The Angel's Teeth

- Items found in The Angel's Teeth -

- Creatures found in The Angel's Teeth -

Toothmite

Parisitus Dente

A vile little critter, Toothmites live among the Angel's Teeth spending most of their lives latched to the enamel islands, feeding off of the tooth directly. If a mite discovering a vein of marrow, they will chirp a loud, grating noise to attract a mate. When successful, the mites will lay their eggs in the meat and protect their chunk, and soon 10 - 15 young emerge, ready to eat. The outlaws among the badlands of the Bonelands tend to keep a pen of toothmite around their place of business. Nothing better to remove a body, or so I have heard.

-

Chapter Four : Plaque and Enamel

-

The tunnels were long, twisting and dark. The faint sound of dripping permeated the caves, alongside the sound of footsteps on enamel. Walking to a wall, The Mercenary outstretched her hand and with her other, she drew a circle with her index finger in her outstretched palm. After a few seconds a small speck of light formed her hand, quickly growing to the size of a marble and glowing with the light of a lit torch. She held her light up to the wall of the cave, and inspected the stone. Like honeycomb, the white rock was riddled with small pockets of air and upon most surfaces a thin layer of yellow grime was slick in the light, and seemed sticky to the touch. Taking a small pocket knife from her belt, she scraped away at a section of the stone. The yellow grime came away as well as a chalky, powdery debris, and The Mercenary wiped the blade on her trousers, grimacing. They were inside a tooth. She had never found herself in the Southern end of The Deadlands before, and the shift in the landscape was palpable – The Wretch’s Coast she had heard it called before, and for good reason. The last three lands the pair had left to visit, including the set of islands they found themselves inside of now, were the decaying remnants of an old, old corpse. A big one too. She had seen the creature’s sword again as they passed back through the Ravaged Plains from Foenicia, the titanic blade acting like a tombstone to the grave she was currently deep inside.

The distinction between the man-made caves and the worm burrows was evident immediately, the man-made tunnels drilled and chipped away leaving a rough stone behind whereas the worms used acid to eat away at the rock, leaving smooth, waving patterns. The worm tunnels were also far larger than the man-made ones, stretching twice the size of the seven-foot mercenary, an echo of the creatures enormous size. As they walked, a pair of rootfleas hopped behind them, curious. The creatures were more closely related to birds than actual fleas, having two long feet they bounced along on and a long, narrow beak perfect for digging deep into deposits of marrow for feeding. Instead of wings however, they had two insect-like forearms and instead of feathers only raw skin reflected back from The Mercenaries light. They squinted at it with their four, beady eyes before screeching at the pair, and hopping back off down the tunnel. The sound of their clawed feet hitting the smooth floor echoed around the two of them, like a clock ticking all too fast.

“A left here.” Said The Cartographer, checking his notes. The Mercenary walked over, her small ball of light following faithfully behind, and looked over his shoulder.

They were in Molar, the most westerly of the islands. The flat long shape of the tooth also made it the shallowest of the islands, which was perfect for them. If they could reach the peak of the tooth through the inner weaving of tunnels it meant they wouldn’t have to scale the smooth and slippery cliff faces outside – a much safer bet. Molar was also the only of the teeth to have some semblance of a pre-existing map, the exact thing the two of them looked at now. It showed a cross section of the tooth, the innards a winding mess of tunnels and caverns and written upon the page were notes and warnings from some long dead miner. Just at a glance, she could see red ink marking toothmite nests throughout the island, as well as worm burrows and rootflea colonies. Unhelpfully, the diagram was half a century old and most creatures would have changed nesting sites in the time since it had been written, but hopefully the tunnels themselves should be the same. Most were made by the huge toothworms that burrowed through the stone, but as far as she knew they tended to stay deeper underground in the roots of the teeth, avoiding the surface. Perhaps it was to stop them to burrowing into the sea, and flooding their caverns. She tried to remember that thought for her journal as she followed the dotted line The Cartographer had drawn, wincing a little as she saw the possible creatures that might lurk in on their path. Worms and fleas she was fine with, but the mites? Something about them set her on edge. Perhaps it was the hard, armorlike shell, the spindly legs. Their huge, blood swollen abdomens. She felt a shiver run the length of her back, and then looked to the forked path in front of them. Left it was.

