Galathol's Strange Adventure

[Helmet 1454]

Blind Leap

 

The helmed one clenched the Third Script within clockwork hands as the one who handed it to him left through the door towards his rear. A breath was taken, his gaze drifting back towards the abode's entrance only to glance back down to the book- whispers dancing around it. For a time, he looked himself over. Crude metal limbs filled with utility equipment, clacking as Galathol sought to check his own garbs. Though mundane, they would have to do. Creeping along his own figure, he hammered in the contents he carried into his own brain- a bag filled with 4 head-sized, scaly fruits not unlike the color of an apple. 30 feet of rope. A large pouch of salt. Two torches. A pair of Auric Oil bottles. One dose Fervor Concentrate. His trusty journal... & his armaments, of course.
 

With such resources assuring him, he focused back onto the book. Clenching one portion of the covers, the voices contained suddenly fall silent, as if it were holding it's non-existent breath. His artificial gaze tore away from it as he opened the book, scrunching his eyes shut.

 

The moment he had, the world itself sounded as though it were shouting with all it's might- wind and voice, too jumbled to comprehend pouring into his ears. The sounds mixed with his own as he shrieked out of terror, clenching the book towards his chest. With his form recoiling inwards, all became abruptly quiet.

 

It took Galathol some time & courage building before he dared to open his eyes once more. Yet still, he saw nothing but black. With orange dots marking where his eyes should be, the gears upon his limbs worked hastily to search himself for those torches, tucking the Third Script onto his belt. He gripped one, sticking it between his left arm and side. Blindly, he reached towards his right hand and began twisting it clockwise. A familiar 'click' came after enough turning as he sensed the hand pop off entirely, affixed to the rest of the limb through a hinge. He had it clasp it's own forearm before unfurling a set of tools within it. He ran each tool carefully across his torso of clothed flesh, trying to deduce what each one was.

 

The first poked him in four separate points, orchestrated in a straight line. A fork, likely. The next felt much too dull, yet wide. The chisel, perhaps? Upon the third, he heard a familiar clacking noise as he ran it along his chest. The spark wheel. His left hand grasped at his torch once more, placing it right up against the churning wheel. Tiny shards of flame-to-be scattered as Galathol spun it, several straying into the torch. Gradually, the sparks grew to embers while the helmed one took the time to reconnect his right hand back to where it should be- cranking it back on. His limb hissed with detestment, steam puffing out once it was fully affixed. 

 

In anticipation, he hefted the burning torch up high- the embers illuminating more and more as they formed into true flames. At last, he inspected his surroundings as all that was around him came into view.

 

---

 

Stone Sea 

 

 

Before him was a two-way hallway, separated along the middle with massive stone pillars- more upon each side supporting the closed roof atop him. Wind steadily circulated down the corridor, brushing against his garbs. Curiosity at last overtook fear as Galathol began to lumber down it, sticking to the center of his own lane- torch still upheld high, piercing the dark for himself. Occasionally, he ran his hand of metal across one of the pillars, his mind filled with questions without answers.

 

This train of thought was interrupted as the wind began to pick up, darkness encroaching while fire burning atop his torch was wounded. With a degree of panic nearly mirroring what he had experienced upon just opening the book, he darted to place himself behind one of the pillars to hide his only source of light from the onslaught of air, the howling piercing his eardrums. Ferrum digits clacked against the pillar, clenching it with his eyes closing for the second time this adventure.

 

Gradually, the intense bellowing the world had sent his way died down, Galathol opting to poke his helmet around the side of the pillar first. Upon rebuilding some level of confidence he stepped out with the torch back in tow, lumbering down the subterranean path for what felt like several hours. He broke this time up by munching upon some of the large fruit behind the pillars whenever the winds picked back up, checking his pocket watch to record the intervals of these winds to better predict them in the future.

 

Eventually, with nothing in sight- no greenery, no signs of life, and no light aside from his own, Galathol's mind did wander once more. Was this world truly dead? Buried beneath it's own weight? Or did this place still have residents? If so, what could possibly survive here? He wasn't all too sure which scenario was better. Inevitably, he plopped himself back down against one of the pillars, shielding himself and his dying torch from the encumbering wind. He gripped his second one and lit it with the first, propping it up in the ground next to himself.

 

Using it's light, he opted to finally peel the book open- studying it's contents at last. The sparse mentions of the Material Alphabet served to pique his interest further, an audible hum resonating from within his helmet. As instructed by the tome, he began to sweep away at the ground- clearing it of dust & loose debris. With the bag of salt he had brought along with him he intended to mimic the shapes present both within the book, and what the provider of it had shown him- creating a thin circle large enough for him to stand within with about a quarter of the salt he had stowed away.

 

Symbol by symbol, he marked the interior of the circle with strange shapes found within the contents of the Script. Some, he was familiar with like the Material Sign for Earth- yet most were entirely alien to him, recording such things within his mind to more thoroughly inspect later. He double checked each individual mark within the circle, searching for breaks in the patterns & tediously filling them in with a pinch of well-placed salt.

 

With the final marks set, he set the spent torch's wooden components alight and placed it into the center. The fire began to burn, taking on the salt's blank-white coloration. He packed up his things, stepping into the circle as the flame grew higher and higher- watching it reach it's apex before abruptly extinguishing, the trace amounts of salt being scattered from the force of it. It vanished, along with Galathol.

 

Spoiler

Realm found:
Kakatoew | The Whistling Walls | Wind & Chaos

 

 

Edited June 3, 2025 by Helmet
Font & Color change + minor edits to grammar