The Deep-rotted

[Venio Palatro]

░▒▓▌The Deep-rotted▐▓▒░​

Thirty-three hours ago, an earthquake had shattered the northern prefecture; a nobleman's court, along with the surrounding settlement, were devastated - those that could not evacuate were soon swallowed by the swampy earth. Following the seismic activity, a massive fault was discovered near the epicenter, along the slope of the great mountain, leading to depths unknown; it was there that most of the surrounding structures had vanished into and, perhaps, where any remaining survivors were likely to be trapped. The strategy was simple, overseen by a local government, supplemented by a wealth of off-planet samaritans and volunteers: a vast semi-circle surrounding the southern face of the mountain, further segmented into zones one through four, divided along the degrees of disaster in the given areas. From there, they would conduct an initial search before pressing deeper into the sunken city.

Furthermore, beyond these zones, they ringed what was considered Ground Zero, the face of the impact that had essentially shelled out the ground beneath the court itself; while the initial impact had completely disheveled the outermost layers of the prefect, it had continued to undermine the structural integrity of its vast subterranean catacombs. These catacombs, once an important cultural landmark of this clan, had long since been adapted for waste, storage, garbage, and other refuse. In actuality, before the tragedy, they had been a great image of reform; in fact, work to restore these tombs was underway when the quake occurred. However, by this time the graves were already half-collapsed and weathered, filled with murky rivers of corpse-riddled water and disease-infested trash; when the ground began to shake violently, they almost immediately gave way, and plunged the settlement into a vast, rotten swamp.

Ground Zero was for the ones with the pay to stomach it, the entire town devolved into a vast field of twisted metal, half-swallowed by knolls of mud and iron, the rest mostly drowned beneath a swollen sea of filth; beyond that minefield of rupturing sinkholes and death, the fault lay split open at the face of the alp, a gargantuan, gaping maw at the base, where the nobleman's very manor once lay, built of glass and ornate stone - now, this titanic crack ran vertically up the mountain, unfathomably deep. The shifting of the earth had broken into underground springs and rivers through the depth of these sepulchers, and, by the time rescue workers had arrived, the entirety of the city was flooded, then further devoured by the mountain. The sinking decline of the town itself led most of the mire and debris that surged up from these treacherous, underground chambers flowed down, and created a vast, singular, roaring waterfall of muck that entered the fault, never to be seen again.

Locals, allegedly, has considered the very mountain cursed - Moenia, they had called it, from which the town had earned its namesake. While a great many natives worked in those initial zones, to focus on clearing out the forested crags and establishing temporary 'points,' in which the more dedicated crews could strategically move into and out of Ground Zero, they never passed into the inner circles of the town; thus, most of the dangerous work was carried out by people like Venio. He wasn't here for charity, though he might not have declined had he been in the area; he was shipped from off-world, part of a small corporate initiative to gain favor among the populace. What he had been led to expect was a small rescue operation, perhaps an avalanche or mud slide had devoured the town, and they needed to dig out survivors - or, worst case, retrieve salvageable technology or valuables.

When the crew's junker landed among the fields of camps situated along the border of the disaster, however, his first thought was he had walked onto a warzone; behind them, the land was composed of wooded hillocks and forest-lined plains - before him, there was nothing but a broken, warped ruin half-drowned in sludge. He did not complain, at least not initially; the pay was that good, in fact - he'd been looking to settle down awhile now, at least temporarily, and this job offered just that in credits. Nonetheless, soon after the initial blast of steam depressurized the cabin, and the loading ramp fell down with a massive bang - where they filed out into the crowd, receiving a roaring series of command from all over - it was clear the environment was the smallest obstacle here; no, in fact, this would be, perhaps, a nonstop series of bureaucratic maneuvering, supplemented only by sweet breaks of what was essentially glorified dumpster-diving for shiny relics and the occasional set of bones.

 

[Venio Palatro]

"They really think they're going to find survivors in that cesspool?" Venio asked. It was not a question of ill-intent, rather, it was completely honest; furthermore, it appeared quite a few others had been thinking the same thing.

