Fantasy fiction about a deity’s hunter-killer golem, called The Nombril.
The Nombril stood silently at the edge of the chasm, seeming to stare mindlessly into the dark oblivion below. Just below it, a great crisscrossing of bridges and tunnels splayed a spider-web of paths and walkways across the yawning depths of the chasm. Grand Crossing was noted for the number of subterranean races that used its maze of walkways and bridges to move from one area of The Deep to another. Sometimes, traders stopped for a while to vend to those that passed by. Sometimes they were assaulted by the not-sofriendly races that used the pass, other times they plied their trade unmolested. Races of all type used the Grand Crossing during their travels in The Deep, as they had done so for hundreds of years. No one had ever solved the mystery of who had built Grand Crossing. Although many races claimed it was their work, most claims had holes large enough to march an army through. No one in all that time had ever seen the Nombril as it stood there hidden in its heights. Its silent vigil went unnoticed for over three hundred years, and the denizens of the deep had no idea how lucky they had been until the moment the Nombril went into motion. It had not created this place, but its purpose was served by observing this place, so that is what it did.
The Nombril at rest was a seven foot high statue of a humanoid. It had a non-descript appearance that was only offset by the fact that it was carved entirely from a single piece of obsidian. Its rough-hewn features could have been those of any number of humanoid races. Mostly it looked human, except for the slightly abnormal length of its arms. Its massively carved arms reached nearly to its knees, despite its usually rigid upright posture. The representation was almost devoid of garment, save the modest loincloth covering its groin. The Nombril most closely resembled humans, but it was not a human creation. It was much more than just a statue carved from obsidian, as well. It was “The Nombril,” the Vessel of Souls. Theologians and historians nicknamed it “The Eater of Souls” due to its alleged behavior. The combination of the souls which it consumed made it much more than the sum of its parts. It was a creature of unspeakable power, hidden in the relatively innocuous guise of a statue. It was a creature of inscrutable goals, an enigma to all those who observed its actions. The Nombril was seemingly impervious to outside persuasion. It leaped into action without pretense and, seemingly, without explanation. In legend, it had slain both good and evil indiscriminately, and it had been named a horror in the legends of places all over-and beneath-the world.
In its current location, it had come to rest in an odd position, bent deeply onto one knee with both hands splayed out to its sides, looking down into the chasm, as if silently observing the traffic below. Its position seemed tense, strained, as though it was about to spring into action at any moment, and yet it had been in exactly that spot, in exactly that position, for 298 years without moving…
A pair of Tolakian traders came by one of the Grand Crossing’s lower entrances. They were not heavily laden, but their cargo was quite precious. They were carrying an ancient jewel encrusted greataxe and a pair of equally overdecorated gauntlets in small packs, affixed to their belts. The axe and gauntlets were to be a gift-bribe to a neighboring
Dwarven kingdom, in exchange for being overlooked, and for having their caves unmolested, at least by Dwarves. The Tolakians were generally a peaceful race. Their motley and brilliantly colored scale hides gave away their reptilian ancestry; they resembled nothing so much as a pair of large bipedal Tokay Geckos. They were wrapped with long belts that circled their lithe bodies several times, but wore no other adornment. Dwelling as deep beneath the surface as they did, they seldom found the need for clothing, and disdained it unless painfully cold. The belts were dotted with pouches and small charms of all types and sizes, and their bodies were heavily bedecked with rings and necklaces of arcane power, the ‘tell’ to their sorcerous natures. Most wanderers of The Deep would and did avoid this pair of travelers, for as benevolent as they were, they were not to be trifled with. Many other races had lost entire platoons of warriors to a single angry Tolakian Sorcerer.
Although it was not apparent to most travelers, one of the Tolakians was female. Her name was Negaerion. She was traveling with Belectholdil, a younger male and a student of hers. Their journey was expected to be brief, but it would be cut much shorter than either of them suspected. Negaerion announced to Belectholdil that they were going to take a quick short-cut that another traveler had suggested they might be able to take advantage of. It was a path that most people of The Deep could not take without climbing equipment, but Negaerion knew that it would be easy for them, and would also cut a full day off of their journey. They dropped to all fours in unison and began to climb the treacherous walls of Grand Crossing. Their movement along the walls of the great chasm was more fluid and surer than when they walked upright as other races. Their heritage was clear as they passed by several crossing bridges and walkways, to the startled surprise of many other passersby. Light jingling from the pair of small packs on their backs could be heard over the din of small rocks and pebbles that were kicked loose by the Tolakians as they rose up through the chasm, completely unaware of the danger they were rapidly approaching.
The Nombril sensed the imminent approach of the two Tolakians. Both were exceedingly young from its point of view, but he sensed immense power coming from the leader of the pair. Her aura was easily visible to him, and it was rich with intelligence and command over arcane powers that he had not seen here in the crossing for many decades. It rose soundlessly to its feet and took a single step back, satisfied for the moment with the knowledge that this time at least, its prey would be coming straight to it.
Negaerion and Belectholdil continued climbing, barely even winded, until they were well beyond the highest of the heavily traveled bridgeworks of Grand Crossing. They kept their large golden eyes firmly locked on their goal. They were well acquainted with the heights in which they were working, as most Tolakian dwellings were made in vertical, rather than horizontal, caves in The Deep, so neither was much concerned with falling. Their goal, a narrow ledge, loomed larger in their field of view. Pale shadows were thrown by the dim lights of travelers below into garishly exaggerated pinwheels of shadow above the pair, but their large eyes were piercing the veil of darkness, and they could see the ledge clearly. Belectholdil reached it a split second before Negaerion did, and he halted, upright on his hind legs, while Negaerion finished the climb.
In the Tolakian tongue, he softly began to chide his teacher for her slow climb, but his admonishments were cut short by a black form that rushed between them, even before either of the speedy reptilians could reply. Belectholdil was snatched up by the neck by The Nombril, as Negaerion watched on in horror, unable to act. With seeming disdain, The Nombril backhandedly flung the young Tolakian out into the open space of the chasm, where there was nothing to grab and slow his fall. To the honor of his family, Belectholdil fell soundlessly to his death, facing it boldly rather than crying out in fear. He took the magnificent axe with him to the bottom, the only weapon that either of them carried on their journey.
