XIII
For the longest time, all was perfectly still inside the tainted chapel. Sárka had been slain, Nephethys freed from her clutches. And all of this thanks to Shthelith, who turned out to be a much friendlier companion notwithstanding his antiquated speech and minorly disturbed demeanor.
He appeared to be no stranger to combat either. As such, I already knew that he would make quite the addition to our group of outcasts to retrieve the unholy artifacts of this damned land.
Several minutes passed by and we still held each other tightly while Shthelith occupied himself with shuffling through the corpses on the hunt for supplies.
Nephethys soon lifted her blushed and moistened face from my shoulder to gaze into my heart and soul with her beautiful, red, Dunmer eyes.
"I missed you so much", she said, sniffling somewhat. The prospect of holding in her tears wore greatly on her. But as I should soon discover, she tried to avoid shewing weakness at all costs. And for a reason.
I replied, consolingly: "I know. And this is why I came for you. I've risked my life to save yours".
She smiled softly, the usual confidence her eyes gave off gradually returning. I could tell that all words spoken mattered not to her so long as I was there. It was this aura of loving, warm hearted familiarity that surrounded us. No. It was an aura of family.
I gently let my shaking fingers stroke her pure, white hair as Shthelith suddenly chimed in, to an extent destroying the pleasant atmosphere.
"Thou'rt hurt, Thorus. I believe however, that, combining my blood magic with the recently acquired, magical acumen of thy friend, we can mend thee to spare thee of two naps precisely!"
Excitedly, he came up to us and extended his opened palm to Nephethys.
"Shthelith is my name. I have procured thy friend from among the dust and provided him refuge and recovery, yes yes…", he said, beckoning her to shake hands. My ashen friend stared at me with some ambiguity, indubitably due to the nature of my newfound compatriot. I nodded reassuringly to testify that this particular Blood Elf can be trusted. After all, I had no reason not to confess my allegiance to my saviour.
With hesitation, she made her hand meet his. When they connected, something awe-inspiring took place. Both of them got engulfed by a fog of bright red and incandescently luminous white. Tiny wisps of the same coloration playfully danced a dance of benign purpose. Swirling and twirling around in the air, the wisps flowed into the two of them, rapidly alternating betwixt the Dunmer and the Aímamer.
I wondered, then, if the merish races shared some magical connexion with each other. Or if it was the blood that bound them. Regardless of the true reasons behind this marvellous spectacle of light and the all-pervading energy, I could feel the surrounding air vibrate intensely.
The two of them now extended their hands to me. I grabbed them and was subsequently filled with comfort, warmth and strength. I felt how my skin and the flesh and bones beneath it moved around on their own, propelled by this unique ritual.
The next moment, the blinding luminescence faded, the autonomous movement of my substance and fabric stopped. And with it, all pain, or the remnants thereof, subsided. The two elves eyed me in anticipation. After some scrutiny by Shthelith, he exclaimed: "It worked! I never did this ritual before. As such I had no knowledge of its true extent. Marvellous, simply marvellous!".
"What exactly did you do just now?", Nephethys asked with a suspicion-infused undertone.
"I have focus'd thy magickal force and attun'd it to my own via the blood, essentially channeling our combin'd energy. After all, blood magic is what me and my fair kin are born and raised with. And through a rather unsaintly rite", he hinted at Nephethys' tibiæ, "Thou hast acquir'd such properties as well".
When Shthelith explained what was happening, it dawned on me why Nephethys was capable of casting certain spells every now and then. Notwithstanding that her body got bereaved of its lower legs in their traditional form, she had come into possession of strengths and talents unheard of. Most power-hungry mages I came across would have gladly sacrificed one or two body parts for such prodigious might.
But I also knew that Nephethys was not fully in control of her new blood. Perhaps, I thought, Shthelith could teach her a thing or two along the way.
Nephethys stared at him, lost in thought. After a while she drew breath and said: "So you say my Blood is now capable of influencing magic in a similar fashion that yours does?"
Shthelith nodded corroboratingly and began to lecture her about the nature of magic.
"That is correct. Thou must be aware, though, that blood is what conducteth and distributeth magicke throughout thy body in the first place. It is the reason thou'rt able to cast any spell at all. However! In addition, thou'rt now able to not only let the magicke flow through it, but use the blood itself as a source of power to tap into".
