The Old Gods

Hic Sunt Daemones

The corridors of Helmsley Academy were eerie at night. The flickering candles and gas-lamps allowed a gloomy glow to settle on the place. Archivist Daniels was no stranger to this, for deep down in the Hidden Archives, a section of the Academy buried beneath the Catacombs, was much worse than anything aboveground.

Archivist Daniels rarely slept. He spent his remaining years down in the Archives, sorting out manuscripts from the Old War and leeching off the Academy's supply of brandewijn. He was the most reclusive out of all of Helmsley Academy's personnel, and he rarely ventured aboveground. Behind his back, students described him as a 'musty old troglodyte'.

Helmsley Academy was his home. As a child, the then-Headmaster had taken him in and put him to work as the Archivist's assistant. He grew to take on his former master's task, becoming Head Archivist after twenty years of service. Spending time in the Archives had turned him into a bit of a recluse. Archivist Daniels had no friends, only colleagues and superiors.

He pulled a long, brass key out from his tatty old cape. It was a gift from his former mentor, the only person he'd considered as a friend. His body was mouldering away in the Catacombs now, the words 'Requiescat in Pace' engraved on his tomb. Unlocking the door to the Catacombs, Archivist Daniels lit his gas-lamp and entered.

Most students and personnel wouldn't even dream of heading down into the Catacombs alone at night. No one knew what malevolent spirits resided down there. The Headmaster was the only other person who knew that the Catacombs were, in fact, completely harmless. There was nothing in there that could cause grievous harm except for the random rock or misplaced coffin lid. Over the years, some children had gotten braver and snuck in for a game of Catch. Archivist Daniels himself had had to chase out the Goode boy and the Arkendale twins from playing down here.

He hummed a little ditty to himself. He was looking forward to a nice bottle of brandewijn and a decent roasted fish, courtesy of Hurtlespool's status as a port city. Helmsley Academy had a near-infinite supply of fish. He was getting hungry just thinking about the delectable piece of cod that awaited him in his personal quarters. All he had to do was make sure all the precious documents were safe and sound in their hermetically sealed bags.

It was a fifteen-minute stroll through the winding corridors of the Catacombs. The Arkendale girl, Leigh, had painted something on the walls. As much as he hated to admit it, Archivist Daniels thought her art was pretty good. She'd painted a beautiful woman lying on a patch of grass, her hands folded over her chest and a crown of roses adorning her head.

Archivist Daniels used her paintings as landmarks. In his old age, he was no longer able to navigate the Catacombs as efficiently as before. When he finally arrived at the iron doors of the Archives, he was panting. Reaching for yet another key, he opened the vault doors and they swung open with a hiss.

The gargoyles that guarded the front doors of the Archives were creepier than usual. Some of the documents he'd read said that the gargoyles were once demons in the Old War, and they were turned into stone by an Angel who cursed them. It gave them an unsettling feel, like they were still alive underneath the rock. He shook of the thought and was about to check up on the first shelf when he heard a groan.

The runes scrawled onto the gargoyle's limbs lit up. Archivist Daniels stumbled backwards in fear. Was he in some sort of nightmare, or had he set off some overly contrived security system the Headmaster had neglected to tell him about? yThe gargoyles advanced on him, their eyes glowing a fierce orange.

Archivist Daniels thought he could hear voices coming from the gargoyle. It sounded like two children squabbling over something.

"Amir! Are you all right? Do you need a band-aid?" The girl said.