Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 223: The Undercrofts

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Toren Daen

The Undercrofts were dark. Burim itself always had a shadowed underglow, even in the highest reaches where the lavaducts flowed and provided the barest light. But beyond physical darkness, the stalactite-riddled base of the massive cavern was shadowed in other ways.

I trudged through a winding pathway, noting the many haphazard wooden shacks that clung to the thick spires of rock. Like newborn babes clutching onto their mother's breast, each rickety construct of wood seemed afraid that their base of support would suddenly vanish.

And every building I spotted down here appeared just as fragile as a newborn as well. Rickety stilts that had been eaten through by the relentless wash of time supported many of the dwellings–and the dwellings themselves were packed together and layered atop one another like ridged sardines. Some of the hovels had flickering lights inside, and I could hear the lifeforce of many throughout this decrepit underground.

My boots splashed as I stepped into a large puddle, my thoughts oddly calm. This was where the lowest of the low in Burim dwelled. The scum of the earth. The thieves, scoundrels, poor, and those who had no other choice.

I spared a leisurely glance to the side as I heard several heartbeats approaching, each devoid of intent. Before they could even inch closer, I raised a single finger, staring into the darkness where they crouched with anticipation.

A fireball immediately popped into existence over the tip of the digit. With casual ease, I waved the fire in front of me, causing the puddle to evaporate and clearing my forward path. The whole while, I stared into the darkness where the barest flash revealed reflective eyes.

Recognizing the true danger I represented, the thieves–each armed with glinting knives and appearing half-starved–backed off like a pack of hyenas recognizing an elephant. They had no mages amongst their number, and one thing Wade had told me so long ago was that the smartest thieves knew when to cut their losses.

I huffed as I continued back on my way. That wasn't the first time I'd resorted to intimidating a group of starving dwarves who thought they'd spotted an easy target. I stood out like a sore thumb with my expensive clothing and clean appearance, but I was no simple person to rob.

The Undercrofts shared many similarities with East Fiachra. The destitution. The parasitic despair. The abandonment by all others, and how those in power turned a blind eye to the suffering beneath them.

But for all of East Fiachra's ills, they'd always had a measure of hope. Greahd and the Rats had begun their good work long before I finally became a true part of the community. The cookfires and strikes against the upper echelons of the city had instilled a quiet aura of rebellion and purpose in the many slum rats of Fiachra.

That wasn't the case here. This place had no hope. It was where dreams went to die.

My eyes caught on a thin dwarf in ragged clothes as she slept against a stalactite, huddling under an outcropping of rotting wood as she clasped her arms around herself with a shiver. As I stared at her, images of blithe addicts and exhausted unadorned trickled through my mind.

As I passed, I called on my core. The ambient mana flexed as a wave of fire mana washed over the dwarven woman, banishing her chill. She startled, looking up at me through greasy hair with haunted eyes.

I didn't slow down. That spell would last a good few hours at least, but I knew better than to give the ailing woman coin or clothing. That would only invite the stronger gangs to tear it away from her–something I'd learned in the deep bowels of East Fiachra.