Nephethys looked strangely pleased in response. There was a spark in her eyes that I could not explain away. Its genuineness was unmistakable. That spark in her gleaming eyes was the start of a fire - the fire of terrible revenge.
"Very good", she then remarked with a sinister intonation. I told myself not to worry too much about her state of mind. She had not been a Dark Brotherhood assassin for nothing. But shrugging off the sense of something being not right about her following this revelation proved to be absolutely impossible. Just as I could detect the potential iniquity in some individuals, could I now feel her raw, unabridged loathing perspire through her pupils. She had changed. Irrevocably so, I suspected.
My contemplation towards Nephethys' evolution and my inherent contempt towards it were swiftly washed away by the ensuing chatter, forcing me to listen.
"Good old Shthelith observeth the rancor growing in thy heart, grey one. I beseech thee to control it, lest thou assaultest thy allies. Like a vampire doth in their fledgling state, craving every bit of life force available, not differentiating betwixt friend or foe. Dost thou understand?".
"Yes, Shthelith. My destructive energy shall rain down upon those who would attempt harm or incarceration upon me, you or Thorus ever again. I will obliterate our enemies", Nephethys droned.
Her tone of voice was dreadfully off. Something was inside her. Something darker than her murderous heritage, even. To such an extent as to make her appear to lose the sense of her usual self. Soon, she would notice the sorrow that took a hold of my countenance and made an attempt at reassurance herself.
"Have no fear, my love. For with this, I can protect us both better than ever before".
Her voice softened and she returned to her usual mannerisms as soon as she addressed me. It seemed as though my presence had had a calming effect on her soul.
"I feel more confident now than in my entire life, Thorus. Are you not elated to see me like this?".
I smiled and nodded.
"Yes, I am. I am glad you've come to terms with your affliction, however vile. You are the strongest person I ever met. You will stand tall, no matter the situation. This I know".
I gently stroked her cheeks and pure fortitude flooded my body.
Her white teeth sparkled as she grinned with glee.
"I always had to be strong", she said, " For I never had it easy. I committed my first act of murder at the age of fifteen out of disdain for…", she paused, thinking, then continued: "For someone. There was much that happened up to that point, you know. And I could stand it no longer. But I was stronger, always had to be. And then, one night, the Brotherhood found me".
Her voice began to break as she reminisced about her bygone youth.
"I…", she exhaled deeply, "Just don't let anybody take me away, I beg of you".
She wiped small tears from her face before regaining composure.
"I have put my own life at risk once, I will do it again. We stand together as one, Nephethys", I said.
We sealed this agreement, born from mutual affection, with an embrace that made both our hearts pound against each other, feeding off one another's love to strengthen our spirits. A soft, tender kiss, silent in its holy serenity, bound our fates together.
After our very own ritual concluded, Shthelith spoke up, again disrupting our calm aura.
"Hear ye! Sárka hath expired. However, we must get into possession of the Ancient Word as well. If we intend to enter the city, that is".
He was right, we needed to acquire the word. But first, we had to know where it was located.
"I propose we scour the chapel. The tower, specifically. Who can say what we might find?", he then announced.
Nephethys and I got up from the ground and espied the ladder leading up to our destination. The three of us gathered and together, we approached the relatively small space in comparison to the otherwise quite pompous architecture.
One after the other, we climbed up the metal rungs of the slightly shaky construct to reach the top of the tower. I was last in line.
At about a third of the way, the great rose window depicting the thing of angular lines and triangular shapes came into view, tinting my pale skin in a gay splendor.
The window gave off a portentous vibration and I felt that it had been placed there, painted in the way that it was, for a reason apart from mere decorative purposes. But what exactly that other purpose was I should not come to know until much later.
Right before I reached the roof truss' space I could already hear the footsteps of my two allies on the arguably thin, wooden floor above me. Due to their weight, dust particles dislodged themselves from in betwixt the bent cracks, trickling down onto me, constituting a layer of filth on my shoulders.
After a few more pulls on the iron rungs I emerged, pushing myself up the ledge of the feeble flooring.
Instead of a great bell or a shrine to the deity in question, as I've grown accustomed to in Cyrodiil, I was met with a wholly different sight.
The confined space was of a foursquare shape, a tiny, clear window on each side illuminating the area. The dark brown brickwork was accentuated by a red, peaked roof and even darker floorboards.
