🍁Nine Ancient Obelisks

*** -- Brother, buddy, pal, bring us some scorpions... Silence. -- Hey, you know Noddavariza? Silence. -- Hey, I see you're a decent guy. You're not afraid of the four-eyes, are you? If the water is clean this time, well, who will suffer? Silence. *** Zabiba wins. -- Checkers aren't really my thing... Okay, that's my third loss, so I owe you three scoops of slop today... What day is it? -- Third. -- Fifth. -- I think it's the second, so there's no need to panic yet. -- Because you're a heartless Calcite brute... -- Are you smart or something? Fine, let's play checkers with Zibaba, since you're so smart... *** Rustling. -- Ilich? Shramych? Rustling. Rustling. A quiet, swift patter. Ushumgallu jumps up, ready to pounce like a wild cat. -- Over here! Bring it here! He still has enough strength for one more jump – easily leaping over the first neighbor, he catches up to the source of the rustling among the folds of the second's clothing. He feels around for the trophy – the tiny heart of the rodent beats frantically as long nails dig into its skin. -- What a fat one, huh, – he bites into the rat's nape, savoring the warmth of the living creature with his lips. – Who should I share it with? *** Drip. Drip. Hrr. Someone – in this darkness and filth, all the male cellmates with dirty faces, gaunt features, and greasy hair look like kindred spirits – is standing by the slop bucket, hands near his belt. The man is trembling, and drops of the mysterious yellow liquid fall past the target. Not that the smell could get any worse. -- Red, huh? – asks Ushumgallu. -- Uh-huh... -- Same here. Looks like they poured sand in it, huh? -- A-ah... -- But don't drink it, you'll be okay! O-ho-ho! A hollow, raspy laugh echoes off the walls, and the whole Dungeon laughs along with Ushumgallu. *** They're served the slop for the twelfth time. Definitely. The slop sloshes differently than water. Boom. Splosh. There's food, but you have to get up. "Getting up" isn't appealing. One of them has a fever – being near him is now a privilege. If you get up, someone will take your spot, and you'll be left without a warm body next to you. It will be cold. But if you don't eat, it will also be cold. Better to sleep. Sleeping isn't cold. Sleeping isn't hungry... Sleeping can be scary, but being awake isn't any easier. He feels something under his shirt, right near his heart. Sticky. Salty. Maybe a rat bit him? It would be better if it were a rat. They're tastier than slop. You could even put it on a leash and enter it in rat races. One rat was almost tame. They even gave it a name. Hogun. But then Hogun bit someone's ear and tore off a piece. And then it was gone. They didn't tame any more rats. *** Ushumgallu confidently jumps onto the capital's platform – or so it seems to him. His sore legs almost buckle under the unfamiliar strain. -- We're still alive, – after everything they've been through, reminding everyone of this fact wouldn't hurt. Who's alive is still not entirely clear; Zibaba has already scampered off somewhere. Where? In their current state, it would be embarrassing to even enter the Temple of Nanya. – We? Who are we? Where are we? Unaccustomed eyes are blinded, and his brain is permeated with the viscous dampness of the underground forever. -- Well... personally, I'm going to lie down for a bit. I could really use a trip to the Ninamiato beaches... Passersby look at him like he's crazy – why? He can only offer a sheepish smile in response – then they won't doubt his sanity.