Solo Hot Feet

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

As he ran, footsteps pounding against the red stone beneath, Gomer could feel the strain on his astral left hand and right fingers. Though not at his limit yet, he'd pushed himself, and were the threads had snapped, he could feel the uncomfortable itch of their fray at the start of his knuckles. Sweat running down his face, lungs burning, he finally came to a stop, leaning into one of the many buildings, eyes closed and heart still racing.

He was uncertain how far he'd run, only that he'd taken every branch in the road he'd seen, trying to get as far away from the three individuals as he could. Back pressed against the uncomfortably warm stone, he leaned over with his elbows on his knees and felt his stomach turn. Dry retching, he tried to get a hold on himself as his thoughts began to catch up with him.

The first thing he felt he needed to do was to reattach his fingers, and though he still wasn't certain if he was going to be sick or not, he brought them closer. In in his mind's eye, he could see the silvery threads, woven together in the shape of his fingers, only where usually there would be a neat collection of strings, where the fingers were supposed to connect with his hand, there was a mess of fibers, similar to the effect of a taunt rope snapping.

Keeping with his lessons, Gomer started first from the tips of his fingers, the threads moving easily, but as he neared the frayed ends, it became much more difficult. Slowing his progress to a near stop, Gomer grit his teeth, re-weaving the individual strands back first into a thread, then weaving those threads together. Though his breath came in an erratic rhythm of shaking half-convulsions, he did what he could to try to remain quiet, listening for his pursuers.

The more he worked on the threads, the less focus he had for anything else. There was no way for him to speed up the process, and he let his astral hand rest on the ground beside him. As he was still in the Underground and, with his mind too addled by panic to think to take one of the daggers with him when he had fled, unarmed without his magic, Gomer figured he should keep at least one astral limb ready, even if it he had started to feel the weight of it.

Drawing in a quivering breath through his nose and trying to calmly let it go in a sigh through his mouth, Gomer flexed his fingers, flinching as he felt a sharp pain where he'd connected them, as if his hand were being pinched, but from the inside. He'd been warned such things might happen if he weren't careful with his detachments and reattachments, but having lingered long enough in the sweltering heat, the best he could do was hope that it wasn't permanent.

Using the heel of his right hand to help himself stand up, he felt another wave of nausea rush over him, the sensation of the woman's eyes pressed against his fingers running through his mind. Immediately bringing his hand to his mouth, trying not to bend his tender fingers, Gomer felt his stomach convulse. Jaw clenched, he could taste the bile in his throat but managed to swallow it with a gagging cough. No matter how much his body may have wanted to, he didn't want to waste any water - not if he could help it.

After another attempt at a shallow calming breath - the heat be cursed - he took a look around the area, certain he'd come from the path to his left and evaluating whether to head down the road directly across from him or behind. The buildings were much the same as they had been at the end of the cavern he'd first fallen into. Most were in varying states of ruin, though some seemed sound enough. From what he could tell, none of them housed anyone within them, but the few, more structurally sound buildings could easily have concealed threats within them.

As far as he could recall, he'd passed by no other living things in his expedient retreat, but he couldn't be certain. All he knew was that he needed to get out of the Underground, water or no. At the thought of water, he was reminded of just how hot his sweaty, sticky body had become and how very dry his throat still was. Further rolling up the sleeves of his now filthy shirt, Gomer set his astral hand upon his shoulder, letting it rest there.

He wasn't sure how much time he had left before the limb would feel too heavy to lift, but he couldn't take the chance of having no way to defend himself - not until he was more confident he would be safe without it. Deciding for the path straight ahead, he set off, his pace brisk in spite of his shaking legs. The sooner he found an exit, the sooner he could rest and let himself breakdown. Until then, he needed to keep as level a head as he could.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

In his focus, he hadn't stopped to check anything but his hands. The more he walked, the more he realized that his side was stinging. Thanks to his sweat having since soaked the main places where his shirt made contact with his body, he had not noticed the red bloom that had blossomed across its side, nor that the neat cut from the woman's dagger was the source of a stinging burn that he'd been attributing the heat. Still moving, Gomer grimaced, peeling the hem of his shirt up to the start of his chest with his good hand so he could check his injury.

The salt from his sweat is what stung most, and from what he could tell, the cut wasn't incredibly deep, just bloody. With a groan, he pulled his shirt up and off over his head, using his astral hand to assist his physical. Folding his shirt in half, he wrapped it around the cut, a messy make-shift bandage, and pulled it gently tighter. Using both his physical fingers and his astral ones, he managed to tie if off without too much trouble, but the pressure that helped to staunch the blood flow was now a constant reminder that his side stung - that he'd been stabbed by a dagger.

With the heat's constant, oppressive presence, Gomer trudged on, finding that, with his shirt mostly removed, he did not feel the least bit refreshed. If anything, the occasional rush of flame from the vents scattered across the ground seemed even more blistering and intense than before. Hunching his shoulders, he kept his pace, trying not to think about anything and just keep on.

