His walk ever deeper was a timeless monotony, punctuated only by death, as Krulm’venor slew each and every creature that crossed his path. Neither the slow-acting slimes nor the dreaded stone borers could hope to match the fury he could draw upon at any moment, thanks to the nearly limitless power of the Lich that he was tethered to. At first, the fire spirit welcomed these terrible bouts of violence because they were all that could distract him from thinking about the Allfather and wondering about all the other things he'd forgotten.
Even thoroughly fireproof enemies like belchers and emberkin could not stand up to the strength of the steel skeleton that was his body. No matter how satisfying it was to rip his opponent’s limb from bloody limb, though, the dwarf eventually grew to hate and then dread the encounters. This wasn’t because it disliked striking down all the terrors that lurked in the dark, though, or purging the rust funguses and the acid spitters from the tunnels with fire the way that every dwarf wished they could.
No, it was because every time there was violence, he could feel the goblin spirits that powered the bones of this body come alive and pollute his soul a little more. Each time they were roused by violence, his rigid, perfect dwarven soul was suffused by the slime of their simple existence, and even when the fight was over, some measure of that filth stayed behind.
It was inescapable, and no matter how many kobold dens he destroyed or spider nests he cleansed, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for the terrible poison sliding inside him one drop at a time. He could hear the whispers all the time now, even when he was at peace and the goblin tribes that dwelled within him were asleep. He thanked the All-father that at least he did not yet understand their gibbering, for he knew that when he’d fallen that far, he would begin to grow truly mad.
He didn’t even feel the need to resist the Lich’s orders anymore. There was no point. With this terrible punishment, the proud godling was slowly being hollowed out in the same way that the dread kobolds might ruin a city: with one small hole at a time, undermining what had taken a lifetime to create with their irresistible hunger. With each day and each fight, Krulm’venor could feel the inevitability of what was happening to him, and it was with growing despair that he realized that even if he found a way to escape this body, it was likely that the taint he carried within him was permanent now, no matter how brightly he burned.
So, he walked in misery, and it was only when Krulm’venor reached the gates of the Ghen’tal that he knew this was where it had all started. From the very moment he spied the tarnished crest of the city on the huge brass doors, the sundered mountain eclipsing the world axe, he knew he was home, just as he knew that behind those open doors stood a dead city populated by only dust and shadows.
He'd barely stepped past the threshold when he felt the darkness boil up inside his skull.
“What is this place,” it whispered as they gazed out of his eyes together at the shadowed ruins of what was once one of the greatest cities beneath the world. “You know it. You’ve been here.”
“Aye,” Krulm’venor agreed, looking out into the darkness. Unlike some of the previous places he’d been that were devoured by kobolds or ruined beyond recognition by goblins, Ghen’tal was still just as perfect as the day he’d left it for the last time. The city itself had become a mausoleum, and the bodies still lay where they’d fallen when the last of the lights had been extinguished. “I was born here, I lived my whole life here, and when I was raised again from the clutches of death to fight the darkness, I was born here a second time.”
It wasn’t until the words had left his mouth that he realized he’d said far too much. These were the secrets that could truly hurt his people, but he’d dwelled in the darkness alone for months now, with only the whispers in his head for company. So, when the darkness had asked a question, he’d answered it automatically, and now he could feel the Lich salivating as it awaited more details.
Krulm’venor was extremely grateful when he saw movement in the darkness to distract both of their attention. For a moment, he thought it was goblins, but the red glowing eyes gave it away. Goblins wouldn’t still be alive this deep with nothing to devour. It was just one of the silent wearing a goblin’s shadow. Of course, the silent ones would still be here. Why wouldn’t they? They’d been the ones to sack the city so long ago.
Just like the Lich, they weren’t living creatures but a parody of life that existed only to snuff it out. Like other cities before it, Ghen’tal had dug too deep and paid the price for it in the form of these horrors.
Fortunately, these creatures of darkness were very susceptible to light. When he flared to life, he saw the closest creatures that were slinking through the rubble to ambush him, burst into greasy smoke as the light of his fires erased the darkness they needed to survive.
Then just as suddenly as his fires had kindled, they vanished, preventing him from becoming a living inferno. A moment later, Krulm’venor realized it was because the Lich had cut him off from its dark power.
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“No,” the darkness hissed painfully in his mind. “Do nothing while I study these wonders, you ignorant swine, or I will find an even deeper pit of filth to bury you alive in!”
With a command like that, the fire spirit could do nothing but stand there as more of the dark spirits began to swarm him. First, there were dozens and then hundreds, but he was not alive, so they could do nothing to him except wonder at the strange new thing that had invaded their home.