In its center stood a lone pillar of jetty black rock, about waist-height, carved into the shape of seven intertwining, spiralling tentacles. Upon them sat a square plate, thick as a finger, perched on which a rectangular box the size of a mead bottle in height and width.
It appeared to have been fashioned from pure gold, its light-refracting surface plunging the room in a luxurious hue of different shades of decadence. The artifact was distinctly ornate, with queer engravings of symbols and glyphs I was unable to even remotely recognize or decipher.
As it was, I had severe trouble to ascertain which side of it I was looking at. I shot a quick gaze over to my companions and saw that they were, like me, utterly stunned by the surrounding sparkle.
I approached the unusual thing and only when I got closer did I notice the absence of any hinges. Intrigued by its curious design, I touched it, trying everything I could think of to open it somehow.
After a couple of failed attempts, I at last figured out that its front side acted as a cover one has to shove upwards to reveal its contents. What I found to be quite marvellous about its intricate workmanship was the fact that, once sealed, the golden box appeared to be entirely seamless.
Stalling no longer, I lifted the cover, quite heavy due to it being made entirely of gold, and took a peek at its insides.
Contained within I found a transparent trapezohedron, made from some sort of gem, embedded in a silky, black cushion that filled the remainder of the otherwise unoccupied space.
I reached out, grabbing it with my fingertips. As I did, the omnipresent light of an invisible sun struck the shape whereunto it changed in colour to shine in an iridescent lustre.
The new gleam threw gay, glistening spots on the walls, transforming the room into a visual festivity of bewitching scintillation. I was taken aback by the almost paralyzing pulchritude.
After a while, my mind snapped back to reality. As the enchantment wore off, I stashed it away in my coat to leave only the aurum shades to exert their dominance once again.
My allies had evidently been just as enchanted as I, for I witnessed their absent minded stares of bewilderment fade and return to normal as the ethereal rainbows disappeared.
Shthelith stepped up to me, and in reverence, remarked:
"Such splendour. Indeed, methinks thou couldst startle potential enemies with this stone".
He pondered for a moment and continued:
"I have observ'd this special shape as being a salient feature in this structure's architectural design principles. Belike it is a key of some capacity?"
Indeed, the chandeliers and candlesticks did have such trapezohedrons to support their waxen contents.
"You have a point", I acquiesced and together, we descended the ladder again, past the gloomy, ill-boding rose window, and arrived at the altar.
I inspected the construct more closely now. I slid my palm across its smooth surface and ornate sides and edges until I noticed a singular indentation on the side that faced the tower.
After feeling my way around it became clear that it absolutely must be a perfect fit for the recently acquired gem.
I produced the trapezohedron from within my coat, prompting it to shine beautifully in the already colourful illumination of the great hall. Then, I inserted it into the hole I had found.
With a click it fastened itself as an ornament within the religious platform. I took a few steps back, cautious as to what might happen.
The gem would soon begin to emit a blinding whiteness, increasing in intensity every second.
First, I had to squint, then shut my eyes completely in order to avoid losing my sight, for it was unbearably bright, like a star in the night sky, burning itself through my eyelids so that I at last had to cover them with my hands in protection.
Thereafter, bit by bit, it darkened again until my eyes were finally able to adjust to a more common level of brightness.
As I reopened the lids, I witnessed the stone construct, now bearing the gem, move on its own. It slid off to the right, chafing away at the bloodied ground, until a rectangular aperture began to take its place among sounds of rock grinding on rock.
Another, louder click announced the end of the altar's movement.
Before us now lay another ladder, leading down into the bowels of the church. From it, fumes emerged, carrying forth an odor I knew all too well. And with no visible light sources in sight, the three of us prepared ourselves for a journey into the unknown dark below.
XIV
Shthelith, Nephethys and I descended the cold rungs amidst hot and dry air. Even down there, the universally tormenting climate that the world never failed to shew to us seemed to persist with relentless perseverance.
I was, upon touching the ground of the pitch black, lightless, subterranean space, left to ask myself just what it was that pervaded this world, and every aspect of it, with such torture.
My mind was quickly drawn away from these thoughts at the impenetrable shadow of the place I was situated in. I had greater things to worry about. Somehow, it was as if I breathed foul water the moment I set foot into this new location. And in hindsight, I wish it was not so. I wish I had never seen what I was about to witness.
