Throne of the Rot Queen

by Mystic Mind

Chapter 3

Despite Gwendoline’s haste, Gilda insisted they take their time in descending the long, spiral staircase. There was no telling how far down this place went, or how much of it was still structurally sound. It would do no one any good for the rescuers to end up trapped or injured themselves.

Gwendoline said she had no idea how long ago Honey Twist had left. She had apparently taken the only torch between them, leaving Gwen to sit in total darkness, hoping against all odds that she’d manage to find a way out. It was a stroke of luck that Gilda went to explore the castle.

Though Gilda didn’t say it out loud, the length of their descent didn’t offer much hope. Were it not for the steepness and tight turns, she would’ve sworn she was being led around in circles. This crypt – or crypts, since Gwendoline seemed to have explored a little before finding herself trapped – had been dug much further down than should have been practical, if even completed at all. It wouldn’t have surprised Gilda if they ended up at the bottom of the Abysmal Abyss.

She had only just learnt of this place’s existence, and her mind was practically bursting with questions. Why go to such lengths to hide a burial crypt, if this was its purpose? And why dig so far underground?

Though she didn’t want to admit it out loud, Gilda had found herself hooked on the mystery; she needed to know more.

Eventually, after what felt like hours descending, the two gryphons finally made it to the bottom. The entrance wasn’t sealed off, instead greeting the would-be visitors with a simple stone archway. As Gilda held up her torch, she noticed an inscription carved above the keystone.

“Here they lie, the dreamers eternal. Disturb not their peace, their souls’ rest final.”

Amongst the many things Griffons had been known for over the years, their poetry skills weren’t one of them. Though out of all the artistic endeavours Gilda had seen her kind attempt over the years, this by comparison wasn’t especially terrible. She supposed it could have been a pony-inspired eulogy, but there was one word which struck her as unusual.

Why did they describe the dead as ‘dreamers’?

“Gilda!” Gwendaline whined, looking back from beyond the threshold. “What’s the hold up?”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Gilda snapped. This was why she didn’t like children. They were always so demanding, pushing and pushing until the adults were on their last nerve until they gave in or snapped.

Brushing back the cobwebs, Gilda kept her eyes peeled for any additional torches in the room. With a place as tinder dry as this, she had to be careful where she held her fire, lest the whole area go up in a blaze. Sure enough, an iron torch hung on the wall beside her, right at the eye level. The leftover fuel ignited the second her own flame touched it.

Her heart almost leapt out of her chest as she came face to face with a dead gryphon’s skull.

“Gilda? Is everything okay?” Gwendoline asked, tilting her head.

“I should be the one asking that,” Gilda grumbled under her breath. Louder, she said, “I’m fine. Just keep moving so we can find where your buddy went.”

“There’s only one tunnel, as far as I’ve seen. She can’t have gotten far.” Gwendoline’s tone was calm and to the point, much more composed than the scared child who’d been begging for Gilda to let her out before. She couldn’t imagine greeting dead bodies as a pleasant sight for someone like her, especially without the means to light her way.

Gilda pursed her beak, clenching her free talon hard over the stick of her makeshift torch. This was ridiculous. She’d not been down here five minutes and already she was getting spooked by the dead. What was she expecting? A Pinkie Pie-style festival?

“Alright,” she said, composing herself. “But let’s take our time. There could be branching paths later on.”

Lighting another torch hanging from a central pillar in the room, Gilda revealed that the skull wasn’t a one-off loose bone. Hundreds, if not thousands of skulls and assorted bones lined the walls, wedged in tight against each other. Constructing this place must have been a grisly task indeed. How long had this place been under construction for? Certainly long enough to amass such a vast amount of dead.

There were several gaps in the walls that held coffins, though these were a paltry quantity in comparison to all the bones surrounding it. She supposed old Griffonstone only offered full burial as a luxury. It’d explain why sky burial had caught on – much less work, with no special privileges offered.

Holding her torch to the darker edges, she noticed that these skulls had been fashioned in-between evenly cut stone tiles, tessellating in a way that covered the entire surrounding rock. It sounded like a waste of time to her, though it could be considered further evidence toward her theory of rich griffon’s burial rights.

These tiles were harder to see in the gloom, but from what Gilda could make out, each one was adorned with a small pattern, two mirrored humps with a dot in the centre, representing an eye.

Gilda felt a chill breeze rustle through her feathers. This whole place was the definition of creepy. It was strange how no griffon had thought to renovate the place; it would make the perfect Nightmare Night attraction for tourists. She made a mental note to pitch the idea to the griffon high council tomorrow, as this was a potential boon to their local economy just waiting to be exploited.

Holding the torch low, Gilda swayed it back and forth as she walked, keeping an eye out for any potential trip hazards. This came with an unfortunate side effect, however. From the corner of her vision, she could almost swear the eye-tiles were watching her, following her as she walked past.

It was a ridiculous notion, of course. They were just decorations. Any magic that Griffons possessed was passive, aiding in their strength and ability to fly. There was nothing for them to make enchantments with, much less cast them.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of just how eerie it was. No matter how many times she looked back, the tiles were always the same, as if they were taunting her with a childish game of ‘red-light, green-light’.

Gilda made a good pace in crossing the room, walking at a steady trot. With her gaze focused mostly on the floor, she relied on the chub ahead of her to avoid bumping into anything unpleasant. Every few paces, she did look back up, keeping an eye out for any more hidden doors or unstable structures. Every time she looked back, however, she appeared to be no closer to leaving the room.

Like everything that had come before it, this, too, had its own justification. As with the stairs, the darkness and confined space messed with her depth perception. So why, after the fifth time in so many minutes, had she not left the chamber?

Had she left the chamber after all, only to come into another? Each crypt could look the same, but there had to be some differences – she was certainly looking for them. After the fifth time she spotted the same lit torches in the corner and centre, then she knew something was off.

She didn’t think she’d been turned around. Unless…

“Hold it right there, kiddo,” Gilda scowled, but Gwendoline just kept on walking, a small cloud of dust kicking up from her hind hooves “Hey, Gwendoline, hold up already! I don’t know what kind of game you think this is, but knock it off!”

No answer, still. Had she gone deaf all of a sudden? Gilda opened her beak to speak again, only to be cut off by a sudden rattling sound. A pile of bones collapsed to the floor just to the left of her.

More threads of spider silk fluttered past her, yet she felt no breeze. The contradictions of this crypt were piling up fast. She looked back down, noticing too late the skull rolling underfoot. The old bone crunched beneath her talon, but there was more than that. She felt a thick squelch, too. She hoped that wasn’t what she thought it was.

“Dreamers, awaken….”

“Gwendoline, what–”

She felt it. A sudden, cold exhalation blowing on the back of her neck.

Dropping her torch, Gilda grabbed Gwendoline and threw her on her back, bolting away with no concern for what she broke. Finally, the door came up to greet her, torches already lit as she skidded round the corner.

This missing filly had to be somewhere. One way or another, she was going to find her and drag her out. The sooner she left this damn creepy place behind, the better.