Haah haah haah
Achre produced a deep string of heavy panting. His mind raced as it attempted to discern what exactly happened.
'So... from what I could gather, my druidic abilities seemed to activate instinctively. A number of conclusions can be hypothesized from this. At least I can test according to different parameters now.'
The boy knew how profoundly this situation changed the outlook of his abilities, but he also knew that Quailoon was not a place to stay complacent. His testing would have to wait until he returned to the clearing. He stood up, his gaze glancing at any handholds or footholds that could carry him up the other side.
'Nothing substantial, and I certainly don't want to chance another fall with an uncertain route up. Damn... forced to travel along the bottom then.'
He looked level with the bottom of the chasm, darkness taking hold on either side of the pit. There was virtually no discernable information he could grasp with his senses, even with as heightened as they now were.
So instead, Achre mentally turned inwards; he allowed his sensory ability to take hold.
A second later and he could feel fuzzy feedback rubbing against his skin, as if a faint electric current pulsed through his musculature. The darkness mattered not as he witnessed both lengths of the chasm. Albeit filled with static, he could make out the outlines and shapes of the roots that took hold.
'Reminds me of that new device Harte brought before I shipped off to war. What was it called again? It was... I think it was called a television. Yeah, that sounds about right. It's as if I'm looking through one of those televisions right now - except in color.'
Achre thought longingly on his old life, on the odd looking box his immediate younger brother had brought home one day. It was a television, black and white and entirely filled with buzzing grey static. He remembered it only due to it being the gift all his younger siblings secretly pitched in on; it was just before he shipped off to war.
He was surprised to be sure, he worked and scrounged every penny as a child and adolescent, just to afford his younger siblings schooling. So they wouldn't go through what he went through, so they wouldn't have to work at such a young age, so they could actually make something of their lives. He had any number of reasons to keep the suffering to his lonesome. Even the thought of them wanting to repay him in some way filled his heart near to bursting back then.
'Enough lamenting little Achre.'
The four armed boy reminded himself that he could not waste precious time. Not here. Not in Quailoon.
'Neither direction seems better or worse than the other. I've been heading northeast since I left the clearing, so I should maintain that course to the best of my ability. I suppose I'll go left, more east than northeast but It'll have to do.'
With his mind settled, he began down the left side of the chasm. Achre understood it was too dark, and the air too damp to use his five senses normally. Instead he maintained his sensory ability and carried on cautiously.
Although he had some form of vision now, it was still difficult to ascertain the finer details of his path. Roots spiraled and sprawled amongst each other, as they snaked in and out of the root walls and stagnant water below.
Achre's pace was slow, even with his ability active. The only saving grace was his physicality, and more critically, his four arms. Thanks to his constant physical training his motor skills were tight, honed to every movement he made. He made better use of his four arms than before, the balance they helped provide was paramount to staying atop the slippery roots.
'Even though I've lived in this body for years, it took until now to comprehend my arms. I failed to utilize their benefits properly... actually, I failed to use them at all; never again.'
As the boy trudged deeper and deeper into the chasm he took mental notes, he approximated how far he was veering off his original course. The only accurate figure he could rely on were his steps, their count and distance were veritably poor markers.
This was a skill he learned in the army: land navigation. Although he did not have a map or compass, he had the telltale signs of nature. He could make use of the sun and stars when need be, his mental map of Quailoon only grew stronger.
The dark of night set in fast and hard. Where before there was darkness, it now looked as if molten pitch stood before him - an Impenetrable wall of pure black. This, of course, did not hinder his sensory ability.
'I should have been training like this. Perhaps through training in the constant usage of this sensory ability, I can utilize it even through sleep. Hmmm... I will need to update my study and training habits upon my return. For now however, I must stop and rest. I've no idea if using it for so long will cause any side effects or some manner of fatigue.'
The boy found a spot to shelter: a root higher off the stagnant water than most of the others, with a smaller root jutting out from the root wall as overhead cover.
'Although I won't be able to produce sound traps or smother my scent with smoke, this spot gives me direct sight lines off the bottom and concealment from the top. I also have two decent routes I can take if flight becomes necessary.'
The boy moved to the driest portion of the root he could find and layed down his mother's cloak. He had no fire but the heat of day still resided in the earth and could be felt through the gnarly root wall.
He drew a length of thin rope from his pewter-blue bag and tied himself to the root, so as not to roll off in his sleep. Thankfully, during his time in the army he was taught on many different knot types, and selected a quick-release style should he suddenly need to flee.
The root was uncomfortable as anything he'd ever slept on, but his mother's cloak gave him some much needed comfort. It was an oddity to Achre, as he had never felt so distinctly 'comfortably-uncomfortable'.
It was a poor situation, but Achre attempted to salvage what he could from it. However, that did not stop the sinking feeling he got in his heart. Quailoon would not hesitate to prey on his misfortune... and Achre understood that deeply.
'I just, I can't shake this off feeling I've been having ever since I fell... still... to go without any form of rest would be akin to slitting my own throat. This really blows dick... can't help it though.'
Ever the cautious boy, Achre checked his surroundings with his sensory ability one final time. Nothing seemed amiss. That did not soothe Achre's anxious thoughts. However, exhaustion took hold of the boy and he sunk into a deep sleep.
A few hours passed and Achre lulled himself out of sleep. He hadn't drank any liquid for a time, but still, he needed to piss. The boy's eyes opened, as the wall of pure black stared back at him. As usual, his normal senses provided no aid. It still smelled damp and musty, his skin still felt the moisture in the air. At least the only thing he could make out was what sounded like dripping water... and close.
'Hah, at least my ears work.'
A smile creased his lips for just a moment. It dawned on him.
'Ah shit... I shouldn't be hearing anything this deep in the chasm.'
As soon as the thought crossed his mind he activated his sensory ability. The feedback came rushing in, sharp and painful. It was similar to when the nape of his neck began to split just before he reached the bottom of the chasm. It was the feedback of immediate danger.
He could make out the faint outlines of the roots that surrounded him. Worst of all... he made out the visage of a creature directly above. Long and spindly, grotesque feeling skin and a slimy aura. It hung upside down from the root above him.
Even with the poor definition of his sensory ability, Achre still witnessed it.
Burning swamp green eyes and jagged maroon teeth dangled precariously above him. Drops of crimson landed beside him.
Achre could now smell the thick stench despite the mildew and moisture in the air. It was something he was routinely familiar:
Blood.