(Secret Sewers) Oubliette

[Yumyumcrow]

There is a whole city underground.

The sewer system neatly reflects the surface streets at the city's core. And then there are the offshoots - later developments as the city spread south and east. Tunnels. Tunnels everywhere. Not all of them navigable.

Then there are the flood mitigation works.

Then there are the original streets now buried under Old Sacramento - and not just the ones of the official record.

Colonel John Davis is happy to admit that he is... lost... right now. He had been looking for the Party Den and took a wrong turn.

No! Not a wrong turn! His maps had been been good. The wall of a much later date had been unexpected had he was forced to make a detour. At some point he must have gotten turned about but his situational awareness informed him the Party Den had to be close - he was just in an unfamiliar and unmarked area.

These tunnels were old and with low ceilings. Mud - thick, crusted and dry - made his passage a struggle. If he had needed to breathe, he would have been choking on the stagnant, dusty air, thick as molasses. No light, save what he bought with him or his natural talents could provide.

He almost missed the sound tricking from a side passage: a sob, a cry, a laugh, an unintelligible chatter.

@JonReeves John Davis

[Yumyumcrow]

The side passage is narrow and clogged with dust and debris. He would have needed to have been skilled in the stealthy arts of quiet movement to navigate the confined space. The magic lamp throws up a dim light of moving figures, which only serves to add a further alien aspect to the passage.

Stout old brick work, caked in dust. Rusting old objects and the broken bones of old furniture. A disfigured doll poking up through the clot of dried mud. A dead rat, mummified, glares from a hole.

The end of the tunnel has been partially blocked by junk. Beyond, a room yawns wide in the seething darkness.

Davis' super keen eyesight is aided by his meagre light. The magic lantern reflects of shards of glass, hanging from the ceiling by strings. He can make out the shape of old full sized mirrors arranged at the cardinal points. Where the light casts its dim rays, he can make out words and inscriptions on the walls, and an exit - a heavy door - in the opposite wall.

At the heart of the room is an old iron bed, a chest of drawers, a small table with assorted items on it, and a high backed arm chair.

A frail figure whose features are obscured by a mass of wild hair is chained to the bed. Tossing, the bed clothes are twisted about them. The voices all come from the same source: the figure on the bed.

The stagnant air carries within it all the charnel smells of imprisoned humanity: food, piss, shit, sweat.

Blood.

For reference - John can see into the room. The junk blocks his physical access but he could force his way through with Strength + Athletics.

[Yumyumcrow]

Davis pauses to take stock of his surroundings.

The passage is not trapped - not intentionally at least. Clogged with the flotsam of time, more like it: rather than spend time and resources clearing away rubbish and junk, council workers have simply piled it in an out of the way space. Given the cakes of dried mud covering everything, there is also the distinct possibility that many of the remains were simply washed there during a flood - and when the water receded they were left behind.

Now the blockage at the end of the passage is of much more deliberate intent. That was designed to seal up the space where the passage opened into the chamber beyond. Complacency or lack of time has ensured that once the spot was ignored once the initial blockage was put in place.

And the chamber? From what Davis can see, there are no traps - just what he takes to be a ritual space.

The chamber has a door - a metal door with a lock. But the lock looks to be on the outside. He would be able to open the door, but if it shut behind him, he'd need a key or lock picks.

[Yumyumcrow]

Colonel John Davis is an intrepid explorer!

Still... It is probably a good thing that no one is watching as the old Southern gentleman wrestles his way down the passageway.

Mud sticks fast to him. Junk snags, bangs and bumps him. If his flesh was warm and living he would be torn and bleeding. As it is, he just scratched and cut.

And stuck before the more solid mass of the plug into the inner chamber; it is simply more solid than the rest of the rubbish and given his choked surroundings, Davis can't really bring his strength to bear against it.

Davis suffers 2B from assorted bangs, prangs, and cuts - if he were alive he'd be bleeding, but given the strange nature of Kindred Vitae, he is not.

[Yumyumcrow]

Precious Vitae burns in his veins. Burns as it boils away through use and effort. His sinews surge and flex with an unholy power...

That very nearly does not serve the Daeva well at all.

John Davis battles the passageway like a legendary hero of old wrestling a dragon.

He barely makes it.

He doesn't make it.

Rather, his movements cause a cascade effect that spills rubbish back into the tunnel from which he had come. Fortunately for Davis, he is expelled as well; left squatting in a fan of debris and filth. Behind him, the passage to the hidden chamber is a seething ocean of dust and dirt, hanging disturbed and angry in the foetid air.

It will be even harder to cross next time.