Chương 20: Riddles and Lies pt.3
Kyrntar's heart raced as the darkness poured from the breach in the wall, swirling like a living entity. The shadows writhed and stretched, creeping closer with every passing second. 'Get ready,' he muttered, barely holding back the dread clawing at his throat. Vikra didn't need to be told twice—her dagger gleamed in the dim light as her eyes flicked toward Druvon. Whatever lay beyond that wall, they had only moments to decide their next move before it consumed them. "That door... it's linked to whatever's holding this place together. I can feel it. But if we enter it, we could be facing something far worse than what's already here."
Druvon stepped forward, his broad form moving with measured strength. "Then we don't act until we're ready," he said, voice steady. His gaze flicked briefly to Vikra, who nodded in silent agreement. "Better we face it on our terms than let it take us by surprise."
He shifted his stance, raising his shield higher, his presence solid and immovable. "Let it come to us," Druvon growled. "We'll be ready."
Kyrntar took a deep breath, his fingers flexing around the hilt of his sword. He nodded, though the weight of uncertainty still clung to him like a shadow. The whispers continued to swirl around them, darker and more frantic now. Whatever lay behind that passageway was waking up, and when it did, there would be no turning back.
Just as Druvon speaks, the room begins to tremble. The whispers swell into a deafening roar, and the symbols on the wall pulse violently, their light flickering erratically. The ground beneath them shakes, cracks spreading across the stone floor, and a deep, rumbling sound echoes from below. Whatever dark force has been disturbed is now fully awake.
The temperature drops even further, and the light from their torches dims, as though something is drawing the energy from the very air around them. The whispers shift into something darker, more primal, and the ground beneath the pool of water ahead begins to shift. Something is rising.
Kyrntar feels a cold dread settle over him as the temple itself seems to respond to their presence. Whatever ancient force lies within is no longer dormant. The air is thick with dark energy, and the very walls seem to hum with malevolence.
Druvon stands firm, his shield raised and his eyes scanning the room for the source of the disturbance. He doesn't speak, but his posture says it all—he's ready for whatever comes.
Vikra, ever silent, moves into the shadows, her eyes flicking between the shifting floor and the walls, looking for any sign of the threat.
The three are poised for battle, knowing that whatever they face next will test their resolve.
As the ground beneath them rumbles and the air thickens with malevolent energy, Druvon turns to Kyrntar, his expression grim but firm. "We can't stand here waiting for this thing to tear us apart. Whatever's down here, we face it now or later—but if we're going to face it, we do it on our terms, closer to our goal. Make the call, paladin."
Kyrntar hesitates for only a moment, feeling the pressure of the growing darkness surrounding them. The air is cold, and the whispers are becoming unbearable. But Druvon's words resonate with him. If they're going to face this threat, it's better to confront it closer to their goal than to be overwhelmed here.
Kyrntar's heart pounded as he stepped forward, forcing his legs to move despite the dread that tightened around his chest. He met Vikra's steady gaze, a silent decision passing between them. "We go forward," he said, voice tight. "Whatever comes, we face it head-on." His hands flexed around the sword hilt, the weight of command heavier than ever. Every step from here would seal their fate—his companions trusted him to lead, but one misstep could doom them all.
Vikra glances at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as she silently acknowledges the decision. With a swift, precise motion, she presses her hand against the hidden panel and activates the mechanism.
Vikra's fingers brushed against the mechanism, a near-silent click resonating through the chamber. For a moment, nothing happened—just a still, suffocating silence. Then the wall trembled, groaning like a beast disturbed from its slumber. A frigid gust of air howled through the widening gap, carrying the stench of rot and decay. Kyrntar's breath hitched in his throat as the darkness beyond seemed to reach for them, tendrils of cold sinking into his skin, into his bones.
The ground beneath their feet shakes once more. The symbols on the walls pulse faster, and a deep grinding noise echoes through the chamber. For a moment, nothing happens, but then the sound of a pool of water ahead begins to bubble furiously, as if something massive is stirring beneath its surface. Waves of black water begin oozing out of the gappend wall, as if the abyss ahead was leaking a black blood.
