Grand Game 398: The Lower Levels (Patreon)

The stairs leading down to the fortress’ storerooms were guarded, at least in principle. The two soldiers on duty were slovenly and their uniforms unkempt. The door beyond them hung open and both held mugs of ale in their hands.

Getting past would be easy, and for a moment I was tempted to simply stroll past the pair, but prudence won out in the end. Slowing down, I checked my surroundings. The adjacent corridors were busy, but no one was watching me or the guards.

It was time to act. Drawing psi, I spun the weaves of a familiar spell and reached into the minds of the two soldiers.

You have cast slaysight.

You have hidden your presence from 2 of 2 targets for 40 seconds.

The spell went off without a hitch, blinding the guards to me. Maintaining my unhurried pace, I ducked past their sloshing mugs and windmilling arms, and slipped through the door.

Beyond, I found a wide staircase spiraling downwards. It was empty, which was all to the good. I was now in an area that was off-limits to even the castle servants. No disguise would serve to protect me here. I suspected, whatever face I wore, a lone figure, would be looked on with suspicion by the passing patrols. And the sub-levels were heavily patrolled. That much at least Algar had been able to tell me.

It was time to forgo deception in favor of stealth.

I glanced upwards. Magelights dotted the ceiling, but their light was a subdued, gentle glow instead of a harsh glare, leaving shadows aplenty along the staircase’s edges. Bracing my back against the closest wall, I enfolded myself in darkness.

You are hidden.

I was ready. With my senses extended, I tiptoed down the stairs. My mindsight was still disturbingly blank, which was a surprise. I’d expected that the shield protecting the sub-levels would begin at the threshold I’d just crossed, but it obviously didn’t—I’d received no warning from the Game.

Perhaps, it begins at the base of the stairs. Which I supposed would serve just as well. Shrugging away the mystery, I continued onwards.

The staircase was a short one, and after what I judged to be a full revolution, it exited onto the lower level. As the floor came into sight, I drew to a halt, my feet firmly planted on the last step.

There was no matching door on the storeroom level—nor guards, only empty corridors. Peeking around the wall, I studied the passages to my left and right. Both were empty, as was the one dead ahead.

Hmm.

The lack of a second guard post was curious. Perhaps, they’d been deemed unnecessary given the teams rumored to patrol the level. It mattered little, but before I could enter the level-proper there was one more check I needed to perform.

Raising my right hand, I rubbed on the side of my helm.

You have activated a sorcerer’s coif.

You have detected a hostile spell!  The target is a tier 5 damping field: scryer’s bane.

My eyes narrowed. The protections the possessed had woven about the lower levels were more extensive than I’d expected. A damping field was not more akin to a debuff than it was to a ward. I would endure its effects the entire time I remained in the area it encompassed—and I had the feeling that included the entirety of both lower levels.

What this particular damping field did was debatable, though. At the very least, I expected it would disable my mindsight. Beyond that, I couldn’t say.

There was no point delaying further. If I wanted to get to Castor, I had to enter the field, and it was best I did that when no one was around to observe me. On that thought, I stepped off the staircase and onto the storeroom floor.

You are scry-locked. While scry-locked, you are prevented from using any remote observation ability of tier 4 and below. This includes both psionic abilities and mana-based spells.

Duration: infinite. The debuff will remain in effect as long as you remain within the scryer’s bane damping field.

The Game alert came as no surprise.

Still, I remained motionless while I took stock. As expected, my mindsight had forcibly closed, restricting me to only what I could perceive with my physical senses.

My other abilities remained unaffected though, and the scry-locked debuff didn’t appear to be causing me any physical harm, which was a relief. “Ghost, can you hear me?”

“Of course, Prime,” came the immediate response. “Is something wrong?”

“No. My mindsight has been blocked. I was checking if we could still communicate.”

“You are in the lower levels?”

“I am.”

“Do you need me to manifest?”

“Not yet. Let me find Castor first. Until then, I don’t want to—”

I broke off, my gaze turning left, drawn by the sound of tramping feet.

An infantry squad had just turned a distant corner and had come into sight. This group of soldiers was nothing like the pair above. Their hauberks and weapons were in impeccable condition, and their eyes were hard as they roved over the surroundings.

“We’ll speak later, Ghost. I’ve got company.” My eyes darted between the central and right passages. Both were empty, and for a moment I hesitated in deciding which corridor to enter. I didn’t have a layout for this floor. All Algar had been able to tell me was that the prison entrance was at the far end of the level. For now, I would have to guess which path offered the shortest route to my objective.