After a short time, he arrived at another crossroad, this time an intersection of five paths, each leading off down twisted streets, surrounded by old, dilapidated houses and ancient empty businesses. He slowed, not certain which way to go and far less trusting of the city when he was below than when he was above. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement, and immediately he felt his heart rate rise, knees bent in anticipation.

Flicking his eyes over the faces of the buildings, he felt himself relax slightly as he realized he'd been spooked by one of the pillars of flame, having missed the telltale gurgling sound, lost as he'd been in his careful consideration of which way to go. Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, he silently pointed to each path, a little rhyme playing in his head to help him choose.

Close your eyes and wander quick
Down this old crooked street.
Choose the path that's yonder, and
Ionu you may meet.

Finger landing on the route second to the left-most, Gomer nodded and started onward. Another river of molten metal ran beneath what seemed to be a naturally forming bridge of the same ruddy stone, upon which he already tread, up ahead, and he steeled himself for the increase in the already unbearable temperature. His search for water had become quite the expedition, but he was feeling less and less up for it with each step he took, fatigue from his fear, pain from his wounds both physical and astral, and creeping doubt of his continued survival all beginning to catch up with him.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

His astral hand had become a burden, and as he walked, Gomer grimaced at the difficulty with which it took to lift his hand off of his shoulder and settle atop his physical left. Once more recalling his practiced visual map of threads, he carefully began to thread the strings back through, starting with the tips of his fingers and working inward.

Coming to the start of the bridge, his hand reattached once more and feeling sluggish as he flexed his fingers experimentally, Gomer frowned at the blistering heat that radiated from the dull, sweltering orange and red of the river's languidly bubbling contents. Picking up speed in spite of himself, he hurried his way across, eyes squinted against the rising heat. When he had made it across, cautiously opening his eyes and glancing around, he found he was in another cavern, similar to where he'd found himself when he'd first entered the Underground, only there was only one path ahead of him, surrounded on either side by the same molten metal.

Checking behind him, Gomer found that the way back had become a wall of solid, red stone. Too tired to be surprised and finding that the development was a relatively good one, he started down the path before him, head tucked into the bend of his right arm that he raised to try to shield his face from the worst of the heat. He could feel the sting of his cut deaden slightly as the waves of heat rushed over him, and thankful that, at least, a part of him felt less worse for the time being, he pushed forward.

By the time he noticed the sound of trickling water, he'd walked for at least a handful of chimes. Having been staring at the ground directly in front of him to minimize how much of his face he needed to leave open to the lake of fire's heat, he ventured a tentative peer over his arm's protective shield. Up ahead, having either been hidden by the wavering mirage of the lake's heat or simply concealed by illusion, was a dark wall of stone. The path widened, creating an uneven semi-circle area with an equally curved border of a wall, and Gomer hurried his way over, the sound of water growing louder with each of his equally eager steps.

When he was close enough to examine the wall in detail, he realized that the darkness was caused by a thick steam that rolled off it. Trickling down its rugged face was, what Gomer presumed to be, boiling water - but it was still water. Pulling his leather flask from his belt, the fingers in his right hand sending sharp bursts of pinching pain up through his arm as he bent them in his haste, he uncapped the flask and stared at the boiling wall, a frown of pain on his lips from his hand and worry about how exactly he was going to get the splashing, burning liquid into his flask without burning himself.

Using his hands - both those of flesh and those of spirit - was out of the question. His shirt, wrapped as it was about his torso, was best left in place, especially as the cut had since begun to throb and he imagined it was better to keep it covered. That left... his feet. Glancing around the small area, Gomer picked a spot about halfway between the edge were the stone met the liquid metal and were the water filled wall dripped. The water, no matter how much fell, seemed to evaporate before it hit the ground, though the trickling flow never seemed to lessen.

Practicing with his actual body first, Gomer eased himself onto the ground, finding that the stone was hot enough that he didn't want to linger there for long, and set the water skin between his boots. He tested to see how much pressure he would need to apply, and when he felt confident enough given the short amount of time he'd allowed himself to practice, he drew a steadying, shallow breath and closed his eyes.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

Focusing on the woven strands of light that threaded through his feet and ankles, he began to gently tug and pull at them. Already worn, the strings were a bit more stubborn than they had been the first time he'd unthreaded them, but with some steady breaths and cautious coaxing, he was able to work his way down from his ankles, through his feet, and out to his toes without too much trouble. As he began to meticulously unweave the single threads that kept the limbs attached to his body as whole, he could feel the heat of the stone uncomfortably reminding him that it was best to move quickly.

Feet falling numb and useless in his boots, his newly freed astral limbs wrapped their toes around the flask and lifted it up into the air. Clearing his throat and preparing himself for the inevitable splashes of burning pain that would certainly hurt but wouldn't leave lasting damage at it would have had he used his flesh and blood, Gomer pushed the flask forward. His right foot had stuck the mouth of the flask in the space between his big toe and his shorter toes while his left supported it from the bottom.