The floor ahead cracked with a thunderous roar, sending splinters of stone flying as dark, viscous water began to pour out, spreading like spilled ink across the chamber. It slithered toward them, swallowing the flickering torchlight, turning the room into an oppressive, suffocating darkness. The temperature plunged, the very air freezing in their lungs with each ragged breath. A metallic taste clung to the back of Kyrntar's throat, sharp and bitter, as though the darkness itself had a flavor. The whispers, once soft and haunting, were now a deafening roar, a maddening storm of voices gnashing at his mind like rusted blades scraping against stone.
The ground trembled violently, and from the heart of the shattered pool, something stirred—a low rumble reverberating through the stone. The liquid churned, rising in convulsions, as if the water itself was rebelling against what it held. Something shifted in the pool—first a ripple, then a convulsion, as if the very water recoiled from the creature emerging from its depths. A silhouette formed, dark and contorted, writhing with unnatural spasms as it pulled itself free from the blackened waters. Limbs twisted in impossible angles, joints popping with wet, sickening cracks. Then came the eye—a single, sickly orb of light that pierced through the gloom, flickering like a flame about to die. It burned with malevolent hunger, locking onto Kyrntar with an intelligence too old, too cruel, for this world.
It was a Morlith—a grotesque creature twisted by dark magic, its leathery skin stretched tight over its skeletal frame. The jagged contours of its body were bent and malformed, and yet it moved with a horrible grace as it emerged, one long, skeletal hand gripping the edge of the pool. Its eye—the only light in the chamber—gleamed with a malevolent, hungry intelligence, its sickly green glow illuminating the room in jagged shadows.
The Morlith grinned, its lipless mouth pulled tight across jagged teeth, each one chipped and yellowed. Its grin widened unnaturally, a grotesque mockery of a smile, as though it found some twisted amusement in the horror it brought. The sight was almost unbearable—the creature's empty, hollow sockets barely noticeable beneath the radiance of its single, luminous eye.
The whispers grew louder, more frenzied, like a fever pitch that gnawed at their sanity. The Morlith's eye flickered, casting Kyrntar and the others in a sickly glow, as if marking them as prey.
Kyrntar's grip on his sword was desperate now, his palms wet as sweat trickled down his temple despite the bone-chilling cold. The whispers coiled around his mind like a thousand dark tendrils, each one tugging at his resolve, unraveling the clarity he so desperately needed. His heart thundered against his ribs, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he fought to stay in control, but the weight of the creature's gaze gnawed at him, an unrelenting force that threatened to break him before the battle had even begun. He felt the weight of the creature's gaze upon him, a crawling sensation that burrowed deep into his soul. His heart pounded in his chest, but he refused to step back, squaring his shoulders, forcing his breathing to steady despite the mounting dread.
The Morlith rose fully from the pool now, its grotesque form towering over them. Its body jerked and twitched unnaturally, each movement accompanied by the sickening crack of bones and the wet slither of muscle. The creature's grin never faltered, stretching impossibly wide as it loomed closer, its eye fixed on Kyrntar, unblinking, almost... curious.
Vikra, always silent, was a shadow at Kyrntar's side, her eyes darting toward the Morlith's glowing eye. Her lips quirked in a grim, cynical smirk as if mocking the creature's grotesque appearance. She crouched low, daggers drawn, waiting for the moment to strike, her expression one of morbid humor as though finding amusement in facing such abomination.
Druvon remained a towering figure, his shield raised high, his stoic gaze never wavering as the creature approached. He stood firm, unshaken, though his grip on his weapon tightened. The Morlith's eye cast an unsettling glow on his golden armor, turning it a dull green, but Druvon's expression remained impassive, determined to hold the line.
The Morlith's grin grew impossibly wider, its single eye narrowing as the whispers intensified. It raised a long, gnarled finger and pointed toward Kyrntar, its voice a raspy, wet gurgle that seemed to come from the very stones beneath them.