I had no conjecture in respect to my actual whereabouts or the nature thereof. I was blind. The only thing, apart from the oppressive humidity, that I was able to distinctly perceive was the moist stench of iron and bile that almost felt indigenous to wherever I stood in that moment.
Shthelith's voice, muffled by the walls that enveloped our group, occasionally disturbed by a rhythmic pulse from far away, broke the uncanny atmosphere.
"Welcome to the Crypt of Sárka. 'tis a place only few witness'd with their own eyes. Fewer yet emerged from here still alive. Me? I have never been here afore. I never knew whence the entrance lay, either."
I could hear him fumble about before the area suddenly got deprived of any darkness that might have taken up residence within those depths, for he cast a torch spell to light our path.
A queer emotion of ambiguity spread through my mind, then, as I wished for both decent visibility to be able to navigate the crypt and for my Blood Elf to extinguish his guiding flame so that I might be spared of the vista that unfolded before me.
When the light gained purchase, the sepulchre was lit to reveal its disconcerting contents. To my utmost disgust, the room we were in appeared to be entirely made of flesh. The ground, walls and ceiling were pulsating, vibrating and exceedingly warm and soft to the touch, save for the occasional, ginormous vein running across beneath the thick skin, visibly pumping some fluid through in nauseating waves. From them streamed liquids of various stages of putrefaction, spreading an unbelievable fœtor among the wet air.
At the end of the room lay a great maw the size of a doorway, lined with sharp teeth along its edges, continually contracting in a sickening fashion.
In the room's center a closed hole made from pure muscle tissue was embedded into the floor. Small rivers of what I suspected to be very viscous saliva ran towards it.
As I looked around me, I noticed the alarming absence of furniture or even other lifeforms. Only then did it dawn on me that our group had haphazardly trod into what must have been a living creature that digested its food inside the very space we stood in with growing apathy, paralyzed by the impossibility of such a thing even existing on Nirn - or anywhere else for that matter.
Just as I was about to voice my suspicions, I felt a painful burn on the underside of my right foot. In surprise, I pulled it up to inspect the fresh wound. By how it formed, it looked like a nasty rash born from some corrosive substance that had burned itself through the middle part of my boot's sole.
Shthelith noticed this and drew his very own conclusions, making his concern heard:
"By the blood! Thorus, Nephethys! We stepped into the bowels of a Shredmound! Ye must hurry! Thorus! Thou possessest a sword! Quick! Cleave at the door!".
He pointed his index finger at the perpetually contracting mass of flesh and teeth in the back.
Consciously, I stalled not and produced my trusty blade from its scabbard. I traversed the way-giving, alive floor with some difficulty, stepping into slimy puddles as I stumbled on my way to the exit. Nephethys and Shthelith followed me closely.
When I reached the gate, the disgusting hole in the center of the room opened behind us and expectorated a vicious horror of crudely stuck together flesh with all manner of malformed appendages, mindlessly running towards us with a hundred gnawing mouths covering its surface.
The malice in this realm knew no bounds. In despondence, I came to realize that clemency had no place in this unholy plane of existence.
I averted my panicked gaze from the maliciously shambling form to instead focus on opening the salivating, steaming maw before me.
First, I drove my Gladius deep into its raw meat, causing a waterfall of blood to spurt forth, running down its skin and staining me and my already gritty coat even further.
Then, I twisted the blade to assume a diagonal angle whereupon I let it slice asunder the hideous abomination. I looked behind me after having cleared a path to witness Nephethys jump into the air in a twirling motion, legs outstretched in great agility, cutting the hulking monster that followed us into a myriad of small pieces, after which it fell apart completely.
I observed it collapse into a disordered pile of coarse meat and partly disintegrated bones before our group made haste to claim egress.
Finally, we could breathe untainted air again. All of us panted heavily after this ordeal. Nephethys seemed especially displeased and inquired disdainfully: "What by Sithis was that?".
Shthelith, conspicuously shaken from fear as well, responded: "That was... what my kind calleth a Shredmound", he explained, "A parasitic life form indigenous to our world. But instead of infesting other organisms, as a parasite doth, a Shredmound infesteth structures. It nesteth itself into a door frame and groweth from there into the smaller of the two rooms available to it".
Nephethys shook her head and stared at him in disbelief.
