apostatised | [log] the world isn't going to end just because we've done everything wrong

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[log] the world isn't going to end just because we've done everything wrong

In the work Severus is doing for Martel, some of the requirements also include 'Martel coming along'. Most notably: the cave system hidden by the castle itself. It'll likely be Styric spells that ensure the caves' stability - he'd already been quietly working on that himself before he ever heard the name 'Severus Snape' or thought of having him work on the castle and grounds.

Some people just get coffee, guys. Alas, no; Martel and Severus are spending their day underground, since not even the most recent castle layouts had a wholly reliable account of the caves.

It's entirely likely that this is asking - begging - for trouble.

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Maps are handy, and as they don't have a complete one, Severus has charmed and worked material back at the castle to fill out where they walk about, today. It'll be helpful in the future.

"...Does the ground always shift subtly like this?"

Because it has been. Very, very slowly.

And it's not the foundation.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he reflects that he knew these caves were going to give him a headache sooner or later. He's disagreeable that way.

"No. No, it doesn't."

Just his bloody luck. Theirs, even. Martel narrows his eyes, warily and discreetly casting out with his mind for any signs of something down here with them that might actually have some kind of desperately inconvenient consciousness.

"There are certain sorts of ancient species," Severus begins, bending down for a moment to poke at the dirt and rock beneath his feet, as if reading something, "that are particularly adept at disguising their life-presence. Have you ever lost an employee down here?"

"Not yet," Martel says, grimacing in the dark - he has a very small staff, you know, he can't exactly spare them. (And he'd never hear the end of it from Candice and Eirene if somebody got killed in the caves.)

(His light down here, for reference, is at the tip of a knife - two birds with one stone, and all.)

"Cursed creatures are hidden from detection, besides," he notes, after a moment. It has the unspoken addendum 'where I'm from', because everybody present is aware that there are no multiversal truths. Just some that are more common than others.

Creatures or people, as a further note, but one person tooling around the caves probably wouldn't fuck with their centre of gravity, now, would they?

"No humans getting eaten is a good sign, you know," he says, and that's almost chipper-sounding. For him. Which is to say, not really. But it's the thought that counts.

After a moment, Severus decides: "You've got something underground."

Styric isn't quite as impressive to swear in as Troll, but Martel doesn't speak Troll (and has no desire to learn), so he'll just have to make do, albeit briefly. Sometimes Elenic just can't quite get the sentiment across as effectively as he'd like.

"That's inconvenient." Really, Martel. "I don't suppose you'd give me an estimate of exactly how inconvenient."

"Well, it is shifting the ground..."

That would be potentially very inconvenient, Martel.

"Whatever it is, it's probably curious about the wardwork."

Martel's a sorcerer and a scholar, but at the end of the day, mostly he's cranky and violent. He does rein in his first impulse to find it, kill it and wonder what it is later - while this might end up being more or less what needs to be done, he didn't make the name for himself that he did by jumping the gun.

(He did manage to quite often find reasons to find things and/or people and kill them. To be fair.)

After a pause, he exhales. "We might have to convince it to mind its own damn business, then." Or kill it. Look, he's had a stressful few months, please let him kill something-

Stifle, Martel.

"If your roof was being warded to hell and odd people were traipsing about through it, would you mind your own business?"

Just asking.

"Alternately, I haven't killed anything in a bit."

Look at that, two answers in one go.

"There you are, then."

Severus stands, brushing his hands together. It's a wonder how he still manages to look elegant in clothes suited to this sort of excursion. Something about being oh so dark and tragic, perhaps.

"I suppose we'll have to actually figure out what it is, though."

It's probably something like how Martel is still so easily picked out as a noble born. (If his hair hadn't lost its colour, their weird similarities could be even weirder, you know.)

"Different creatures requiring different methods," he agrees, thoughtfully. "And for the sake of not bringing the mountain, castle and all, down on our heads."

He sounds so cheerful about that. Only dead men, swear to god.

"Well, I can Apparate."

