It is hard to describe the temples of Hyperborea (especially ancient ones) in terms of those of modern Earth. They are related, but Hyperborean temples had other roles and tended to mix them.
The fortress temple was closer to a cathedral, built to awe. This one though, was a set of catacombs and ossuaries: filled with bone-dry corpses and rows of staring, yellowed skulls. The catacombs went down deep into the rock and spread out in all directions. Its tunnels were cut for human proportions, but their design could not have sprung from human minds.
What we had not expected was the light. The catacombs were warm and humid - suggestive of underground springs. That heat seemed to feed grey-green scums that stretched across walls and ceilings. These bacterial films glowed: it was a very low, gloomy light, but once our eyes adapted, it was quite enough to see by. The sheets smelled like pond scum, but the air was easier to breathe where it was denser.
The passage we had found lead to a stone vault. It was held up by pillars of black granite embedded with jagged, crystal chunks. Along the vault's walls were galleries of arched passageways, all leading into darkness.
In the center of the vault was a secondary campsite - we found bedrolls, dried meat and biscuits, a barrel of water, and even a cask of wine.
Fogrim broached it and sniffed. "It is still good! Have some Brother, but know I intend to drink the greater part and without shame."
"That's fine," I motioned for it. I took a swig - it was foul but did the job. "You go ahead and finish it. I'm going to explore. See if I can find any more abandoned supplies. You want to come?"
He took a big swig and sat with his back against a dusty crate.
"Explore? Madness! I will get drunk and sleep like I've been taken to meet my ancestors. Do not wander too far; it is easy to get lost in such places."
I packed some biscuits and refilled my waterskin. Onska watched me, kneeling with the tops of her feet pressed flat against the stone floor. She sat up straight, breasts rising and falling as she breathed.
"Come," I beckoned.
"Yes, Master!" the meat got up and rushed to me. I untied her wrists and put my pack on her back. I wound a rope around it, and her, tying them together. All I kept on me was my waterskin and sword.
I picked a tunnel at random, tugged at the pack beast's leash, and set off.
***
Fogrim had been right - the catacombs split off down new passageways, and those, in turn, split off again. Some tunnels ran through others, making junctions. I cut arrows into the 'light scum' to mark my way and get a sense of distance. More than once, I encountered my own markings.
The longer passages had storage cavities cut out of the rock. Packed into the cavities were the skulls of the long, long dead. In some, they were in neat, spaced rows. In others, they were piled together like stones. In others, they were packed so tight that as I pulled free, the rest came tumbling across the floor. I found no finery or grave goods. Nor were there banner fragments or carved stelae to mark victory over sacrificed foes. Were they just the heads of slaves? No, Hyperboreans crushed the bones of dead slaves and composted them. Who were these dead?
They gave me no answers. I passed them by, my presence just a footnote in their voyage through eternity.
After almost an hour of wandering, I was about to give up and head back, when I heard the sound of rushing water. I turned down a tunnel, and it grew louder. I followed the sound to a passage that opened up to a larger, much brighter lit space. I took the passage and emerged into a giant vault.
It was a planetarium. It's domed ceiling towered above; the Hyperborean zodiac was carved along its circumference. It was the older, variant form I had seen back at the temple in the fortress. This depiction though, was much grander. The carvings were larger, and crushed gemstones were packed into their lines to create color. The eyes of the Fisher, Farmer, and Priest King seemed to stare down at me; immense diamonds.
Beyond the constellations were free-standing stars and planets, all denoted by colored gems. Some existed only in the secrets of astrologers and the minds of the mad: Xoth. Yith. Carcosa.
Thin lines crisscrossed between the worlds. Chasing after the lines were jellyfish-like forms: Landing Beasts! I recognized them at once.
Beneath the dome of the planetarium were pillar-raised walkways that met in the center, forming a '+.' Along the walkways were black, granite statues of wizards. Their dress, headgear, and long, manicured beards matched those of their Sumerian ancestors. I studied several: old, cruel-faced men. Each was looking at a landing beast, hands outstretched as if summoning.
At the junction of the walkways was a small pyramid, rising from the ground below. Steps cut into its rough stone lead three stories down to a plaza thick with stinking, glowing, scums. Lit along the plaza walls were stone cells. There were ferric, red stains to show where there were once iron cage doors.
"Master?" Onska sounded very small behind me. "What is this place?"
A tug on her leash was her answer. I walked to the pyramid, my footsteps echoing. Cold stars and damned worlds watched me from the ceiling.
I reached the pyramid. It had been built from blocks of a dull, grey stone that seemed to have been foamed.
"Come," I pulled the slave along. "Let's see what's up here."
I climbed to the top of the pyramid. Its summit was a wide, flat, platform of stone about twenty feet square. At its center was a sacrificial altar, flanked by man-sized statues of rearing cobras.
Mounted facing the altar was an immense block of amber. Suspended inside it, as calm as if he'd been sleeping, was the near-pristine body of a man. He wore red and gold robes in the same fashion as the statues. His beard shined as if just oiled. Clutched in his hands was a ritual knife of jagged, obsidian glass.
"Oh!" Onska stepped back, eyes wide.
I stepped forward to study the corpse. Its cheeks and eye sockets were sunken, the skin partly desiccated. "He's dead. And he isn't getting out of this if that's what worries you," I tapped the immense block.
Onska leaped back.
"Don't be tiresome," I tied her leash to one of the cobras.
She knelt and stared warily at the sacrificial table.
Who was this man? When did he live? What was he doing here?
I pressed my hands against the amber like a child at a toy store's window. Lower down; I felt the indents and grooves of cuneiform. I pulled a parchment and some charcoal from my pack and made a rubbing. There was more writing than I could ever capture on the sheet - I hoped I had picked the most important portion.
"I think I know what this place is," I stepped back and looked up at the ceiling. The constellations seemed to blaze.
"A temple, Master?" said Onska.
"It's for attracting Landing Beasts. These charts are for showing where the creatures are, and when. All that empty sand outside is a landing area! The wizards lured the Beasts down," I pointed to the wall friezes, "And after they crashed, the slavers did the rest. This is a fishing ground!"
I thought back to what Megaros had said; that there weren't any written spellbooks of Rakka's magic. That instead, Aymund's places of power were the records themselves. I thought of tomb raiders like Stikken, only interested in what their superiors demanded. They were idiots ignoring - or even destroying - the very answers they sought.
Tsathoggua take them! Aymund was too kind.