Below the Earth

i rummage through my pockets and start fumbling with my gps, i mutter "arbeit die sie stuck schaize" as i start hitting it lightly, i turn it around and look on the batteries realizing theyre stuck the wrong way, i turn them around and put them in turning the gps on.

i look at the display and point my hand to my right saying "that way".

I begin chuckle, first softly, then louder until i begin to laugh outright, at the irony of the situation right until the GPS begins to work causing me to calm down "of all the things to not bring" pulling several odds and ends, but no compass at all. "I gave it to the kinsman we saw" i begin to chuckle again "so what does your little box say? i ask still grinning.

We pass beneath the great, winding branches, shadows and light flickering disturbingly over the walls. Sylus shift uncomfortably on my shoulder. I twist, looking up, staring. Something moved up there. I swear it did...I shake my head. Stupid. You're letting the darkness get to you, I tell myself, turning my eyes away from the mouldering bodies. But it's hard to look away. Some of the bodies are so old that they've mouldered right into the stone of the tree.
Something rustles behind me, and Sylus hisses on my shoulder. I spin around. Aside from my friends, staring at me, there is nothing. I shake my head. "Sorry. I'll be happy when we're past this."

I look to Liv "It is fine liv, if you get too scared pull out the gem, after all it's name was "bright Fire" after all" I put my hand on her shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring before snatching it away again to attempt to let her be comfortable, still aware how unnerving my touch can be to some. "besides this place has everyone jumpy" even me but for different reasons

I nod, and lay a hand on the amber , feeling a gleam of warmth. It's comforting.
Something creaks overhead. My heart jumps into my throat as I twist, looking up. One of the great,stony branches is moving. Moving "Everyone," I say, fighting to keep my voice calm, "Let's move, and let's move fast. Very fast."
I step forward. And that's when the stone beneath my feet surges up, tendrils of veined rock grabbing. I leap into the air, crying out.

I stop dead. . . pardon the pun, as some of the chunks of stalactite, or was it stalagmite i always get them confused, strikes my shoulders. "what the hell" he looks up "Stars and Stones.... REALLY" looking at the tree "if i didn't know better I would say someone didn't want us to go this way" I grumble hefting the spear "Liv take point, dejhuty, priest rear flank to her,Kaija center, you two newcomers follow them, I will take rear guard. we do not have time to argue" as a single eye opens in the trunk at least I think it is an eye. the trunk untwisting revealing a dark maw and carrion breath. I am relying on Liv's speed and reflexes to keep further danger from the group with others in supporting rolls if the shit hits the fan. "Move NOW!" I bark

I dash forward, my knife in my hand. "This way!!" From somewhere behind me, the sound of gunfire starts. A blow falls on my shoulder, and I roll, slashing out with my knife. Something grabs onto my arm. I don't think. My teeth grow of their own volition, and I bite down as hard as I can. This thing may look like stone, but my otter teeth were made for cracking hard oyster shells, and I taste some kind of blood, stale and putrid. I spit, gag, and keep running, dodging and weaving between the thrashing limbs. "Stay close to the trunk!" I yell, "It can't see you there!!"

I respond by slipping into the shadows and grabbing my rifle.

from my hiding place i see what looks like an eye, i aim my rifle at it and fire *hiss hiss*.

There's a low, earthrendeing groan that raises to an earsplitting scream. The limbs flash wildly, wrapping round and round the ruin of an eye. The ground bucks and twists. The thing curls in on itself, burrowing into the stone of the cave floor. We keep running, dodging the long whips of stone and earth.

seeing Liv tear into this thing I Grin, "well my friends can't have her show me up now can I" I say more to myself then to anyone in particular, drawing the spear back now is the time to see if the theory I learned renting myself as a body guard for a few decades worked or not, Casting the spear at the thing I hear the the satisfying sound of stone like carapace cracking as where the spear struck quivering in a deep thrum, the note growing in intensity rather then quieting as it tries to work itself free.

I open my bag and pick up my bottle of booze and toss it at the monster, the glass breaks and i throw my zippo lighter on it putting its outer shell on fire.

i start running away from the creature and i suddenly get hit in the head by something knocking me out.

With an almost sickening pop the spear pops out flinging back towards me, when the smell of blood, mostly human catches in my nose looking for the source i see the explosive acrobat laying on the ground a small amount of blood leaking from where stone or carapace had struck him, damn, ducking and dodging through the raining debris I grab him pulling his arm about my shoulder for support until we can get Liv or Kaija to help him. As the stone tree begins to descend into the ground the grinding noise is setting my teeth on edge "you owe me my friend" I grind out using the spear to help us both stay up.