Your ass however would be squished, Martel. They are friends, see? See?

"Native legends...?"

Severus and Martel have a very special definition of friends wherein neither of them use that word ever.

"It'd be just my luck to have something out of Nahgharash buried under my sodding castle," he reflects, half to himself, brushing the back of his knuckles against his mouth. "Rumours around this area mostly talk about the castle being haunted." Which it isn't; it was one of the things Candice remarked on the first time she came here. "Murder-suicide is the commonly accepted story. Something Daeva left behind lurking under the mountain might clarify a few things."

Martel reflects for a moment, and mutters something that might've been deliver me from pouting godlings, for the love of- but probably wasn't because he is a respectful and pious man. (Okay, no, it probably was.)

"The Arums aren't a superstitious people." He says this as if occasionally it's a nuisance and/or personal failing of theirs, for the record, and he's thinking out loud while he tests the area, cautiously.

"I've no idea what Nahgharash is," he says, though despite having no knowledge, he manages to pronounce it exact as Martel did.

"Good for them, pity for us. We'll likely have to go lower."

"Simplifying for the sake of my having not cared previously, Nahgharash is what this universe has instead of 'hell'," Martel supplies. (It's probably a good thing he routinely doesn't go anywhere but his own rooms unarmed. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean it's never justified.)

Thinking, now - it's a nuisance when you know something significant happened, and recently, but your best sources of information have half the story and none of the parts that would be genuinely useful to you right now. "If we're lucky, though I'd hate to break such a streak, it'll be a weakened holdover. This world's still resettling after their last great war."

"Pleasant."

Severus peeks into an alcove.

"Is there a way down, do you know?"

Martel takes a good look with his light/knife and nods, pointing. "This way. There's another cavern beneath us."

Severus walks with him, wand in hand, now. He's perfectly capable in dark spooky caves, but he does still look a bit put-out by it all despite it. Apparently he thinks things should just do him the favor of dying on their own.

As they walk, Martel switches knife out for sword - and it's quite a sword, too. He's replaced the one he acquired (stole) on arrival in the nexus with one made for him, matching the suit of armour he never wears anyway.

Severus needs no armor nor weapon - his magic is quite enough. He can kill people by pointing a stick at them or thinking a word really intensely. It's almost cheating.

Okay, it's seriously, completely for real cheating.

Partway down and they start hearing things.

"Comforting," he observes mildly.

Church Knights - of which Martel hasn't been one for years and years and years, but it's the kind of training that stays in your bones and your blood - are knights first, sorcerers second. Some of them better at one thing or the other (or, like Martel, too good at everything for anyone's comfort), but you won't often find someone from any of the Orders who won't reach for their sword before they start muttering darkly in Styric.

"I'm always most comfortable when something wants to kill me," Martel says, dryly, "The familiar, you know."

"Well it'd be nostalgic, anyway."

Creeping around dark caves, giant fuck all monsters after them. It's practically home-like.

Monster related nostalgia would probably involve summoning it personally - Martel, possibly wisely, keeps that thought to himself. He is capable of restraint (along with a worrying capacity for patience).

"Dark creatures are always so much more difficult to blackmail."

He's never actually tried. For the record.

"Well, you can, but there's the passive aggressive harassment and stalking after you have to deal with."

Severus has.

For the record.

There's a thoughtful silence while Martel mentally connects this to a conversation he once had about amorous trolls.

"Yes. That is exactly how pleasant it is."

"Charming," Martel murmurs, and then their path opens up into the lower cavern.

After another thoughtful silence, he murmurs, so mild, "Does the floor look like it's breathing to you?"

"A little, yes. Which is moderately disconcerting." He sounds casual, as if they were discussing the weather.

The subterranean weather, yes. Martel briefly reflects that if there's a dragon in his mountain, afterwards he'll have to laugh 'til he cries, but lucky for him the likelihood is fairly slim.

(Would be funny, though.)

"Large," he says, considering.

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[log] the world isn't going to end just because we've done everything wrong

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