The monumental threshold of the subterranean metropolis, stood before them. The human party stood, momentarily breathless, the cognitive dissonance induced by the sight of the impossible city—its mundane industry populated by fearsome creatures—still vibrating within them. They had stepped through a tear in reality into a thriving hub of beings they'd only ever known as embodiments of slaughter.
Then, a flicker of peripheral motion registered – a low-slung figure near the archway, perhaps bartering over glistening wares moments before, paused mid-transaction, its multi-faceted eyes dilating as they fixed upon the newcomers. Its immobility radiated outwards like a contagion. Another shape, angular and chitinous, halted mid-gesture beside a rising structure, then a cluster near a stall venting aromatic steam solidified. Activity within the threshold abruptly ceased, a wave of absolute stillness propagating through the visible populace under the amber glow. An abrupt vacuum of sound replaced the city's industrious hum, amplifying the shared, wide-eyed paralysis gripping both intruders and inhabitants across the paved expanse.
The shared stasis fractured. Not with a roar of challenge, but with a collective, sibilant inhalation that seemed to draw all the air from the space. Instantly, this was followed by an eruption of frenzied motion away from the entrance. Forms scrambled, collided, limbs tangling in their desperate urgency to withdraw. Figures tumbled over stacked crates, caromed off structural supports built from unfamiliar alloys, a tide of sheer panic surging deeper into the city's complex network of streets and alleys. A piercing cry, thin and sharp with terror, sliced through the developing cacophony: "Darno! Summon Darno! There's humans!" Heavy doors slammed; figures dissolved into shadowed recesses and architectural embrasures.
"More talking monsters?" Senen exclaims.
Cutting against this retreating surge, a solitary figure emerged. Mounted on a squat, powerfully built quadruped with shaggy flanks, a goblin guided his steed forward with deliberate, unhurried cadence. His passage carved a clear path through the residual eddies of fleeing citizens. His chin remained elevated, features settled into an impassive, almost sculpted configuration beneath the peculiar interplay of the city's warm, artificial light and deep architectural shadows. These cast stark, shifting planes of brilliance and obscurity across his simple woven tunic and sturdy leggings, lending his profile an unexpected, statuesque definition that seemed at odds with his commonplace attire.
Instantly, the team coalesced into a defensive posture. Stances widened on the strangely smooth paving stones. Their steel points rising in unison, forming a bristling, metallic reception for the lone arrival.
He reached the cleared area directly before them and swung a leg over his mount's back, dismounting with a contained fluidity that spoke of long practice, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. His posture remained erect, his gaze level, meeting theirs without flinching. They braced for confrontation, for the first hostile act from this impossible society.
Then, before any challenge could be issued, the imposing facade he projected fractured entirely. With startling speed, he dropped deliberately to his knees, the impact sounding sharp on the stone. He immediately pitched forward from the waist, planting his hands flat, palms pressed urgently against the paving stones near the humans' feet. A thin, earnest cry escaped him, escalating into frantic pleading. "Mercy!" the word was sharp, laced with palpable fear. "No harm intended! Spare me! Please don't kill me" Words tumbled out between strained, hitching breaths, his hands lifting and pressing down against the ground in a quick, desperate rhythm – an emphatic, almost theatrical display of utter submission fuelled by genuine terror.
Kin and Sye exchanged wide-eyed, utterly baffled glances, mouths slightly agape, the prior revelation momentarily overshadowed by this bizarre spectacle. Senen's brow furrowed deeply, suspicion wrestling with sheer, dumbfounded incredulity. The Master and Tiren, however, remained unaltered, their stances locked, their focus absolute, weapon points unwavering. Their gazes remained fixed, drilling into the prostrate, pleading goblin as if clinically assessing a volatile, unpredictable chemical reaction unfolding at their feet.
Senen's command, though quiet, landed with arresting force. "Stand."
Darno pushed himself erect with a visible effort, hastily brushing nonexistent dust from his tunic, his posture still radiating a residual tremor of fear. "I... I am Darno," he offered, his voice thin but articulate, his gaze darting between the imposing figures before him. " A steward, you might say, for this... district."
Kin shifted his weight, the point of his longsword dipping fractionally towards the ground as impatience etched itself onto his features. "This place," he cut in, his words filled with curiosity. "What is it?"
Darno flinched almost imperceptibly at the direct query, his eyes flicking towards Kin before returning to Senen, who seemed the focal point of authority. "This," he swallowed, "this place is known as... City Ten."
"'City Ten." Senen echoed, the syllables sounding foreign, laden with disbelief.
Darno's gaze suddenly skittered behind himself, a rapid scan of the nearby shadowed alcoves and shuttered upper windows. Finding no overt observers, a conspiratorial urgency tightened his expression, looking back to Senen. "Please," he urged, lowering his voice, leaning slightly closer.
"come to my inn. It offers privacy... and I can answer all your questions there..."
Senen processed the offer, the sheer improbability of their situation measured against the pressing need for intelligence. He gave a short, decisive nod. A hand, weathered and calloused, settled firmly on Senen's arm. "Senen," the Master's voice was a low vibration, resonant with deep caution. "How can you trust it so quickly?"
Senen turned, meeting his Master's troubled gaze directly. A silent acknowledgment passed between them – the shared understanding of the unprecedented circumstances. "Trust me." Senen stated quietly, his conviction clear.
A spark ignited in Darno's eyes, a mixture of palpable relief and perhaps a flicker of eagerness to fulfill his role. "Right then!" He gestured down the main thoroughfare. "This way, please!"
The unlikely procession began, Darno leading with quick, bustling strides that seemed slightly too fast for his short legs, the humans following – a striking anomaly of scale and bearing moving through the momentarily hushed street. As they progressed between structures built of alien geometry and familiar stone, Darno suddenly lifted his chin, projecting his voice towards the silent facades flanking their path."Don't worry everyone! They're not gonna kill us!"
A beat of silence held sway following his declaration. Then, slowly, tentatively, hinges groaned as shutters angled open. Within the shadowed interiors, diverse countenances materialized: some etched deep with residual fright that slowly softened into watchful curiosity; others remained stiff, locked in the pure astonishment of encountering humans. Apprehension lingered like a faint scent in the air as they peered out. Hesitantly at first, then with gathering assurance, figures began to detach themselves from the shadows, reappearing onto the thoroughfare and within workshop thresholds. The ambient orchestration of industry and interaction gradually resurfaced, swelling like tidal water reclaiming dry ground. The district's populace cautiously resumed the intricate rhythm of their interrupted routines, though countless multifaceted eyes remained fixed, tracking the passage of the unlikely delegation towards Darno's inn.