"My good self suspecteth that this specimen in particular hath not grown to full adulthood. Otherwise, the entrance to this here sepulchre would have been seal'd by its flesh - or another maw", he added in a scholarly and sophisticated tone.
"This is insane, this is pure madness", Nephethys uttered under her breath, barely audible.
Her very spirit seemed to have been thoroughly excoriated by all that had transpired up to that point. Truth be told, I had never expected to be in a foreign dimension, fighting for survival. But there we were, horrified and scared like children in a winding forest at night, in which incomprehensible entities concealed their presences within the hollowed-out trees, preying on them, waiting amidst the decaying barks of bent vegetation. There was no hiding it any longer.
As mentally resilient as we had been, nothing could have prepared us for such sanguine blight.
To provide mutual comfort to us both, I laid my arm around her shoulders and pressed her body against mine. Thereupon her breath slowed down after she inhaled deeply, calming her exasperated nerves to a somber slumber of solace. After a few moments, she nodded in taciturnity and smiled. After all, everybody needs a little warmth otherwhile.
Now, we felt emotionally prepared for whatever it was we might face down there. Shthelith stood by, watching out for possible hazards during our recovery. I relieved him of his benevolent guard duty with a short "Let us move".
We had just exited what I can now, by reminiscence, describe as a living room, finding ourselves peering into a dimly illuminated hallway. It was fairly devoid of any salient features excluding a brooding blackness that bubbled in latent evil beyond the rays of the Blood Elves' magically conjured lustre.
As we started to carefully tread the shadowy, underground corridor of grey brickwork, the Aímamer arrested our attention with a word of warning:
"Good old me hath no fathom as to the actual extent of the crypt. It may be constructed of only one layer, or of multiple. Be wary you two. This may be a longer or shorter trip."
Nephethys and I understood that this journey might he terribly tiresome. Then again, had not every trip in these lands been as such?
All of us ingested some water to stay hydrated, whereupon we made our way deeper into the large entombment.
Much to our surprise, along our path we were not assailed by fœtid odors as was usually the case with mausoleums of this proportion.
However, we did notice some kind of effect that demanded its fair share of our dispirited souls. Going ever deeper unto unholy soil, our bodies trembled, faintly at first, but stronger the further we went. While initially barely noticeable, by the time we had descended the first staircase into the second layer of the structure, our blood started to feel as if it sought to move on its own.
Unsettled, we turned to Shthelith in our search for answers, since he appeared to be strangely unaffected. He massaged his chin for a bit afore he formulated a rather perplexing, albeit enlightening, response:
"Well, well… yes… Well, perhaps the blood ye have within is not attun'd correctly to this place's magical frequency".
We had no idea as to the meaning of this, so we inquired further. The Blood Elf then explained to us that most places, at least in his world, resonated with its surroundings in a particular, magical frequency. It's an energy that continuously oscillates in and around these locations.
He hypothesized that our alienage from this plane of existence might be the reason for our present unrest. Moreover, it posed the answer to the question as to why we felt as miserable as we did the moment we set foot into this country.
"But worry ye not", he said, consolingly, "This effect is but temporary. Stay here long enough and ye will find such symptoms disappear".
Although we were still upset a little, we were content enough with that explanation.
We continued forward and espied, on this second floor, another hallway. This time, it sported two grand doorways on either side, directly opposite to each other, seeping from them indiscernible fumes.
"Methinks we are now in the main part of the crypt. Where the burials took place", Shthelith announced grimly in a kind of hushed whisper that made his voice raspy with residual mucus within his throat.
As if out of sheer instinct, the three of us armed ourselves in anticipation of combat with untold nightmares.
We trod with utmost care towards the two apertures. I could feel my heart beating almost maniacally at the premise of what lay beyond these gates while I felt the cold stone on my exposed sole of the foot. To our chagrin, due to the disadvantageous architectural givens, our group was in danger to be attacked from both sides.
On the fly we devised a sound enough strategy under considerable psychological strain in these harrowing conditions, because even the act of thinking straight and clear thoughts proved to be less and less feasible under the pressure of the hostile vibrations, lending a causality betwixt our growing fatigue and a newly developed oscillatory instability of ourselves.
Nephethys and I were to hug the wall on our right, whereas Shthelith assumed his position on the left hand side. Together, we crept ever so slowly in the direction of the hungrily waiting archways.