It began to croak, the words thick with venomous glee,
"You will see, oh yes, you'll see.
When darkness calls
and light does flee,
Your minds will break,
your souls set free."
The whispers around them grew deafening, wrapping around their minds like a vice. Kyrntar gritted his teeth, forcing the voices back, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Whatever this creature was, it had to be stopped.
The Morlith's eye flared brighter, its grin never faltering as it advanced, the weight of its presence pressing down on them like a physical force. And with each step it took, the room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing closer, the shadows growing deeper, as though the temple itself was alive and responding to the creature's malevolent will.
Kyrntar raised his sword, his voice steady but cold. "Whatever you are, whatever darkness you carry—know this. I won't let you stand in our way."
The Morlith only grinned wider.
"Heroes bold, you come to fight,
But do you see what lies in sight?
To end the dark, a price you'll pay,
But innocence may fade away."
The Morlith's voice slithered through the air like poison, and its eye locked onto Kyrntar. Around the edges of the chamber, barely visible in the dim light, figures huddled in the shadows, various specters of villagers, chained and trembling, their eyes wide with fear.
Kyrntar's heart pounded as he stepped forward, his mind racing. This was no ordinary foe, and the riddles it spoke were laced with malice. He glanced at Druvon and Vikra, both ready to strike, but the Morlith continued its dark rhyme, its grin widening.
"Answer me this, and perhaps they'll live,
But speak untrue, and blood shall give.
What chains the soul but never holds?
What strength cuts deeper than steel,
yet leaves the bearer cold?"
The Morlith's eye gleamed with a wicked intelligence as it awaited Kyrntar's response, the villagers trembling in the corners. Kyrntar knew he had no choice but to play along, even as the dread settled deep in his chest.
The game had begun.
The creature's eye glowed brighter, locking onto Kyrntar. The question was clear, but the rhyming, twisting words made it harder to decipher the true meaning.
Kyrntar took a step forward, his brow furrowed in concentration, trying to make sense of the riddle, but the creature gave him no time to linger.
Another sickening grin split the Morlith's face, and it continued, circling them, its voice now deeper, darker:
"Or perhaps a second riddle,
to test your will,
For shadows grow longer and blood runs still.
What is broken when it is fulfilled?
What brings two hearts together,
yet leaves them chilled?"
The grotesque monster's voice was like a razor to their minds, each word harder to grasp, each rhyme a tangled web. The villagers whimpered, seemingly their lives bound to the answers the party would give. The Morlith chuckled, its claws tapping rhythmically on the stone floor, as if enjoying the game.
Kyrntar strained to understand, his mind spinning with the words. He knew the dark powers and possibly the dragon amulet tied to them, but the riddles twisted the truth, obscuring the connection. He glanced back at Druvon and Vikra, whose uneasy expressions showed they, too, were struggling to decipher the monstrous creature's meaning.
The Morlith hissed with delight, its voice rising into a singsong rhyme once more:
"So choose your path,
brave paladin true,
Will you free their chains
or break them too?
A price must be paid,
that much is clear,
But who will suffer?
Who will disappear?"
The Morlith's glowing eye fixed on Kyrntar, its jagged grin twisting unnaturally wide.
"Seek the truth, oh,
how you try,
broken things
still make you lie.
What binds your soul,
yet leaves it free?
The rightoues dance,
but what do they see?"
The riddles dripped with malice, its voice slithering through the dark like poison. Kyrntar, gripping his sword tighter, snapped, "Enough! What curse twists this place?" His demand rang out, but the Morlith merely chuckled, a cold, rasping sound that clung to the air.
Druvon, ever cautious, stepped forward. "There's more to this than madness, Kyrntar. Listen. The riddle's hiding something." His gaze remained locked on the Morlith, searching for a crack in the creature's endless mockery. "Broken, but it binds... a curse. Focus on that." Yet the Morlith's laughter grew louder, a harsh, eerie cackle. "Oh, how you fumble, how you plead! You beg for answers you'll never need. The chains are tight, the shadows grin, but none of you will see within!"