The tunnel stretched only a few metres before steeply shifting to a vertical shaft. The two stood at the bottom of the passage, the light of The Mercenary’s spell only creeping halfway up the towering walls making the darkness feel viscous and heavy.

“What now?” Said the mapmaker, looking to his companion who was unpacking something from her shoulder bag. After digging through the contents, she pulled a small leather sling from the bag and crouched down, looking through the rocks and debris for a perfect sized pebble.

“First of all,” She said, finding a stone and cupping it in her hand. “We need to see where we’re going.” She gestured with her fingers and the floating ball of light moved inches from her face, small embers of white flicking from the sphere and dancing to the floor below like petals falling from a wilted flower. Slowly, she inhaled. The sound was haunting, the air moving its way through her stone throat like wind through a mountain pass. The ball leaked a bright mist and as she inhaled the light trailed down her throat, and disappeared, small wisps trailing from her lips as The Cartographer watched the ball disappear into her mouth. She raised the stone in her hand and in a sudden burst of air forced the light in her lungs out, binding it to the stone. A plume of glowing mist jetted from her mouth, twisting and spiralling through the air to slowly fade away, and left clutched between her fingers, the pebble was glowing. She smiled, rolling the stone between her hands and feeling the weight of it in before loading it into her sling.

“Let’s hope I don’t shatter this, I feel quite lightheaded after that.” She mumbled, more to herself than anything else. While the pebble shattering wouldn’t be a disaster, she only had the energy for one or two more bindings like that, and she never knew when they might come in handy. She began to spin the pebble, loaded in the sling, faster and faster until she released. The pebble soared upwards, glowing with the light of The Mercenary’s breath and revealing small offshoot tunnels and nooks. In that moment of clarity, they both saw where the tunnel bent at the top and to her satisfaction the pebble landed upon the lip of the passage, glowing like a beacon to show the way. She summoned another of the lights in her hand – the unbound variety far easier to maintain – and gazed up at their destination thirty metres or so above their heads.

“Now, I just need to get up there.”

A trait all Avoskelle share is their innate ability to meld rock to their will. For some, this means making pottery with the most solid of boulders, for others it is a means of shaping bricks, ready to be set. For The Mercenary, it meant handholds. The hybrid substance of tooth and rock that formed the island was different than usual to meld, the semi organic material making it like trying to force your fingers into cold clay, but with enough willpower and a threatening drop below her she slowly scaled her way up the passage. Her arms ached, but the air felt cool on her skin. Her armour and padding were far below, tied in a small bundle with the rest of her belongings, leaving her with a dark grey tank top and black trousers. Trailing behind her, small indents in the rock the size of her fingers showed her route up the face of the wall. She reached the top and pulled herself over the side, laying on her back and panting. Below, she heard The Cartographer call out.

“Are you well? Have you reached the top?” The Mercenary caught her breath before shouting down a half hearted ‘yes’. Looped around her shoulder was the length of rope. She brought it to the wall and using her stonemelding formed a loop in the rock to thread it through, tying it tight. She threw the rest of the rope over the edge and peered at the flickering silhouette of The Cartographer far below. Her light had followed her as she climbed, helping her find her way, leaving The Cartographer lit only by a small lantern that hung from his belt.

“Did it reach?” She called down.

“It did indeed! How glorious!” Came The Cartographer’s voice, “Just attaching your gear now…” He trailed off as he tied the bundle to the rope, and The Mercenary stretched her fingers, working out the aches of the climb. Moments later she was heaving up her equipment, glad that she had decided to leave the heavy plate while she climbed, and tossed the rope back to The Cartographer below. As he began to secure himself to the rope, The Mercenary started to unpack her belongings, resting her glaive on the floor as she pulled a thin sweater over her head, awkwardly holding the neck open to fit her horns through.

Then, she heard something.

A creeping, pulling sort of noise. Like a thousand little feelers walking themselves against stone, dragging behind them something large, and oozing. She moved towards her end of the tunnel, her ears twitching to find the sound. No, not that way. She leant over the side of the shaft, down to where The Cartographer was securing the rope to himself, and listened. It was from down there. Something big was moving towards them.

“I need you to hurry up!” She shouted. The Cartographer snapped his head up towards her, confused.

“What? Wait, I’m just-” The man fumbled with his hands, tying the rope faster. Her ears tilted side to side. Whatever it was, it was close. Too close.