I leap the last of the tendrils. Not far ahead. Not far ahead the ground is clear. Just a little further. I risk a glance over my shoulder. Everyone is still on my heels, though Liam is far behind, Ignacy over his shoulder. I push myself forward. Behind us, the ground heaves and shudders, the floor of the cavern falling in around the hole left by the creature.
Finally, finally, the earth stops its convulsions. I slow, glancing about, studying the surroundings. Safe. Nothing moves. Safe.
I slump down, chest heaving. "It's...all right. We can...stop here." Then I lean over, spitting, trying to get the foul taste of the thing's blood from my mouth.

I drop Ignacy onto his back careful of his head before heading strait to Kaija and grabbing her shoulders to turning her and checking for any injuries I hiss something to her before hugging her and turning to glance over the others

"West at the tree of stone?!!" I snarl, "Turn west at the na cac tree of stone?!! That little rat of a minstrel, that's all he wrote?!!! Bards are supposed to pass on knowledge, damnu ort! Turn west at the tree of stone, but not a word about the fact that it bloody eats people?!! The little guttersnipe, I'd like to ring his feichan neck! Gods damn that thoughtless excuse for a bard!" I lay my head back against the stone of a stalagmite behind me. Then I glance around. "Everyone all right?"

"other then the flaming acrobat being out like a dead light" i say letting my sentence trail off "we are all in one piece and apparently beat an eldrich beastie that has probable never been denied at least a part of a meal?"

I shake myself, and sigh. "Let me have a look at him." I lean over, laying a hand on his forehead. I close my eyes. He's well enough, though the knock to the head didn't help matters. I raise my voice, singing muscle and blood vessels back into harmony.

i look up at the ceilling realizing that i got knocked out cold, i see that i still have my rifle loosely in my hand but notice that my bag is gone i say "shit".

"You're welcome." I say dryly.

"good morning sleeping beauty, figured liv waking you was better then the priest doing it" I smile "stay laying down for a bit, you took a good hit"

I grin "i wasnt saying it at you i was remarking on the fact that my bag is gone"

I nod slowly, the adrenalin catching up with me. "Well, go and get it. The danger is past, I think." Sylus lands beside him. "I'll scout ahead." I nod tiredly, glancing around. "As for the rest of us, let's make camp. After that, we all could use a rest." Then I step forward. "Djhuety, you're bleeding. Let me take a look." Amid the treating of a few small injuries, we set up our camp.

Edgeworth dreams, but not the nice and sweet dreams of a child. No, Edgeworth dreams of war. The chaos inside his head swirling as the smell of smoke and gunpowder fills his nostrils. He's been here before, opening his eyes he looks around. He's in a trench in Germany as they siege Berlin. The end to the war is near and he picks up his Thompson and slams the clip in checking to make sure the chamber and firing pin are clear.

Looking around he sees the rest of his men lying dead in the trench. A German mortar came out of nowhere and killed all of them. He is the only one left.

He charges.

Bullets flying past his head. He doesn't care. The only thing on Lance Corporal Edgeworth's mind is killing the Nazi scum that bombed his home into oblivion.

Germans shout incomprehensible garbage at him and he pushes on, emptying his first clip taking out three German's entrenched at a gun placement.

He feels the hot sting of blood, nothing is on his mind but vengeance. The steady sound of bullets is all he notices.

His legs want to stop working, his arms are tired, and his breath comes short and shallow. The light is fading but Edgeworth pushes back the darkness.

Shooting up from off the ground Edgeworth sits up and frantically scrambles for his Thompson. "Where is it! What did you do to my Shirlene you fucking Nazi bastards! I'll send you all back to hell where you came from!" he shouts as he's lost in his half dream. "What have you done to my men! What have you done to my country! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED!" the anger subsides and Edgeworth composes himself.

"It's always a sad day when a good man goes to war." he says as he stands up and walks off into the nearby darkness. His hands are shaking and his breath won't calm down. His heart races and his vision is still blurry. He fumbles at his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Down to my last few." he looks at the pack for a while before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. He takes a deep drag and begins his work. "No more, I must not be defenseless."

He places his hand on the stone and begins to call the metal.

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats

From deep within the Earth he hears it respond, and he calls it to him.