By the time we reached the very edge of the openings, I thought that any thing that may or may not lurk beyond them, provided they were equipped with a sufficient enough array of senses, vision, at the very least, must have already spotted our approach - or at least the stray beams of the Aímamer's radiance that shone so strongly as to banish any lingering shades in the forsaken corners of this burial palace.
Being uneasily nervous at this cogitation, I reluctantly peered around the weathered brick corner. Both terror and relief flooded my brain in equal measure, for I could spy an entity not dissimilar to the one that Nephethys had torn to shreds earlier.
These morbid jests of nature fortunately appeared to be suffering from general sensory deprivation. Amidst their vaguely held together lumps of flesh, I could see neither eyes, ears nor a nose. I realized that their amaurosis and utter lack of olfactory glands permitted us to roam about the adjacent rooms freely. Or so I thought.
On Shthelith's side there stood one of the flesh things, two of them loitering on mine and Nephethys'. I made my move and dared to take a few steps towards them, into the room, my lover, who had put her trust in my judgement, following suit.
We felt safe, treading our respective paths. However, it turned out to be a fatal misconception. These monsters, in spite of their shape, retained a remarkably well functioning sense of where everything was in relation to them. From what Shthelith had told us earlier about the blood and how it resonated with the environment, I suspected that to be the reason as to why. If my assumptions were correct, they were capable of sensing those vibrations, enabling them to move around regardless.
Intent on inspecting the area, we approached the horrors in our farcical belief in safety. In one moment, they just stood there, mouths biting the air, their surfaces dripping and steaming.
In the next, they rapidly dashed towards us with a disturbingly unnatural gait and an eerie yaw.
I took note of vicious claws that came down upon me. My reflexes were quick though, and I parried the assault with my sword to sever the hand from its body.
Its muscles pulsed vilely in response, for even though it sported a prodigious number of maws, it could not scream.
Next to me, Nephethys defended herself quite adequately. Having observed her somersault over the creature to inflict terrible retaliation, worry was swept away. I knew I had nothing to fear, neither for her nor for me.
From my angle, I did not catch any glimpses of our Aímamer but the auditory clues, hinting at despicable battle noises, told of a lopsided battle, with Shthelith having the upper hand.
My very own enemy shambled in my direction again with riveting celerity. I expertly foiled its attempt to claw at my face by stepping aside in a more graceful manner than I knew I was capable of.
Quickly, I swirled around by several degrees and brutally inserted my blade into its back, slicing its torso in half with an upwards motion. It collapsed and broke down into a beastly pile of half-decomposed, mucilaginous remains.
As I looked up after making sure of the being's demise by visual confirmation, I saw that Nephethys had by that time already dispatched her target. Shthelith was swift to follow in our footsteps, pulling out his cruel tool from the creature's head as I shot him a gaze.
As a monsoon of bloodied bits and pieces splattered against the walls and his robe, I caught myself feeling a profound sickness arise. I had severe trouble to suppress and conceal it, but eventually held in the bubbling vomit that I was much too close to release.
"We have to be more careful then", Nephethys casually remarked, albeit slightly annoyed. But she was right.
"Indeed. Truth be told, we couldn't know that these things were able to sense our-", I began to say before the distressed Dunmer cut me off.
"It interests me none", she complained loudly, "Just start exhibiting caution adequate to our situation already", she commanded even louder.
Her change in demeanor frightened me. Never had she been talking back to me in such aggressive fashion. The developing behavioral dissonances pertaining to her were extraordinarily appalling - and very saddening. Our usual, affectionate discourse was slowly and gently chipped away at by… something.
I was only left to wonder, but told myself that the unbearable stress of our ordeal brought about this shocking alteration. I consciously held back a tear that threatened to emerge, but not without being heartbroken to an extent.
"Do not be so harsh, Dark Elfe. He hath no fault. How should-", Shthelith intervened, finding himself to be now the target of Nephethys' anger.
"Couldst thou stop lecturing me? In that annoying, antiquated manner no less?", she boomed quizzaciously. Shthelith and I looked at each other in bafflement. I sighed in resignation, intent on letting the matter rest for the time being. Shthelith already inhaled to expostulate, but I motioned him not to by shaking my head. In response, he, too, aspirated a sigh of disappointment. But we had no use for infighting in our situation.
