The Real Theophania

vol II ch. 3

Thia quieted down as the barmaid dropped off their food. Her ravenous hunger overcame the desire to continue the story, and she tore off a comically large chunk of “turkey” (probably some god-forsaken hybrid of ultra-rat and ritualbound-kitsune, given how backwater this town was) off the comically large drumstick before continuing the tirade. “Listen, all I’m saying is, you can’t really claim to know that ‘Oh, this sword was called Excalibur, but that’s the one the lady of the lake gave him, the one he pulled out of the stone was Caliburn, his other sword.’ The story is so old, and the names translated so many times, there isn’t a real, canonical version of the swords you can say is true. That’s just something you say to sound clever to people who haven’t read as many scrolls as you.”

Ophius stared at their traveling companion, gaze a perplexing mixture of intense focus and complete disinterest, as if watching a wild animal partaking in a strange grooming behavior that you didn’t really understand, but were enraptured by the display of acrobatics. Of course, being ancient undead, Ophius didn’t need to really “eat” regularly, just absorb biomatter in order to fuel the alchemical spell engine to mask their constantly decaying flesh. “You’ve got a bit there,” Ophius pointed with a half carved flute (this decade, apparently, was Ophius’s bardic century), at the drips of hot oil and viscous gravy splattering Thia’s already muddy dress. The dirt, as well as the lingering stench, was a memento of today’s search. Thia was adamant she’d spotted a swarm of fireflies (probably Will-O-Wisps), and chased the lights right into a pit half-filled with brackish water. The other half was filled with the still-fleshy carcass of some unidentifiable large woodland creature.

~~~

Thia raised a torch to the dusty stone archway, brushing away dungeondeep cobweb.“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. What lies beyond is the empire of the dead,” she murmured along, tracing her fingers across the carved letters. “A warning, to turn back. Or caution, for those who continue.”

Ophius interjected, walking bravely deeper into the crypt, “Good thing I’m already dead.”

~~~

Ancient gears and chains screamed in protest at being reawakened from their long slumber. A cacophony of old iron and stone sang from the darkness, as the guardian statues awoke, slamming the swords down the hallway and against the walls. Gleaming sawblades rose from between the flagstones, scythed through the air where Thia had stood moments before, and sank back into the floor. Ophius, hoisting the startled princess, threw her back onto solid ground without even a backwards glance. Their eye sockets flashed a malevolent fuschia as they pierced the darkness for motion. “I told you: in the old alphabet, it was spelled with an ‘I’, not a ‘J’.”, Ophius explained, exasperated, gesturing at the letters painted on the tiles – one pressure plate already sunk. “And speaking of old secrets lost to time, his sword was named Arclight. Any idiot can write a scroll and say it’s antediluvian lore. I was there.”

~~~

Ophius waited for the barmaid to walk off again, then dipped a clean kerchief into the strong spirits she had just dropped off. Thia raised her own glass and tapped it to Ophius’s. “Another job well done,” the refugee princess celebrated.

Ophius shrugged one sleeve back, revealing a small golden figurine of hummingbird, and began polishing it with the cloth. “The Wings of Nirva recovered. Thought lost forever, since the dragonkin lost their war with humanity. The Radiants will pay a princely sum for this.”

Thia grinned, downing her drink. “Can’t wait to spend it on wenches, drink, and a midnight haywagon ride to the next town.”