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …

Slowly he draws out the metal, calling it closer and closer to him.

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

He feels the molecules swirl deep within the Earth. The Metal is moving towards him very slowly, but he calls it still.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

It moves quicker toward his hand. Large raw rocks of ore being drawn towards him through layers of stone feel like old friends returning to him after a long trip.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

The Metal nears the surface and he holds it there, drawing more and more to form a bigger glob of Ore.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

He tosses his cigarette with one hand and lights up another. His other hand still held steady as he draws the ore closer and tighter.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

Using a second hand he starts twisting the Ore. Shaping it and reciting his poem. He thinks to himself 'Crafting is an art best done slowly'

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

He forms the metal together, swirling it and compressing the molecules together. His blood rushes to his head and he feels alive! 'This is my true calling' he thinks to himself and continues.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

He takes the Steel he's forming deep within the rock and starts to stretch it. The familiar shape of a British sabre taking form in his mind.

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

He puts the final touches on his blade, shaping it into perfect sharpness. Sparing no energy Edgeworth puts his soul into his blade and the craftsmanship shows. He slowly reaches his hand into the ground and encases it in stone. Slowly again he pulls it out, this time holding a gleaming silver blade. The blade is perfect in shape, length, and sharpness. The handle is a solid chunk of metal and the blade is a gleaming picture of perfection.

He walks a few feet to a nearby stalactite and sits down. "This will help me... keep them safe..." he says and then his vision goes black. His nose bleeding from the exertion and every cell in his body aching.

((Poetry courtesy of T.S. Eliot "The Love Song of J. Alfred Purfrock."))

I float in the darkness, smiling to myself. The stone is singing. Song of something new. Song of creation.
I sit up, blinking in the darkness. The song...something was changing. I stand, looking about, the firelight our little group keeps lit at all times sending a corona of flickering light into the dark.
Something changed. The song of the stone below me changed. Not in a bad way, not dangerously. But stone doesn't normally change. Strange that.
At the very edge of the firelight, something glints. I step forward, curious. A sword, glittering, cool and bright as moonlight. And beside it...I drop to my knees beside the thin alchemist.There's blood on his face and he's too pale. I place a hand on his forehead. He's cold, too cold. I pull a blanket from my satchel, wrapping it round him, and then press my hand to his head once more. There's still color in his mind, blues, dark, the colors of sleep, but the colors are weak. That's a bad sign.
I raise my Gift, calling it up, singing it out slow and quiet, low. The colors in his head brighten, I'm happy to see. The song did its work. I pour just a little water from the flask I keep in my bag onto the edge of my jacket, and wipe his face. He winces, though his eyes are closed. Good. He's reacting. With any luck he'll wake soon. To help him come awake again, I sing another set of notes, a song of energy, of stepping forward, of the need to stand and take arms.
There's a shock as something joins my voice in the song, putting harmony to my melody. I sit up, the song forgotten. But just for a moment, the harmony lingers. I stare. The sword. That song came from the sword....

In the darkness Edgeworth floats. Deep inside his sleep, he floats. An endless sea of darkness as he's pulled downward towards something.

But in the darkness there is a voice. It sings a soft melody and Edgeworth resists. He winces, fleeing from the voice and diving deeper into the blackness, but the voice draws him back. "Go away! Let me die here in peace!" he shouts futilely at the voice, but it keeps singing. "Let me die here! There is nothing left for me there! The world is cold! My men are dead, my wife is dead, my daughter is dead! Why won't you let me die!" he breaks down and no longer has the energy to resist the voice.

In the darkness she comes to him. A shining, glowing, loving, warm visage that floats downward and gently takes his hand. "You... you're dead! Why spirits, why do you haunt me!" he looks upon the woman and see his dead wife. Images of their happy life together flow through his mind and he cries. The figure looks at him and smiles with sadness in her eyes. "You must live my love. There are others that still need you."

He shakes his head. "No! You were all I needed and now you're gone! What is there left for me?"

The figure smiles again and flicks him in the forehead. "You'll just have to find that out for yourself."

The darkness swirls around him, intertwining with a new light that appears. He can feel his muscles ache less, he can hear a song again, but not the same song as before. A new song reaches his ears and he knows he cannot run anymore. He lets the light pull him in and his eyes open slowly to stare at the strange shape-shifting girl. "How? I was gone, you brought me back from the brink of hell itself..." he says weakly his eyes stained with tears.