Level 117 - "Isabelle's Gorge"

Isabelle's Gorge;
"The dusty ravine and the weeping cave."

• Danger; Substantial.
• Curiosities; Few.
• Fauna; Ferocious.

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The Solemn Trail – As I made haste round the southern bank of Godspire's horrid hill, the scene transposed to that of a steep and narrow passage. Engulfed by sheer limestone cliffs, the path winds forward for an untold distance. The vegetation here is scarce, and what trees there are cling to life like a springborn dew on a blade of grass. The once clear sky was replaced by a blackened quilt of angered clouds, their thunder heralding a storm never to come.

I hiked up the gradual incline and round the topmost bend, the western wall of the gorge giving way to a cavernous maw. My curiosity, as always, had gotten the best of me. Prepared to abandon my trail-bound jaunt, I secured my rope, readied my lantern, and promptly began my descent.

The Crying Caverns - The bedraggled hollow had somewhat dampened the call of adventure—though not fully. I removed, folded, and stored my harness in my satchel. The cave I found myself in was a fair bit colder than the trail I left, the moist air doing little to allay the chill. The wet gleam of the mossy walls reflected the light of my lantern as I surveyed the room. Granite stalagmites covered the floor, reaching up as if to pull themselves from the ever-clear groundwater. With only one direction to travel, I made my way through the narrow entry into the first of many damp passageways.

The walkway was short, giving way to an ill-lit grotto with many misshapen pitfalls eroded into the floor. With each step carefully planned, lest I lose my footing, I slowly walked through the grotto using the eastern wall as my guide. That is when I stumbled upon a most unfortunate scene—about halfway through the cavern were the remains of what was once a woman. She was of average height, had a seemingly fair complexion, and wore attire fitting of one accustomed to places such as this. Though the wetness did her body no favors, I could see that significant harm had been inflicted by an unseen predator. Gnaw marks and splintered bones painted a most horrific picture of her final moments.

I affixed my light to the wall and removed the large linen cloth from my bag. While moving her arms to a suitable position for burial, I noticed a thin silver bracelet adorned her wrist. The engraving of "Isabelle, my beloved" gave a name to this unfortunate soul. Dismayed by the thought of such needless violence, I tucked and folded the white linen as I carefully wrapped the body. When I had finished, I stood in silence for a few minutes in honor of the lost. It is sad occurrences such as this that remind me of the fragility of life; these realms are not kind to those who dare to forget it.

I then retrieved my lantern, and, as if on cue, a guttural bellow reverberated from the pathway in front of me. I removed the firesalt pistol from my rucksack and wrapped it in a strip of linen left over from the sepulture before stowing it in my waistband. Now properly equipped and with my walking stick in hand, I proceeded to the next of many chambers.

The Dampened Descent - After several more unremarkable alcoves, I found myself on the landing of a grand stone stairwell, leading deep into the bowels of the bedrock. While the walls here were still slick with the ever-present moisture, they bore claw marks of substantial size from some unseen monstrosity. My investigation was cut short by a scream, not from a beast, but from a man. It was followed by the monstrous call I heard previously; it appeared the beast had found a new victim. As I rushed down the slick steps, a flickering flame soon became visible, and with it, the silhouette of a man.

I had reached the base of the stairs, and before me lay a man with a broken ankle frantically waving his hastily designed torch at an unholy scourge of the depths.

Den of the Cave Behemoth - The man I would later come to know as Lonzo lay next to me on the cavern floor, his foot bent at an unnatural angle. He was a young man—not a day past 25 if I had to guess—with long blonde hair plaited to the back of his head. Having a thin frame, well-kept hair, and dapper clothes, he did not strike me as the type usually associated with spelunking. No wonder he took a fall trekking down such slippery, steep stairs. There was no time for pleasantries; the Behemoth had seemingly run out of fear—and patience.

Without hesitation I removed my pistol from my waistband, thankful that the cloth kept the damp from the flint. I aimed, cocked, and readied the gun to fire. As if knowledgeable of my intentions, the Behemoth lunged forward with surprising speed given its ample size. I was never much of a marksman, and terror made me forget all of Father's training; I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. The loudness of the blast was disorienting, to put it lightly. Never have I fired it in such a confined space. The wet floor made me lose my footing, and I fell backwards next to my newly found companion.

The Behemoth let loose a mighty bellow, though it swiftly regained its composure. It bore down on us in what I thought were my final moments, and that was when my seeking hand gripped the shaft of my walking stick—gnashing teeth mere feet from my face. I jabbed forward with the stick, embedding it in the freshly made wound on the creature's forehead, and I yanked down hard with all the strength I could muster. The stick broke in half as the Behemoth reeled back, shrieking as it began its retreat.

With the immediate danger now slowly receding, I finally had a moment to address Lonzo properly. He explained that he had slipped down the steps while exploring with his betrothed, Isabelle, who was more accustomed to activities such as this. Unable to carry him, she had left to go find help. The mere mention of her name sent a tinge of panic down my spine—I was ill-prepared to be the bearer of such devastating news. I explained the situation as softly as possible, and, as one would expect, he did not take it well.

Using the remaining piece of my walking stick and the cloth from earlier, I did my best to splint the woeful man's ankle. His mournful sobs were cut short by the enraged snarls emanating from deeper in the cavern. It sounded like the Behemoth was returning with friends in tow, and I did not plan to find out just how many. Lonzo and I began our ascent.

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Our Joyless Withdrawal - The trek back to Pitted Cavern was harrowing, both physically and mentally. Not only did I help carry the burden of Lonzo's heartache, but I braced the weight of his injured leg as well. The sight of his betrothed wrapped in white linen caused another much-warranted outburst, but we didn't have long for mourning. The bellows returned, but this time not from the passageway but from the many pitfalls that littered the floor. With Isabelle in my arms, I pushed Lonzo through the narrow threshold into the entryway. As I squeezed through the gap, I could see several Behemoths rising from the pits. I breathed a deep sigh of relief knowing they could not breach the first chamber. With great caution we exited the Crying Cave—first Lonzo, then poor Isabelle, and lastly myself.

I dug and marked a proper grave for Isabelle as Lonzo watched mournfully. When my work was done, I constructed a small campfire to dry our dampened clothes. We shared a now waterlogged loaf of bread as he told me bittersweet stories of his lost love. They met in the Grand Metropolis nearly two years ago, and they were smitten at first glance. She was an adventurous soul, one not tied down by the monotony of survival; a kindred spirit to myself, if I do say so. She showed him many wondrous places, and they shared much ambition for their future together. It was a shared dream of their's to gather many trinkets and oddities on their adventures to one day open an emporium of sorts in a well-occupied realm. The warmth in his words slowly faded as the reality of the situation once again reaffirmed itself in his mind. A somber silence fell over our makeshift campsite, and we both drifted off to sleep.

When morning came, I bid Lonzo farewell, directing him through Godspire and to my homestead in New Shenandoah. I gave him a letter to explain his circumstances to my family as I gifted him a newly crafted walking stick. Though our time together was short, I do not see myself forgetting it any time soon.

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Traversal

To my knowledge, there are only two ways to come and go from the realm. To the one side of the gorge lay Godspire, a place I never wish to return.

Descending from the cavern in the opposite direction will lead one to Canyon City, my next destination for a much-needed resupply. I've heard many tales of their expansive shops and traders.

The deepest recesses of the cave remain a mystery to me, one I hope to never solve.

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– Ezekiel Murphy