Kyrntar growled, stepping closer, his frustration boiling over. "Tell me the truth! What is this darkness?" The Morlith leaned in, its grin stretching wider, its eye gleaming brighter.
"The curse you seek, it's in your breath.
The final truth? A creeping death.
When light is gone, and shadows stay,
you'll find the price you've come to pay!"
Its cackling filled the chamber, the mocking rhyme wrapping around them like chains, leaving Druvon and Kyrntar grasping for any thread of sense in the riddle's twisted verse.
The Morlith's voice rose into a cruel, singsong mockery, its glowing eye flickering with twisted delight as it swayed in rhythm with its eerie chant. The riddles came out sharp, each word meant to confuse, to unravel the truth just enough to leave it maddeningly out of reach. It offered no more clarity, no straightforward path—only the teasing echo of a game with deadly stakes.
As the creature's voice dripped with malice, Druvon stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Kyrntar's shoulder, his presence grounding. "These riddles aren't random, Kyrntar. They're meant for you. Listen carefully. Whatever it's hiding, it's tied to your past."
Kyrntar's mind twisted around the Morlith's words, each riddle weaving tighter around his thoughts, binding him in uncertainty. The longer he hesitated, the more oppressive the darkness became. It wasn't just a question of getting the answer wrong—it was the price that came with it. The lives of his village, his companions, hung in the balance, each word sat on a blade waiting to fall.
Kyrntar's breath came slow and deliberate as he tried to focus. The Morlith's cryptic words echoed in his mind—chains, strength, misery—and the connections to Marra and the dragon amulet began to take shape, though still blurred, slipping through his thoughts like sand. The answer seemed to hover just beyond his reach, elusive. The Morlith's grin only widened, feeding off Kyrntar's inner turmoil, its eye glowing brighter with satisfaction as the paladin fought to untangle the riddles that bound his mind. And in the shadow of the creature's amusement, the villagers faded, like distant phantoms, their fate becoming more uncertain by the second.
The Morlith's wicked grin stretched unnaturally wide, as though some unseen clock had run out, its cackle slicing through the heavy air like a rusted blade. Its voice, dripping with disdain, filled the chamber, carrying the weight of malice with every syllable:
"Too late, little paladin,
You've sealed your fate,
Now feel the power,
No time to wait!"
Before anyone could react, the creature's grotesque form erupted violently, sending a torrent of black, corrosive liquid in all directions. The necrotic substance sizzled against stone and metal, filling the chamber with a thick, acrid stench as the air itself seemed to burn under the assault of necrotic energy.
Kyrntar, instincts sharpened by divine resilience, managed to conjure a shield of radiant light, deflecting the worst of the spray. The energy clawed at him, but his defenses held firm, the burn barely grazing his flesh. Druvon and Vikra, however, were not as lucky. The black liquid splattered across Druvon's armor, eating away at the metal and searing his flesh beneath. He groaned, the weight of his injury evident as the necrotic energy ravaged his towering frame. Vikra, nimble and ever-watchful, darted through the chaos, but even she couldn't fully evade the onslaught. A dark splash grazed her side, the corrosive substance seeping into her skin, leaving her breath sharp with pain.
They staggered back, retreating to the relative safety of a shadowed corner as they surveyed the aftermath. The chamber reeked of decay and burnt air, the remnants of the Morlith's explosion leaving behind an oppressive, malevolent stain. Druvon groaned in pain, the damage to his armor and flesh glaringly apparent, while Vikra winced as she inspected her wound, her usually sharp eyes dulled by pain.
Kyrntar, steadying himself, glanced between his companions. The Morlith's riddles had twisted through his mind, but now the meaning was beginning to crystallize. The creature had toyed with them—its cryptic words were not just a challenge, but a warning they had been too slow to unravel. "It knew all along… about the amulet, about Marra. The chains, the misery—it was telling us, or worse… manipulating us."
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