The Cave

The sun rises over the seemingly endless desert that stretches to the east. A small camp of a dozen soldiers sits a few miles from the Munbu Mountains. One of them is already awake, the leader of the small band. He sharpens his blade as soldiers begin to file out of their tents. They rummage around for their rations of food and begin to suit up their armor. There is little chatter, for they know what today brings.

Within thirty minutes of sunrise, the party is packed and prepared to move. They travel by foot to maintain a small presence and remain unnoticed. The mountains before them grow larger with every minute that passes. Eventually they reach their destination, a cave at the base of one of the mountains. There appears to be no sign of life, but the men know better. The leader rallies his men together outside the entrance.

The man is a commander, in charge of the entire army of the Mun Empire. He has only held this position for two months and hopes to see his first official assignment through successfully. The nature of the task requires the utmost care and must be handled quickly. Despite the pressure, he remains calm before his men. They look at him, ready to hear what their commander has to say. His voice is solid and carries far beyond the men.

“Listen close, we know what awaits us in this cave. Our scout reports came up empty, so we have no reason to believe there is anything in there except the cult. In the event they are not alone, be on your guard. If anyone sees ash, you quietly signal me. If you hear any noise, you signal me. If we are careful, we can end this quick and be on our way home before sundown. Everyone understand?”

The men nod their heads. The confidence of their commander has helped to ease their anxiety. After a quick moment to collect themselves, they light their torches and delve into the cave. The cave is dark and dry. Even worse is the chilling silence. Only the footsteps of the men can be heard as they bounce of the walls. The cave is the width of three men, but the party moves in a single file line. The commander remains at the head of the line, analyzing every single inch of the rock before him.

A mile into the cave the path opens to a large cavern. The soldiers quickly extinguish their torches and crouch along the walls. The walls of the room are lined with torches. In the center is a large altar carved out of a rock. The altar is only large enough to hold a book. Behind the altar is a naked man preaching the words of the book on top of the altar. The man is completely hairless, shaved from head to toe. In front of the altar two dozen men and women sit on the cold floor listening intently to the message. The party of soldiers listen to the man speak as they wait for their commander’s direction. He watches the man speak, seemingly absorbing the words of the preacher.

The preacher turns the page of the book before him, “And does not Mechezah warn that the Whisperer of Turmoil will one day rule the kingdoms of Ara? Has not Chaos infected the highest levels of the Mun Empire? Brothers and sisters, war is returning to Ara!” The small crowd quietly mumbles their agreeance to the man’s words. Having heard enough, the commander stands and unsheathes his sword. The other men follow suit. The noise echoes through the chamber and the cultists below rise in shock.

The man grabs the book off the alter and clutches it to his chest before yelling to his followers, “Brothers and sisters! See how the agents of disorder have come to silence us! Fear not, for I speak the voice of Mechezah!” The men and women grab swords that were resting on the ground. It is clear to the soldiers these people are not fighters. They have no armor and their stances are flawed. The commander begins to walk towards the crowd. The men and women back away, too afraid to rush towards the confident man.

After a few seconds that feel like hours, the soldiers clash with the cultists. Two cultists run towards the commander hoping to catch him off guard. He quickly parries one of them. The man stumbles back as the second goes for a high strike. The commander blocks the sword with his own and punches the man in the gut. As he keels over, the commander slices his neck. By now the first man has recovered and holds his blade at the ready. The commander sizes the opponent, noticing his poor form. With a flurry of quick strikes, the man stumbles back and falls to the ground. Before the man could hit the floor, the commander’s blade was plunged into his stomach. The rest of the untrained men and women are ultimately cut down by the soldiers.

The commander now turns his attention to the preacher cowering at the back of the room. He turns to his men and gives another order, “Slice the throat of every one of them. Though they are delusional, they should not suffer needlessly. Once that is done, pile them up at the altar.” The men begin to carry out the task as the commander heads for the preacher. The man stands to his feet and begins to frantically flip through the book in his hands.

“As the word of Mechezah states, ‘Chaos cannot destroy Order’. You have no power over the chosen of the Dithium! You will forever rot in the darkness of Chaos!” The man’s grip on the book tightens as the Commander finally stands before him.

“Tell me what your name is.” The commander’s voice is calm as the man before him seems only to become more nervous.

“I am the revived voice of Mechezah, the Warden of Structure.”

The commander’s voice becomes slightly more annoyed, “So then you admit to being Nebi Thermud?” The man’s face remains still, but his eyes say yes. “I am quite honored to meet a living Nebi, considering they were supposedly done away with almost six thousand years ago. And if I am not mistaken, your book there claims that there would never be another prophet of the Dithium. So, tell me Thermud, how did you become a Nebi?”

“Do not dare pretend to know the will of the Gods. I am merely a pawn for Mechezah’s use, I know not why He does what He does.”