“Now!” She shouted. He wasted no time, and began to scrabble at the rock. His deft fingers were far smaller than The Mercenary’s, and her handholds made scaling the wall far easier than it was for her. Above, The Mercenary could see no sign of whatever was making the noise, only a small patch of light flickered from the mapmaker’s lantern. She eyed the infused pebble besides her, still glowing, and with a kick, it fell down to the bottom of the tunnel. In one brilliant moment it hit the stone floor and shattered, the light trapped within the rock pulsing out in all directions, swirling in the air and illuminating the scene in its entirety. The Cartographer, climbing as fast as he could manage and below, just peeking out into her vision, the horrendous figure of a toothworm. For just a second, she saw its face. The pink finger like feelers that lined the head and dragged it through the tunnels, the murky grey skin stretched tight over its bulbous body and the grinning row of dull, rounded teeth. Then the light of the pebble dissipated, and the worm returned to its veil of shadow.

“What in the seven parchments is that thing!” Screamed The Cartographer.

“It’s the thing that made these tunnels I’d bet, and it’s faster than I would have thought. Grab hold of the rope, I’m going to pull you up!” The Cartographer did as she said, and soon she was hauling him up, one length of rope after the other. He wasn’t as heavy as her armour, but still the muscles of the still exhausted mercenary burned as she heaved him up. Peeking from the shadows the worm approached, now almost upon the small man, gnashing teeth illuminated by his flickering lantern. He was close to the top, but the worm was crawling faster. A secondary set of feelers had emerged from its maw and dragged the beast at twice its speed, closing the gap between itself and its spectacled prey. The Cartographer was nearly within arm’s reach when from below a green liquid squirted from the worm, so close now that The Mercenary’s sensitive ears could hear its innards writhing, a sloshing mass of meat getting closer and closer. The green ooze settled upon parts of The Cartographer’s coat as well as splashing the rope and began to sizzle, eating away at the material. Time seemed to freeze as The Mercenary saw what was happening, and in one practised kick of her foot her glaive was in her hand. In a smooth motion, she spun the weapon around and offered grip to The Cartographer.

“Grab on!” She shouted. He needed no convincing and held onto the tightly wrapped leather as the rest of the rope fizzled away. His weight shifted suddenly to the glaive, and the weapon slipped. A jolt of panic ran through The Mercenary as clamped down hard only to be met with a dizzying pain. She gasped as the blade slid into her hand, a horrible grinding filled their ears as the spearhead cut slowly into her fingers with the sound of metal on stone. A thick dark black liquid ran the length of the blade, staining the silver metal like oil on water. The Mercenary’s breath became sharp and shallow as flashes of pain pulsed from her hand, hot beads of sweat running the length of her face and dripping to the nightmarish sight below. Below, the grinding teeth of the worm inched closer and closer, a foul smell of festering infection and insect blood clawing its way up along with the creature. Gritting her teeth, she yelped as the blade cut a little deeper and she pulled the mapmaker onto the flat ground. Behind them, the feelers of the worm crested across the bend of the tunnel, searching frantically for its lost meal. The Mercenary cast a sparing glance to her hand, bloodied and sliced, only just illuminated by the orb of light that danced around her. It hurt, stinging from the sweat of her palm, but the impending danger of the worm took precedence. Scooping up her equipment she hurried down the tunnel, her hand burning and cartographer in tow as the grinning worm came back into view. Her eyes frantically darted around the tunnel until she found what she was looking for - a small offshoot tunnel, too narrow for the worm to follow, and darted inside. The Mercenary closed her hand into a fist, sticky with blood, and the two of them watched as the small light fizzled to a cloud of white embers, leaving them in darkness as the worm slowly passed them by.

The sun was a welcome sight as they emerged from the top of the tooth. Tall yellowing grass sprouted from the stone and the sound of waves mixes with the cries of circling gulls. The Mercenary sat on a small outcrop, bandaging her hand. She was lucky she hadn’t lost a finger, but it would take a long time before it was healed. Still, she was thankful. She winced as the sour slatethistle sap came into contact with the wound, the sharp stinging quickly dispelling to a numbing buzz as the sap worked its wonders and fought any trace of infection in the injury.

“Well,” Said The Cartographer, “One island down. Four more to go.” The Mercenary sighed, and looked out to the rest of the islands jutting from the water, gnarled organic shapes rising from a choppy grey maelstrom. This map would be the death of her.

<< Click to go Back to Area Selection - Click to go to Next Area >>