The central passage it is, I decided and crept forward.

✵ ✵ ✵

Multiple hostile entities have failed to detect you!

Multiple hostile entities have failed to detect you!

The storeroom level was a maze of corridors and large rooms, all helpfully labeled to identify their contents. The patrols were as common as I feared, but thankfully, the many side passages and rooms themselves provided me with numerous hiding spots, and I was easily able to avoid detection.

Unfortunately, the floor’s architecture worked against me, too, confounding my sense of direction—even with the help of the pioneer’s compass to guide me—and it was only after a good thirty minutes spent wandering the maze that I finally located the exit to the next level.

Sitting on my haunches in the T-junction, I considered the downward spiraling staircase. There was no door barring my way, nor guards for that matter. So far, the lower levels were not living up to their reputation. Except for the roving patrols, security had been lax. Would the prison level be any different? I shrugged. Only one way to find out.

Rising into a half-crouch, I padded down the stairs, and shortly, came to its end. This time, a door blocked my progress. Coming to a halt, I studied the obstacle.

The door was unwarded but stoutly constructed from steel and wood and looked like it had been made to endure heavy assault. There was no lock, but on the upper half of the door was a small grille window. And from beyond I could hear voices.

Guards.

Inching forward, I crept up to the door, and the voices grew louder.

“… I win!”

“By hell, you do. That’s only a pair of Jacks you’re holding.”

“Yeah? And what do you have, sarge, that can beat that?”

“How about trip-aces?”

I reached the door just as muted groans and loud cheers erupted from beyond. Listening carefully, I counted. There were five distinct voices—more guards than I cared to try dealing with silently. They were still making a racket, though, so setting aside my disappointment, I checked the door by pushing gently against it.

It didn’t budge.

Given that there was no lock, it had to mean the door was barred from the inside. My lips twisted sourly. It was another complication I didn’t need.

How am I going to raise the bar from this side?

I could charm the guards and force them to open it that way, but I would be forced to kill them thereafter, and leaving dead bodies in my wake was a good way of making sure the alarm was raised.

So, no killing—and no charming. What other options did I have?

Not a helluva lot. Glancing up, I studied the grille window. At a guess, it was for the guards to eyeball the prison’s visitors before they let them in. Could I bluff my way past?

I rubbed my lips, contemplating the idea. Trying to do so would be risky. I didn’t know who exactly was allowed access to the prisons, and while there were a few faces I could try—Cilia’s or Avery’s for instance—the possibility that the guards would require a code word made me hesitate. If they became suspicious and decided to sound the alarm, there was little I could do to stop them from this side of the door

No trying to bluff my way through, I decided. What did that leave?

I could teleport past the door—the grille window would give me line of sight to a suitable target—but if my stealth failed, and the chances that it would in a room full of guards was high, I would have to kill them all.

Right, I don’t like any of those options. What else was there?

I slowly unbent. There was one other possibility. It required using a mix of deception and mental trickery. It might not work either, but if it didn’t, at least I would be no worse off than with any of the other options I considered. First, though, I needed to determine the layout of the room beyond the door.

With my back braced against the door and as much of my face and head shielded from view, I peeked around the grille window and into the room.

Five hostile entities have failed to detect you!

The guards came into view. They were gathered around a small table on the right side of the chamber, laughing and backslapping each other as they studied the cards arrayed on it.

I leaned over further.

Five hostile entities have failed to detect you!

More of the chamber came into focus. Two magelights were bolted onto the ceiling—their light harsh and bright. Weapon racks lined the left wall, and directly opposite me was another door—presently open. There was one last thing to check.

Activating my sorcerer’s coif, I reinspected the room.

Five hostile entities have failed to detect you!

The same spell weaves laid on the storeroom level filled the prison guardroom, but there were no additional wards. Perfect. My gaze darting back to the guards, I analyzed each in turn.

The target is Lushiel, a level 63 dark elf.

The target is Manir, a level 72 dark elf.

The target is Hase, a level 56 dark elf.

The target is Torne, a level 60 dark elf.

The target is Kol, a level 61 dark elf.

Hmm. Judging by their levels, the prison guards were not the best of Cilia’s household guards. Overrunning their minds should be simple. My gaze found the highest leveled dark elf. Manir. By the stripes on his shoulder, he was the group’s sergeant. There was no ale on the table, but from the sergeant’s big, toothy grin and dull eyes, he was the sharpest tool in the shed.

My plan can work, I thought, sitting back down. Drawing psi, I began my preparations.