When the boldest of the wretches, wearing the shadow of a venerable old dwarf, finally reached out with its magic to drain the life essence from his body, Krulm’venor trembled in rage and revulsion. He was only mollified slightly when the Lich grasped onto that magical thread and absorbed the caster instead of the other way around.
That little reversal was amusing to the fire spirit at least, even if the sudden chill of the alien soul going through him was incredibly disconcerting. What happened next, though, was that much worse. As soon as the Lich realized it could devour the silent in such a straightforward way, it began to do so voraciously.
The creatures were only spirits of darkness wearing the shadows of their victims. There was nothing to them that one could touch. So, at first, the darkness that dwelled within him began to devour them one at a time, but soon that wasn’t enough as its greed expanded to fill the size of the cavern. Five spirits, then ten… The Silent were fleeing now, which was not something that Krulm’venor had ever seen except for in the face of fire. Now the Wraith knew what it was looking for, though, and it stalked the city, hunting the creatures that had been hunters their whole lives until a moment ago.
That idea might have filled the fire spirit with some measure of joy if it wasn’t being forced to endure the torrent of dark magic from the very center of the vortex of darkness. Even if the cavern’s light had grown too dim for him to see what was happening, he could certainly feel it. The first one of the silent shadows to be devoured had made it feel chill, but now the skeleton was frozen solid as its flames guttered until it was once more reduced to a single spark in its skull shape lantern of a head as it tried to endure the torrent of darkness that threatened to snuff it out completely.
Of course, Krulm’venor longed for such an outcome, but even as the metal skeleton that was its body got colder and colder and icicles began to grow on its ribcage, the final ember that was his tainted consciousness would not be snuffed out, no matter how much the Lich feasted on the souls of its enemies.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over. In only a few minutes, the Lich had defeated an enemy that tens of thousands of dwarven warriors had been unable to best. Only when that was done did it restore its power and allow the fires that burned within Krulm'venor's bones to light once more.
When he began to move again, he ignored the sounds of cracking ice that broke off him and fell to the stone floor below as the Lich spoke. “Now that the pests have been taken care of, you begin again. Tell me of your rebirth here, hound.”
Krulm'venor chafed at that, but after the harrowing experience he’d just endured, he lacked the strength to fight the Lich. “When a dwarf that has led a good life dies, they go to their promised reward in the afterlife. To Vargaren, the eternal forges, to labor on greater things than mortal minds can even imagine.” As he spoke, the fire spirit began to walk toward the now cold forges of Ghen’tal in the center of town. “But sometimes, when there is a great threat, as with the silent ones, a soul is brought back to this world as a spark of the divine to help the living and ensure a future for all dwarves.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but Krulm’venor desperately hoped it would be enough because it was treading right on the edge of terrible secrets that the Lich must never know.
Krulm’venor’s dread relaxed slightly when the Lich finally whispered, “Show me the city’s cemetery. Show me where you keep your dead.”
Silently the fire spirit moved to obey. There was no harm in it. He walked to the far wall and showed him the deathless halls of the mausoleum complex. It contained tens of thousands of dwarven dead, but to accommodate so many, all of them had been burned to bone and ash and placed in clan ossuaries.
The Lich had him rip open several, which was an unconscionable act of defilement for Krulm'venor, but he obeyed just the same. In the end, that wasn’t enough for the dread voice in his head, though, and the Lich finally said, “You’re hiding something from me, Krulm’venor, but since you have given me such a banquet of darkness to feast upon, I will give you one final chance to tell me the truth before you are made to suffer for your defiance.”
“This is the only place in the city where the dead should ever be,” Krulm'venor swore, “Right now, there are bodies in the streets, but normally—”
“Silence,” the Lich’s voice thundered, freezing his disobedient body in place once more. “There is another place then. Outside the city perhaps, because I see no statues of kings or plaques for heroes in this dingey place. Tell me where the dwarves take the bodies of their elders and their hallowed dead.”
Krulm’venor didn’t answer the question because doing so would have terrible consequences. He simply stood there as the pain started to rise, and the goblins boiled up out of his bones to gnaw at the corners of his soul.
“You will tell me what I wish to know, and if you wish to suffer until you are ready to do that, then so be it,” the Lich whispered.
Krulm’venor wanted to say something defiant. He wanted to tell the Lich to go to the pits and that he would never betray his people. He couldn’t do any of that, though, because once the fire started to flare in earnest, he couldn’t stop screaming.
“Then stay here and burn with your secrets until you’ve learned the error of your ways.” The Lich said as it began to fade from his mind. “Unlike your kin, no matter how long the flames assault you, you will never be allowed death's sweet release.”