Talos walked languidly through the lower sections of the monastery, on guard for any lurking dangers. The magelight floating above him let off a brilliant glow down the dark and decrepit hallways, casting long shadows over rotting furniture. The smell of mold and mildew hung heavy in the cold, moist air. This place wasn’t really looked after like the rest of his home, but the level of decay he was seeing was magnitudes greater than he had expected. The seals were weakening and it was obvious that the dark influence was getting stronger.
He turned a corner where cobwebs hung heavy against the ceiling. The husk of their creator, a spider the size of his head, lay curled up beneath them among piles of rat bones and rotting fur. The stink of putrid flesh thankfully no longer emanated from their mummified corpses. The killer now lay amongst the victims, an ironic twist of fate that didn’t escape notice.
His mother came running down the narrow corridor, easily catching up to him. “Talos, you can’t do this!”
He slowly turned to face her. “Why?”
She grabbed his hand and held it against her. “This place is corrupted by that damnable thing. Run from here while you still can. Come home, son!”
He pulled her in close, hugging her tightly. He remembered how her hair smelled like wildflowers in the meadows, the fragrance she used to get from the traveling alchemist. He missed her so much, and wanted nothing more than to go home and leave this place behind. He’d never tell anyone of course, but he was tired from the constant fighting.
He grabbed the collar of her vest and sent her body hard into the wall. Instantly she exploded into fragments of ash and dust, leaving specks of charred ash lingering like dust in the air. He watched as the remains began to slowly dissipate until nothing remained but the memory. He’d try to block it out later just as he always did.
He started slowly back down the path, fighting the inner turmoil raging with him. Every fiber of his being was telling him to turn back, but he knew that wasn’t possible. This was what he trained his whole life for.
He felt a gentle grip against his hand, trying to pull him backwards. He looked down to see a young girl, once beautiful but now horribly scarred. Her singed clothing still held embers from the very flames that incinerated them all those years ago. It burned, but never consumed the fabric it seemed. She looked up at him, pleading silently to go no further. The sweetest child he ever knew, his darling little sister.
He ripped himself from her grip and backhanded her hard to the floor. Sparks flew from the ashes and disappeared on an unseen wind. Soon, there was nothing left and no trace of her ever being there at all. A poignant reminder of his past that damaged him to the very core.
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He looked around the hall as small ribbons of blood began to slowly trickle from the cracks. They left crimson trails as they made their way down the dark gray stones. He reached out and wiped some of it with his finger, smearing it across the rough surface.
He then smelled his hand and shook his head.
A call came from down the hall, and Talos looked behind him with some amount of curiosity. A moment later a winded Azmund came around the corner in a hurry, kicking the rat bodies as he did so. He carried a crude torch, its smoke wafting thickly towards the ceiling. As soon as the other man got close enough, Talos leaned in and could smell the crude oil scent emanating off of the torch. A pungent and unmistakable odor that he was all too familiar with.
He looked at the fellow monk with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. “Why are you down here Azmund?”
The older man leaned his hand against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He pulled it back an instant later when he noticed the red trails dripping down the stoneworks.
“Damnation!” He exclaimed. “What’s with the bleeding walls?”
Talos shook his head, “Smell it.”
Azmund reluctantly did so, but then looked confused. “No smell?”
Talos nodded. “Illusions. Now, why are you here?”
The old man quickly fished around inside his robe and produced three vials of a syrupy blue liquid. “These came in not long ago and hadn’t officially been recorded yet. There’s no telling what those sodden fools have gotten misplaced by now.”
Talos took the small containers and held them up to the light. “Magic elixirs. How many more?”
Azmund shook his head solemnly. “Not many. We’ll distribute it among the best mages and try to get you some more help down here.”
The mage put the potions in his robe and then put his hand on Azmund’s shoulder, pushing him down the hallway. “Do that. Contact the other’s and have them send reinforcements.”
The gravity of the situation finally dawned on the elder monk. He obviously knew the situation was grim but had no idea how bad it actually was. “What do you think got that bastard riled up so suddenly?”
Talos turned to leave but stopped and looked back at him, deadly serious. “I don’t know. If Morphis escapes that prison, we’re all dead. That I do know.”
He resumed walking down the hallway, hoping for no more distractions. There wasn’t much time left to try and reinforce the magical barriers on the tomb. It had taken the efforts of every other mage in the monastery so far and only he was left now with any magical ability remaining. The others were exhausting themselves with the effort to strengthen the wards that kept the barrier in place. He hoped they’d be able to hold on long enough for help to arrive from the other strongholds.
If the god of darkness ever got loose, there’d be no second chance to put him back.