Letting out a hiss as he misjudged how far to push the flash, the boiling water splashed over the top of his foot with a biting sear. Pulling back and trying again, Gomer held the lip of the flask steady, leaning it against the wall's surface to steady it as the water began to flow in. Smaller drops of scorching water flecked their way onto his astral feet, and Gomer couldn't help but to visibly wince each time. Still, the flask steadily filled and he continued to adjust the force of the pressure from his bottom foot to support it.

A small, muted grunt of pain eeked out through his clenched jaw as the water ran over, spilling onto him. Jerking his feet back, the flask wobbled over to him, and he gingerly removed it from his foot's grip, making sure to tightly seal it before re-strapping it to his belt.

Settling his astral feet over his boots, Gomer's backside had heated to the point of discomfort bordering on the stinging kind of pain one felt when one's bath was too hot. Taking a steadying breath, he started, for what he hoped would be the last time that day, bringing up the mental map of iridescent strings to the forefront of his mind.

[Gomer Caitiff]

85 Winter 517 AV

Steadily working the threads back through their proper places in first his toes, then his feet, Gomer struggled a bit with the ankles, the manner in which the strings threaded their way through his bones a bit different than that of his more mobile wrists. With the hot rocks beneath him, an increasingly distressing motivator, he grit his teeth and used his left hand to help him better visualize by picking and pulling at the invisible strings in his mind. His right hand, with his fingers still pinched with pain, remained gingerly supporting his water flask, not wanting it to rest on the torrid stone beneath him for fear it may burn or that some other unlucky event might occur.

Finally tying off his ankles, Gomer wiggled his toes in his boot, the burns from the water still sore but a bit less so now that his astral form was properly housed where it belonged. Finding that everything was, more or less, connected correctly, he quickly scrambled to his feet, patting at his buttocks and finding the hot air to be a welcome relief from the stove upon which he'd been sitting.

With water finally in hand, he carefully uncapped the lid, steam rising in a small billow from the water's surface. Hot or not, it was still water and his parched throat found it sating. Only allowing himself two sips, the first tentatively testing the temperature and the second a more liberal, burning swig, he recapped it, having no idea how long he would need it to last him and doubting he'd be able to find the wall of water again, not that he even wished to return any time soon to the dangerous, flaming stockade that was the Underground. Inclining his head toward the wall, he whispered a thankful prayer to his city's deity.

He'd been through quite a bit already, but as he raised his head he resolved not to dwell on anything all until he was back in the cold, open air. Turning in a slow circle, Gomer examined the walls, looking for a door or a path or-

There, hidden partially by the steam so that he had passed it over the first couple times, he spotted a crevice in the wall, large enough for him to pass through if he turned to the side. Without wasting any more time, he slipped between the stone, doing his best not to touch the calescent walls, glad that his frame was one prone to agility not brute strength. Still, as he moved, he chest and back occasionally brushed against igneous rock, small hisses of discomfort echoing through the cramped space.

It felt like bells before he realized the temperature had begun to fall, but as soon as Gomer noticed that the air no longer felt as though he were breathing flames, his shuffling pace quickened and he was not nearly as careful to avoid touching the rocks around him. By the time he finally emerged, from what appeared to be a dark, narrow ally, Gomer's legs were shaking and his bare chest, covered in scratches and scrapes, heaved heavy breaths out and in. Falling onto his hands and knees, weakly laughing, he stared down at the white, freezing snow with a relieved smile.

Crunching footsteps sounded to his left, "Boy, are you alright?"

Turning his head to face the man, Gomer nodded weakly, "I... yes. It would seem so, thank Ionu."

"Wait..." The man frowned, his bristly red beard like a crimson cloud about his squat, square head. "Were you the lad that fell into the well?"

Blinking, confused, Gomer frowned, "How did you-?"

"Oi, he's over here!" The man cupped his mouth and shouted upward. Smiling down at him, eyes friendly, he explained with a gentle, "Someone's been looking for you."

Around the corner, Gomer caught sight of a harry, worried face. Surprisingly agile for one so large, the jamoura hurried over to him, helping him to his feet and tutting as she took in his bedraggled appearance. "The damned rope snapped. I've have some people out looking for you." With a concerned frown, she shook her head. "Ah, but you're a mess. Let's get you cleaned up and taken care of."

Quietly retelling what had happened after she'd felt the rope break, the jamoura helped him down the street, the two of them searching for Ionu's Mercy. It showed itself around the time her story ended, after several streets and corners were passed fruitlessly, and, standing in front of a the small garden that the Mercy had chosen for its front, she wished him luck, never once asking him about where he'd been or what had happened after he'd disappeared into the darkness. Watching her retreating back, Gomer smiled, glad that she'd at least tried to help him.

Stepping through the Mercy's door, he felt all the events of the day come crashing down on him, and as one the nurses helped him to a cot, Gomer let himself close his eyes and drifted off to weary sleep.