,” she recited, closing her eyes in sober thought. The church set her upon a most unsettling quest. Tasked with recovering an artifact from an abandoned shrine of Helestria, Althea was to inquire about the shrine in the adjacent village of Sapila. Supposedly the people there had become increasingly isolationist over the past few years, but rumor got out that they possessed a holy relic. Now it was Althea’s duty to determine whether or not these claims held water. She heard the tavern door creak open at last and, looking back, Althea waved to the newcomers. At last her adventuring party arrived.
Althea maintained her smile despite the stern expressions of her new comrades. Admittedly, she herself was an absolute novice in the field, so she was relieved when the temple offered to pay for hired muscle. These men and women though… Althea eyed the first of her new companions up and down. The human was bald with a long, double-braided beard. He wore an eyepatch and had a palm-sized burn scar on his left cheek. His armor was a dull gray with a dark blue tabard, much like the others of his team. A longsword hung on his hip, and he had a crossbow slung over his back. Behind him waddled a stout, dwarven woman. Her fiery, red dreadlocks were tied up in a loose ponytail. She had a sturdy frame, which must have come in handy, considering the pair of heavy battleaxes hanging on her matronly hips. A pair of bandoliers crossed her chest, loaded with small daggers. Each of the leather straps clung to the dwarf’s heaving chest, looking ready to burst open at a moment’s notice. Unlike her bald partner, she wore no sleeves, leaving her colorful tattoos on display. Althea’s eyes lingered on the faded, black rose inked into the dwarven woman’s bicep. Only two mercenaries. Thankful as she was, she hoped they would be enough.
“Salutations, my name is Althea Amberhearth!” she called out in as pleasant a voice as she could muster. The bald man gave her a gruff nod, pulled out a chair, and took a seat. Althea noted that the dwarven woman chose to remain standing beside her partner. The bald mercenary leaned back in his chair and plucked an abandoned tankard from an adjacent table. He brought it to his lips and drank deep without question before tossing the dented, tin cup over his shoulder. He belched loudly and crossed his arms.
“What Fabian means to say is hello, and get to the point,” the dwarven woman said in a rough but motherly tone. She punched his shoulder, but the man just rolled his eye. Althea nodded her head politely, stifling a gag at the man’s foul-smelling burp. It reeked of unbrushed teeth and whatever hard liquor was warming in the tankard.
“Ah, well as you know, you have been chosen by the Temple of Helestria to accompany me–”
“We know that already, why are we here?” Fabian interjected, his voice was hoarse and nasally, as if suffering with a lingering cold. “The letter promised us a vauge amount of gold for a simple job, so here we are,” he concluded, gesturing for the acolyte to continue.
“We are to investigate the rumor a sacred relic supposedly held by the villagers of Sapila,” Althea continued, shrinking down in her seat. She nervously tapped her fingers together before continuing, “Once we determine the truth, we return to the Temple and they will pay you your reward.”
“Which is…?” the dwarven woman raised a thick brow.
“Two hundred gold a piece, from the temple treasury,” the novice priestess said. The dwarven woman coughed at the amount and locked eyes with her comrade-in-arms. A small glint shimmered deep in her subtle smirk
“Lorna… that’s a lot of coin,” Fabian murmured, and the dwarven mercenary nodded.
“Aye. When do we leave?” she flashed a grin, wringing her strong hands.
After leaving the tavern and spending a few silver coins on supplies for the road, the trio set out on their trek toward the village of Sapila just after noon. Lorna procured a reliable map of the region from the general shop, and Fabian was known as a reputable tracker; Althea felt at ease in the presence of such experts. They marched on foot, as renting horses was expensive for such a short journey. Fabian remarked that with luck and favorable weather, they would arrive at Sapila by the following night. He explained that the winding road up the mountain to Sapila had fallen into disrepair. Likely as zero trade meant zero incentive for the merchant lords to refurbish the infrastructure. All because the village suddenly rebuked any outside visitors about three years ago.
Althea listened to the local history lesson from the one-eyed tracker over the next two hours. Unfortunately she failed to notice a pothole underfoot, and tripped, falling to her hands and knees. The acolyte hissed in pain and looked down to find the hem of her robes torn and a scrape on her shin. Lorna stooped down to take a closer look before staring at the acolyte with unmoved eyes.
“Can you walk, lass?” the dwarf asked flatly. Althea rose to her feet, dusted herself off, and nodded silently. Fabian had continued on ahead, but he paused now, staring off to the left side of the path. The two women caught up to him, and the bald mercenary pointed toward a mottled, gray cliff face.
“You see that?” he narrowed his eye and drew his sword. Althea saw nothing, but upon looking back down the path ahead she felt disheartened. Potholes, ditches, and uneven terrain lay in a patchwork of disrepair on the road ahead of them. Knowing her accident-prone nature led Althea to expect many more trips and scrapes before the day was done.
“See what, you old fool?” Lorna replied, but after a moment of furrowed brows, she grinned. “That’s a shortcut, eh?” Althea looked back again and at last made out a small symbol carved above one of the craggy alcoves. Lorna drew one battleaxe and slunk low, ducking into the alcove. To Althea’s astonishment, Lorna seemed to disappear into the face of the cliff.
“What?! Witchcraft?!” Althea gasped, reaching for her prayer book. Fabian gave her a dismissive wave before following after the dwarf.
“No, girl, it’s an old thieves’ tunnel. Just an illusion,” he retorted before also disappearing into the cliff face.
Althea had so many questions. This was her first adventure outside the temple without a mentor, after all. Finding herself alone on the bumpy road, Althea darted off the very beaten path, through the grass, and into the secret shortcut. Immediately, her eyes were met with a wall of darkness.
“F-Fabian? Lorna?” she stammered, blinded without the light of day. A sudden spark of torchlight bathed her companions in an orange glow, each sporting a bemused smirk. Fabian led the way, torch in hand, scanning the man-made stone walls. The dwarf beckoned the girl follow, and she complied, huddling inside the limited light source. “How did you see that small symbol from so far away? With… well…” she trailed off, pursing her lips.
“With one eye?” the man belted out a hoarse laugh before pointing his sword down the tunnel before them. “Been through paths like these all my life. Built by the old thieves’ guild, you see. True, they sometimes have traps,” he added, much to Althea’s distress. This only brought out another chuckle, “but your temple hired specialists, little lady. You have no reason to worry.” But worry she did, clutching her prayer book to her chest, whispering the hymns of her goddess as the trio delved into the dark tunnel ahead.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/kax8hx/lair_of_the_cryptmother_ch_1_dark_fantasybody