The commander lets out a loud sigh, “I had hoped to meet a man of misguided reason, but perhaps it is true, religion only breeds delusion.” He tightens his grip on his sword before thrusting it through the book into the chest of Thermud. His blood drenches the book as he falls to the ground. The commander kneels next to Thermud, prepared to slice his throat. Before he can, Thermud tries to speak, “Ple- Please, tell me who you are.”

The commander leans in closer to Thermud, “I am Mũhũk, commander of the Mundian army, and the killer of gods.” He quickly pulls his sword across Thermud’s neck, ending his life. Mũhũk stands and slides his sword back into its sheathe. He proceeds to grab Thermud and drag him to the pile of bodies the soldiers had prepared. He looks around the cavern one last time. Satisfied with the work, he walks to the wall and grabs a torch. He signals his men to fall into formation and prepare to leave. Before he takes his place at the head of the line, he tosses the torch onto the pile of bodies. The pile roars into flames and fills the chamber with smoke.

“Let us move quick, we do not have long before the cave is overcome by smoke. Remember, keep your eyes peeled.” Mũhũk begins to lead his men out of the cave as slowly and quietly as they entered. He resumes his careful examination of every surface in the cave. After five minutes of walking, the soldier at the rear of the line taps the shoulder of the man in front of him. The signal travels to Mũhũk at the front and the group stops. Mũhũk quickly moves to the back of the line to investigate why the group was stopped. The rear soldier pulls him close to whisper in his ear, “Commander, I heard a rustle behind me. I think it is nothing, but I want to be safe.”

Mũhũk nods to the soldier and holds his torch up to examine the cave. There is nothing but black and silence. Mũhũk takes a few steps further, before something catches his eye. A few specks of ash rest upon a rock. His face grows pale at the sight. He pulls out his sword and turns to his men and yells to the front, “Quick! We must make haste to the entrance!” As his words leave his mouth, the front soldier is pulled into the dark. The soldier could not even make a sound before disappearing. The rest of the men pull out their weapons and form a tight circle. The men begin to panic as sounds of shuffling feet becomes louder and louder.

“Listen men, there could be one or one hundred. We will collect our nerves and then make a run for the entrance. We are less than a quarter through the cave, so it is likely not all of us will survive. If the man next to you is grabbed, leave him. We cannot win this fight.” Mũhũk looks over his men. Despite their nerves, they all agree to the plan. With a single nod, Mũhũk takes off running. His men follow behind, running as fast as they can. The moment they move, the sound of hobbled running echoes behind them.

One of the soldiers begins to lag behind. In a moment he is grabbed into the dark. Another trips over a rock. His screams are quickly snuffed. One by one, the soldiers are picked off. Though he does not look back, Mũhũk knows his men are all dead. Determined to survive, he keeps running. Light floods over him as he nears the exit of the cave. With a final push, he runs out of the cave into open air. With a sigh of relief, he collapses to the desert ground.

He quickly jumps back up as he hears the shuffling of feet coming from the cave. Tired and out of energy, he raises his sword to the ready. “Come on you cursed creatures, give me your best.” The sound of footsteps ceases, and a moment of silence hangs in the air. Only the sound of Mũhũk’s heavy breathing can be heard. Then, a head appears out of the cave. A creature slowly crawls out into the light. It is tall, standing a foot above Mũhũk. It is grey and pale from years of living in the dark. The creature’s hands are crippled and deformed. The beast has no capability to sense. It has no ears, eyes, mouth, or nose. Streams of gold flow from the sockets where its eyes would be. Ash falls off the skin of the creature with every step it takes. Mũhũk stands firm as the creature moves closer. Soon, another emerges from the cave. The second creature is followed by dozens more.

He has heard stories of these things but had never encountered one in person. They are called Descended, a term carried over from the first sightings many millennium ago. The creatures slowly approach Mũhũk. He knows it is uncommon for them to attack their prey in the open like this, yet here they are. In the blink of an eye, the Descended rush towards him. Mũhũk cuts down the first three that lunge towards him. The rest stop in their tracks seeing the first three fall. They look at each other as though communicating, despite no noise being produced. Mũhũk waits cautiously, ready to attack again. After a brief pause, the Descended back away and shuffle their way into the cave. Mũhũk relaxes himself and observes the defeated creatures before him.

After taking a moment to examine the creatures, he scraps the gold off their faces. He collects the scrapings and puts it into his bag. After this, he drags the corpses back into the cave. He retrieves his torch, which he had dropped just beyond the cave entrance. With it, he burns the Descended. He sits outside the cave and waits for the bodies to finish burning. He then grabs some of the ashes from the bodies and mixes it with some water from his canteen to make a paint like substance. He uses this paint to make a circle all around the outside of the cave, the universal sign of a Descended nest.

He takes one last moment to grieve the loss of his party. His mission was a success at the cost of his men. However, Mũhũk knows the value of silencing the prophet far out ways any cost. With the job down and nothing left to do at the cave, he collects his equipment and begins the long trek home.