"Not a single living person found in any of the zones nor can we pick up any signs of life from the search-ships sent over Ground Zero," chipped in another volunteer; he had been lurking towards the back, arms crossed, casting that darting, shady-eyed glances between the crowd, as any seedy person might before sharing a controversial opinion with the public: "The only reason they got us pushing so hard is because they want to find that damn nobleman."

"And what about the others, people like us; families and- and women, kids even?" interrupted another, earning a few murmurs of approval from the crowd. "There could be hundreds trapped down there, that noble can go to Hell!"

It hadn't been a day since operations to find survivors had begun, and already tensions were high; there were several, very good reasons for this, as Venio noted - political conspiracy theories was just the tip of the iceberg. To be fair, he doubted that they were far from the truth; already, he could discern the fanciful aristocratic servants mingling along the crowd, likely reporting directly back to the numerous contenders, all interested in whatever territory or inheritance they might merit out of the tragedy - and good luck getting any of that while it remains buried beneath a few kilometers of derelict scrap and fetid water. "Vultures," he muttered distastefully. Already, his group was being summoned; nothing more than a bunch of convicts, half of them on some sort of 'appropriation' parole for early release - he supposed smaller governments had the luxury of questionable deals such as these: give them free labor, earn greater cooperation for future paid labor. He, however, was in for the pay; regardless, he had been lumped together with the worst of them, and, being the worst of them, they were the expeditionary force of expendables.

The equipment was less than base, it was entirely inadequate; due to the indiscernible depth of the cloudy water, they had been provided with a pair of rusty cargo skiffs to plan out their approach and scout - not that they looked like they'd last the journey; he might've sworn the quartermaster had muttered something along those lines when he tossed them the keys. Nonetheless, there they were, riding high over Ground Zero; it was almost serene, know that it was quiet - the vast, shattered spires of ruined buildings rising up like columns from the deep gave the whole scene an extremely surreal appearance. The crew didn't seem interested in saying much, either; the whole mission had a very strong air of melancholy to it - he guessed he could give the rest credit for their tact. He was by no means the supervisor, that honor was given to the man at the front of their barge - a hulking, cement wall of a man named Hork - they said he was half-gamorrean, and Venio figured that he looked the part. Smelled like it, too.

Even so, it was good to have him along; perhaps they could tie a chain around him and throw him off, he'd be a perfect anchor.

By the time they had encircled most of the outer perimeter of Ground Zero, dark clouds began to bleed over the horizon, and shadowed over the sun; still, at this point, they had come across little more than floating corpses. Besides the cargo speeders, the quartermaster for the volunteer operation had given them nothing - thus, it became standard practice to utilize primitive means to explore. When it came time to scout through interiors, in which Venio had the massive pleasure of accompanying, they took to taking long pieces of scrap and driftwood and using them like canes, feeling out the invisible floor submerged beneath their feet, feeling for holes or sharp drops that may suck them under; it was especially dangerous here, with the continuously-collapsing labyrinth of tombs beneath them, they had already noted the massive bubbles erupting on the surface, nearly capsizing one of the scariffs. There was a fair chance that once you went under, the strong current flowing into these crypts would pull you deeper, and you'd never see the sky again.

By the time they had reached the final destination, a school, they'd already lost two; by Venio's estimates, he was actually quite impressed that they had managed to save themselves from greater losses; with the finesse these men carried themselves with, he could only wonder how they managed not to fall off the speeder. The entrance to the school was sunken a good two or three stories - thankfully, it had, well before the earthquake, towered over the surrounding structures. It stood stalwart, still almost entirely vertical; perhaps a testimony to is engineering. The upper windows were transparisteel, much to the dismay of the neanderthal that insisted he could smash the glass with his fist; regardless, thanks to a few handy plasma torches, that they had brought from the ship, were enough to cut a hole wide enough for most to slip through. He took a deep breath, cast one final look to the sky as whatever foul storm approached, and dipped himself inside, unsure if he would ever come back out and see the light of day.