After the three of us had had a breather from the most recent combat and contention, we resolved to push forward, even though with minor grumbling. As we all entered the room to the right of the corridor, we came to the realization that the presence of these flesh monsters also meant that there was at least one more Shredmound around.
A scary thought. Running the risk of potentially being digested alive was a nightmare incarnate. Worse, still, getting turned into one of those mindless creations of darkest phantasm was unthinkable and yet, very much a reality.
We pressed on. The space we had entered was just as lightless as the rest of the burial chambers, so we had to again rely on the Blood Elf's spells to keep visibility at an acceptable level.
In that room's center, there was a dried out well as the first feature we could espy. Upon closer examination, I noticed that it was heavily encrusted with coagulated blood. I briefly asked myself as to what its now bygone purpose might have been but got interrupted by the astonished gasps of my fellows.
Their wide eyes surveyed the room. I did the same and suddenly understood their dignified awe. For the walls were completely covered in rectangular recesses from top to bottom, five per column stretching all the way to the very back of the chamber. We found each of them being occupied by a sealed, great stone sarcophagus bearing strange marks, impossible to decipher.
Notwithstanding their apparent sturdiness, past events have taught me to exercise utmost caution in spite of their indubitably robust workmanship. One can never know if a vile conjurer may raise the corpses of the deceased. Or perhaps another power, beyond our grasp, calls forth terrible doom.
To always have to anticipate a catastrophe was worse by several orders of magnitude than a disaster actually taking place. It was pure, unbridled, psychological torture. So nerve-racking in fact, I completely lost grip on my usual composure and began to cry, my heart beating, pounding, hammering with dread.
For a moment, my sanity slipped under the intense pressure. A thousand different reasons to be anxious in every moment will do that to you.
I was in luck, for my companions didn't catch me weeping, feeble and frail as I was. I managed to get a hold of my emotions again and literally gulped it all down as I swallowed a great lump of saliva and mucus to pass through my swollen throat. Besides, there was no telling what the now highly agitated Nephethys would have said or done if she had seen me as weak and squeamish like this. I could not hope for any support from her. At least that is what I felt.
As I got myself together, the still very much surprisingly calm Shthelith remarked that this tomb was reserved for only the most masterful of blood mages of his race.
"If someone were to invoketh such power by reanimation, peril would surely devoureth our land as mindless chaos emergeth from within the dead husks of these most powerful witches and wizards", he said, explaining that these bodies were still filled with blood from which they could draw powerful magic, even in a puppet-like state.
We searched the great room for anything significant aside from that fountain and the numerous sarcophagi, but nothing came of it. We played with the thought of opening a few of the heavy, stone caskets but refrained from doing it because we did not know if anything would thence trigger some effect to reanimate the body in question.
So, it appeared to be nothing more than a simple burial chamber to honor the deceased. And albeit I harboured an intense aversion towards that dried fountain, what exactly caused this I could, at the time, not yet say.
With relief and disappointment in our hearts, we left and instead inspected the chamber on the opposite side. To our chagrin, the arguably small enclosure was completely empty. That's what we thought at first.
However, as Shthelith's light illuminated the corners, a patch of a peculiar… something became visible.
The Aímamer already moaned in dismay.
"This here is a ceiling, or floor, of flesh blocking our path. We ought to remove it if we intend to access the stairs that layeth below. However, ye be wary. This likewise meaneth that there thriveth a Shredmound underneath. Upon ingress, we are sure to arrest its attention. It doth not like being hurt".
Latent death pulsed rhythmically before us on the ground, throwing me into utter despondence. Regardless, I had somewhat of an obligation to act against my better judgement, for we needed to procure the ancient word.
And so, with reluctance and disgust, I drove in the blade of my Gladius and inflicted nauseating lacerations to the thing, cutting open the aperture along the edges of the sealed mound until, after I had wholly encircled it, a massive clump of flesh dislodged from it and came crashing down onto the infested, slimy stairs below with several nasty smacks.
Our group could hear it slide further down until, after a few seconds, it came to a halt with more disquieting noises.
An unpleasant steam arose from the forcibly created hole, waging a noisome war on my nostrils. A war with the dirtiest of tricks that I could barely stand my ground against. I can still smell it, even now, as I write this lengthy letter, which tells me that it had won this war long ago.
At last, we ventured into the gaping wound in hopes of finding what we so desperately sought after.
Replies