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lyrics

You are a young adventurer who has just arrived in town. You are unscrupulous and eager for new experiences. You haven’t done much so far, just a few unflattering assignments: you were hired to kill mouses in an old mill and to escort a merchant, scaried by the rumors about the gangs of drunken gnolls that everyone is talking about in the region but you never found any traces. In short, your experience is really poor, but perhaps the turning point is near.

Finally an important assignment: the daughter of the Duke of Horos promises a thousand gold coins to those who will recover the magic brooch that was stolen from her by a servant. The thief managed to escape and slipped into the underground necropolis, in the old part of the city. The people of Horos shudder just to mention it: the necropolis is an ancient and cursed place. The duke’s guards refuse to go down there (the captain is a very superstitious man), but they are guarding the exits. So far it seems that the thief has not come out of the dungeon. To you who are not from the area, the necropolis is neither hot nor cold: it will be the usual dusty tangle of tunnels and burial niches that house old bones.
When you offer yourself as a volunteer, you find that you are the only one. Under the interlocutory gaze of the captain of the ducal guard, you drop into the ancient necropolis through one of the still unsealed entrances that presumably the thief also used. The air is heavy, it stinks of centuries of abandonment and oblivion. You wander cautiously among the niches, between the narrow and suffocating corridors that intertwine in a maze of death and stench. The flashlight occasionally shines on things that you prefer to immediately drive out of sight and mind. Are you scared? Well, that’s natural. It is a horrible place, but you didn’t expect it was better.

It doesn’t take long to find the thief: he is curled up with his back attached to a wall, motionless. The man’s eyes are wide open, his face disfigured by a grimace of madness. You deduce that he died in that posture of supreme horror. The brooch lies sideways in the dust. You pick up the jewel and linger a few moments intrigued by some details of the corpse: those features marred by fear, his muscles still contracted in a mortal spasm, petrified by horror. Something is wrong, you think, and now you are more afraid than before: because you realize that that man is not dead. No corpse has tense nerves, such expressive eyes, no corpse ... breathes and above all no corpse would try to talk to you! Slurred words, incomprehensible babbling. Feel a breath, a current of air behind you, a tug; someone or something firmly grabs your torch and snatches it out of your hand, with a sharp, quick… inhuman gesture. You hear thick footsteps running and moving away taking away your flashlight. You see it for a moment floating in an unnatural speed along the tunnel until it disappears... and leaves you in the dark.

Now yes, you are really scared.

credits

from HDK 103 † HDK Dungeon​​​​​-​​​​​synth magazine # 4, released October 31, 2021

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Heimat Der Katastrophe Milan, Italy

DIY label focused on ambient punk, minimal-synth, dungeon-drone, wartime music and post-nuclear wave. Managed by a creative punx collective from Milano city.

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