Rust

Jasper hefted his bright orange torch and inspected the old runes. The archaic language sat on triangular tiles. He scrutinized the words, deciphering the translation.

He scrunched his face, the words coming slowly to him. The first triangle read:

 forward we march towards

 The second triangle translation wasn’t obvious, so he moved to the third one. He reached out and tapped it, and it glided freely.

Unto Life, Unto Death it read.

And that middle triangle… Meat? Metal? Jasper attempted to construct them into a sentence. forward we march towards was all in lower case, meaning it was probably the middle of the sentence.

“Unto Life, Unto Death, forward we march towards… meat and metal. No that can’t be right.”

His voice echoed around the stone hall, causing him to flinch. He glanced around at the long shadows, then tentatively moved the triangles into the sentence, forming one triangle.

When the three runes were slotted into place, they snapped together and began to spin. When the triangle finished spinning it was upside down, the meat and metal pointing up. As it settled, the door ground open, dust pluming away from the edges of the rough stone. Jasper coughed and waved it away as he pushed through the threshold.

He smirked to himself as he swept his torch into the new chamber. When he stepped into the large room, the tiles beneath his feet thrummed with energy, and a blue glow emitted from them. The torch became irrelevant as the entire area became awash in light.

Dusty iron bound wooden barrels sat in the corner. A huge table sat next to the barrels, piles of swords cluttered on top. Off to the right was a barred gate and beyond the gate looked like an empty bath house. Jasper swept his eyes back to the center of the room where a long hallway stretched on and on, lit by bright blue tiles. At the entrance to the hallway was a pile of rusty plate mail. Cumbersome stuff, tiring. Jasper hated training in it, himself, and was glad to never have to again.

Jasper eyed the long hallway but headed towards the gate. He assessed the bars, tugging on them. He squinted his eyes into the darkened room beyond, not lit up from the ground. Yes, definitely a bath house. Hot humid air washed over him, and he could hear a faint trickle of water somewhere within. Jasper smacked his lips, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He returned to the other side of the room, inspecting the barrels. The first one he managed to pry open was empty, whatever its contents long since dissolved away. An odor wafted from the wood, conspicuously sweet with rot.

At the table, the rusted metal was definitely all swords. Jasper pulled on his leather gloves, careful not to cut himself on the orange crusted blades. He hefted one, much too big, and laid it to the floor. If properly refurbished, these could go for a pretty penny.

There were duds, several broken cross guards, some missing pommels. A few had segments of the blade that still gleamed a steel mirror shine. Most were completely rusted through, all were damaged in some way. Chips, cracks. Jasper tested one against the side of the table and the blade sheared away into crumbling pieces where it impacted.

Swords. Great against unarmored people. Most unarmored people weren’t looking for a fight, hence they weren’t wearing armor. Which begs the question, why carry a sword?

Jasper hefted the cleanest looking one and gave it a few generous swings. The balance was excellent, the weight superb. He tossed it back onto the pile disdainfully, letting it clatter against the rest. He pulled the straps of his leather pack against his shoulders, then headed for the hallway.

As he approached, the rusty armor on the ground creaked with motion. It rolled to one knee, a hand against the ground, then hefted a sword that had been underneath it and used it to lever itself to its feet. The tip of the blade crunched against the stone, grinding with a cringe-inducing scrape. Jasper took a step backward, raising a hand against the monstrous form standing before him. He couldn’t see into the shadowed visor, but when the man spoke his voice was no better than the blade scraping the floor.

“No further.”

Jasper looked around, then finally pointed at himself. “Who, me?”

The knight of rust tilted his head to the side, inspecting Jasper. Then he took a fighting stance and hefted the sword in an impossibly still position.

Jasper paced back and forth, eyeing the knight, and the passage beyond him. Then he tsk’d loudly, and returned to the table of blades, dropping his leather bag to the ground. The humidity wafting from the bath house was getting more intense, but he paid it no mind. He found the battered blade he favored before, then took a few hesitant test lunges.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a mace or a halberd I could use instead, do you?”

The knight stood still in his statuesque pose, not moving.

Jasper sighed, “Thought not.” Then he approached the knight, blade tip out. His weapon was shorter, but his opponent would be slower and his blade heavier-

The knight sprang forward, the sword licking out and nearly clipping Jasper in the throat. He barely got his parry up in time, the impact spraying orange dust. He cursed as he was put on the back foot, parrying rapidly. The knight took methodical probing strikes. His stances, while outdated, were immaculate, and he was able to transition between them in rapid succession.

Jasper circled backward, fleeing the duel. “Do we have to do this?”

The knight cocked his head. “Yes.” Like gravel tossed against bark.

“Why?”

The knight charged forward, closing the distance faster than should have been possible in full plate.

Jasper fought against the instinct to simply turn and run, knowing if he did so he’d fully expose his back. Instead, he took bounding leaps towards the far wall.

Back squared against the bars of the bath house, Jasper defended rapidly. Then he left himself intentionally open, forcing an obvious strike from the rusty knight. The blade danced forward, and Jasper flung himself to the side. The knight with his perfect technique was predictable. His blade rang loudly as it clanged against the bars. He tried to pull the blade back out, not even hesitating. Jasper struck hard, striking the gauntlet, trying to force the blade out of the knights hands.

Plate crunched and splintered apart, fingers came away in orange splinters and the blade clattered to the other side.

“Ha!” Jasper shouted, pointing in the knight’s face. “Do you yield?”

The knight gut punched him, knocking the wind from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping for breath. He had the presence of mind to scramble back, coughing and wheezing.

“What… why…”

The knight began stalking to the table, his stride slow and purposeful. Jasper gathered his strength and charged, inverting his blade so that the pommel was up, and crashed down with the force of a sledgehammer into the back of the knight’s head. It clanged dully. The last time Jasper had done something like that, he’d killed a man. The helmet was completely dented in, a massive ball sized inverted dome. Black liquid leaked out from the neckplate.

The knight turned toward him, his shoulders raised like a wolf’s hackles. His aura promised violence.

Jasper, horrified, thrust with the blade tip, bringing it into the visor as hard as he could. The blade bit into soft flesh, and the knight let out an “oof!”, then fell backwards, lifeless.

The blade stuck upright out of the visor, oscillating back and forth. Jasper shuddered, and unable to help himself, yanked the blade free and lifted the visor. Putrid flesh greeted him.

Jasper leaned over and retched. He wiped his mouth, coughing, and said “Good God.”

On shaky legs Jasper made his way down the hallway, the dim lights from under the tiles guiding him. The final tile illuminated the doorway in a bright light, and he grasped the orange flaky handle. He pushed the door inward, and it swung in halting movements, each stop requiring him to force it more and more until he was fully into the room.

Glittering mounds of gold greeted him. Chestfuls of it. Precious gems and gaudy goblets and ornately crafted weapons. Jasper fell to his knees and scooped the nearest pile. He hefted the coins to his face, and the smell of the deteriorated metal assaulted his nose. Jasper frowned as the coins in his hands began to flake, the gold rusting before his eyes, crumbling away to orange dust.

“No,” he said. He scooped another handful, and when it crumbled, he checked the next, and the next. He realized his translation mistake as more precious artifacts crumbled away. Unto Life, Unto Death, forward we march towards… Rot and Rust.